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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/22958-h.zip b/22958-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4345524 --- /dev/null +++ b/22958-h.zip diff --git a/22958-h/22958-h.htm b/22958-h/22958-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd2d080 --- /dev/null +++ b/22958-h/22958-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1438 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of One-Shot, by James Blish + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin: 2em auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .trans1 {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + + img {border: none} + + .cpoem {width: 15em; margin: 0 auto; font-style: italic; + font-size: larger; font-weight: bold;} + + .illo {margin-bottom: 3em; margin-top: 1.5em; font-size: smaller; + font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of One-Shot, by James Benjamin Blish + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: One-Shot + +Author: James Benjamin Blish + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: October 11, 2007 [EBook #22958] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE-SHOT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 698px;"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="698" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + +<h1>ONE-SHOT</h1> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<p><big>You</big> can do a great deal if +you have enough data, and +enough time to compute on it, +by logical methods. But given +the situation that neither data +nor time is adequate, and an +answer must be produced ... +what do you do?</p></div> + +<h2>BY JAMES BLISH</h2> + +<p class="illo">Illustrated by van Dongen</p> + + +<p>On the day that the Polish freighter +<i>Ludmilla</i> laid an egg in New +York harbor, Abner Longmans +("One-Shot") Braun was in the city +going about his normal business, +which was making another million +dollars. As we found out later, almost +nothing else was normal about +that particular week end for Braun. +For one thing, he had brought his +family with him—a complete departure +from routine—reflecting the unprecedentedly +legitimate nature of +the deals he was trying to make. +From every point of view it was a +bad week end for the CIA to mix +into his affairs, but nobody had explained +that to the master of the +<i>Ludmilla</i>.</p> + +<p>I had better add here that we +knew nothing about this until afterward; +from the point of view of the +storyteller, an organization like Civilian +Intelligence Associates gets to +all its facts backwards, entering the +tale at the pay-off, working back to +the hook, and winding up with a +sheaf of background facts to feed +into the computer for Next Time. It's +rough on the various people who've +tried to fictionalize what we do—particularly +for the lazy examples of +the breed, who come to us expecting +that their plotting has already been +done for them—but it's inherent in +the way we operate, and there it is.</p> + +<p>Certainly nobody at CIA so much +as thought of Braun when the news +first came through. Harry Anderton, +the Harbor Defense chief, called us +at 0830 Friday to take on the job of +identifying the egg; this was when +our records show us officially entering +the affair, but, of course, Anderton +had been keeping the wires to +Washington steaming for an hour before +that, getting authorization to +spend some of his money on us (our +clearance status was then and is now +C&R—clean and routine).</p> + +<p>I was in the central office when +the call came through, and had some +difficulty in making out precisely +what Anderton wanted of us. "Slow +down, Colonel Anderton, please," I +begged him. "Two or three seconds +won't make that much difference. +How did you find out about this egg +in the first place?"</p> + +<p>"The automatic compartment bulkheads +on the <i>Ludmilla</i> were defective," +he said. "It seems that this +egg was buried among a lot of other +crates in the dump-cell of the +hold—"</p> + +<p>"What's a dump cell?"</p> + +<p>"It's a sea lock for getting rid of +dangerous cargo. The bottom of it +opens right to Davy Jones. Standard +fitting for ships carrying explosives, +radioactives, anything that might act +up unexpectedly."</p> + +<p>"All right," I said. "Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"Well, there was a timer on the +dump-cell floor, set to drop the egg +when the ship came up the river. +That worked fine, but the automatic +bulkheads that are supposed to keep +the rest of the ship from being flooded +while the cell's open, didn't. At +least they didn't do a thorough job. +The <i>Ludmilla</i> began to list and the +captain yelled for help. When the +Harbor Patrol found the dump-cell +open, they called us in."</p> + +<p>"I see." I thought about it a moment. +"In other words, you don't +know whether the <i>Ludmilla</i> really +laid an egg or not."</p> + +<p>"That's what I keep trying to explain +to you, Dr. Harris. We don't +know what she dropped and we +haven't any way of finding out. It +could be a bomb—it could be anything. +We're sweating everybody on +board the ship now, but it's my guess +that none of them know anything; +the whole procedure was designed to +be automatic."</p> + +<p>"All right, we'll take it," I said. +"You've got divers down?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, but—"</p> + +<p>"We'll worry about the buts from +here on. Get us a direct line from +your barge to the big board here so +we can direct the work. Better get +on over here yourself."</p> + +<p>"Right." He sounded relieved. +Official people have a lot of confidence +in CIA; too much, in my estimation. +Some day the job will come +along that we can't handle, and then +Washington will be kicking itself—or, +more likely, some scapegoat—for +having failed to develop a comparable +government department.</p> + +<p>Not that there was much prospect +of Washington's doing that. Official +thinking had been running in the +other direction for years. The precedent +was the Associated Universities +organization which ran Brookhaven; +CIA had been started the same way, +by a loose corporation of universities +and industries all of which had +wanted to own an ULTIMAC and +no one of which had had the money +to buy one for itself. The Eisenhower +administration, with its emphasis +on private enterprise and concomitant +reluctance to sink federal +funds into projects of such size, had +turned the two examples into a nice +fat trend, which ULTIMAC herself +said wasn't going to be reversed +within the practicable lifetime of +CIA.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I buzzed for two staffers, and in +five minutes got Clark Cheyney and +Joan Hadamard, CIA's business manager +and social science division chief +respectively. The titles were almost +solely for the benefit of the T/O—that +is, Clark and Joan do serve in +those capacities, but said service takes +about two per cent of their capacities +and their time. I shot them a couple +of sentences of explanation, trusting +them to pick up whatever else they +needed from the tape, and checked +the line to the divers' barge.</p> + +<p>It was already open; Anderton had +gone to work quickly and with decision +once he was sure we were taking +on the major question. The television +screen lit, but nothing showed +on it but murky light, striped with +streamers of darkness slowly rising +and falling. The audio went <i>cloonck</i> +... <i>oing</i>, <i>oing</i> ... <i>bonk</i> ... <i>oing</i> +... Underwater noises, shapeless +and characterless.</p> + +<p>"Hello, out there in the harbor. +This is CIA, Harris calling. Come in, +please."</p> + +<p>"Monig here," the audio said. +<i>Boink</i> ... <i>oing</i>, <i>oing</i> ...</p> + +<p>"Got anything yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not a thing, Dr. Harris," Monig +said. "You can't see three inches in +front of your face down here—it's +too silty. We've bumped into a couple +of crates, but so far, no egg."</p> + +<p>"Keep trying."</p> + +<p>Cheyney, looking even more like +a bulldog than usual, was setting his +stopwatch by one of the eight clocks +on ULTIMAC's face. "Want me to +take the divers?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No, Clark, not yet. I'd rather +have Joan do it for the moment." I +passed the mike to her. "You'd better +run a probability series first."</p> + +<p>"Check." He began feeding tape +into the integrator's mouth. "What's +your angle, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"The ship. I want to see how heavily +shielded that dump-cell is."</p> + +<p>"It isn't shielded at all," Anderton's +voice said behind me. I hadn't +heard him come in. "But that doesn't +prove anything. The egg might have +carried sufficient shielding in itself. +Or maybe the Commies didn't care +whether the crew was exposed or not. +Or maybe there isn't any egg."</p> + +<p>"All that's possible," I admitted. +"But I want to see it, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Have you taken blood tests?" +Joan asked Anderton.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Get the reports through to me, +then. I want white-cell counts, differentials, +platelet counts, hematocrit +and sed rates on every man."</p> + +<p>Anderton picked up the phone and +I took a firm hold on the doorknob.</p> + +<p>"Hey," Anderton said, putting the +phone down again. "Are you going +to duck out just like that? Remember, +Dr. Harris, we've got to evacuate the +city first of all! No matter whether +it's a real egg or not—we can't take +the chance on it's <i>not</i> being an egg!"</p> + +<p>"Don't move a man until you get +a go-ahead from CIA," I said. "For +all we know now, evacuating the city +may be just what the enemy wants us +to do—so they can grab it unharmed. +Or they may want to start a panic +for some other reason, any one of +fifty possible reasons."</p> + +<p>"You can't take such a gamble," +he said grimly. "There are eight and +a half million lives riding on it. I +can't let you do it."</p> + +<p>"You passed your authority to us +when you hired us," I pointed out. +"If you want to evacuate without our +O.K., you'll have to fire us first. It'll +take another hour to get that cleared +from Washington—so you might as +well give us the hour."</p> + +<p>He stared at me for a moment, his +lips thinned. Then he picked up the +phone again to order Joan's blood +count, and I got out the door, fast.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A reasonable man would have said +that I found nothing useful on the +<i>Ludmilla</i>, except negative information. +But the fact is that anything I +found would have been a surprise to +me; I went down looking for surprises. +I found nothing but a faint +trail to Abner Longmans Braun, most +of which was fifteen years cold.</p> + +<p>There'd been a time when I'd +known Braun, briefly and to no +profit to either of us. As an undergraduate +majoring in social sciences, +I'd taken on a term paper on the old +International Longshoreman's Association, +a racket-ridden union now +formally extinct—although anyone +who knew the signs could still pick +up some traces on the docks. In those +days, Braun had been the business +manager of an insurance firm, the +sole visible function of which had +been to write policies for the ILA +and its individual dock-wallopers. +For some reason, he had been amused +by the brash youngster who'd barged +in on him and demanded the lowdown, +and had shown me considerable +lengths of ropes not normally +in view of the public—nothing incriminating, +but enough to give me +a better insight into how the union +operated than I had had any right to +expect—or even suspect.</p> + +<p>Hence I was surprised to hear +somebody on the docks remark that +Braun was in the city over the week +end. It would never have occurred +to me that he still interested himself +in the waterfront, for he'd gone respectable +with a vengeance. He was +still a professional gambler, and according +to what he had told the +Congressional Investigating Committee +last year, took in thirty to fifty +thousand dollars a year at it, but his +gambles were no longer concentrated +on horses, the numbers, or shady insurance +deals. Nowadays what he did +was called investment—mostly in real +estate; realtors knew him well as the +man who had <i>almost</i> bought the Empire +State Building. (The <i>almost</i> in +the equation stands for the moment +when the shoestring broke.)</p> + +<p>Joan had been following his career, +too, not because she had ever met +him, but because for her he was a +type study in the evolution of what +she called "the extra-legal ego." +"With personalities like that, respectability +is a disease," she told me. +"There's always an almost-open conflict +between the desire to be powerful +and the desire to be accepted; +your ordinary criminal is a moral imbecile, +but people like Braun are +damned with a conscience, and sooner +or later they crack trying to appease +it."</p> + +<p>"I'd sooner try to crack a Timkin +bearing," I said. "Braun's ten-point +steel all the way through."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it. The symptoms +are showing all over him. Now +he's backing Broadway plays, sponsoring +beginning actresses, joining +playwrights' groups—he's the only +member of Buskin and Brush who's +never written a play, acted in one, or +so much as pulled the rope to raise +the curtain."</p> + +<p>"That's investment," I said. +"That's his business."</p> + +<p>"Peter, you're only looking at the +surface. His real investments almost +never fail. But the plays he backs +<i>always</i> do. They have to; he's sinking +money in them to appease his conscience, +and if they were to succeed it +would double his guilt instead of +salving it. It's the same way with the +young actresses. He's not sexually +interested in them—his type never is, +because living a rigidly orthodox +family life is part of the effort towards +respectability. He's backing +them to 'pay his debt to society'—in +other words, they're talismans to +keep him out of jail."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't seem like a very satisfactory +substitute."</p> + +<p>"Of course it isn't," Joan had said. +"The next thing he'll do is go in for +direct public service—giving money +to hospitals or something like that. +You watch."</p> + +<p>She had been right; within the +year, Braun had announced the +founding of an association for clearing +the Detroit slum area where he +had been born—the plainest kind of +symbolic suicide: <i>Let's not have any +more Abner Longmans Brauns born +down here</i>. It depressed me to see it +happen, for next on Joan's agenda +for Braun was an entry into politics +as a fighting liberal—a New Dealer +twenty years too late. Since I'm mildly +liberal myself when I'm off duty, +I hated to think what Braun's career +might tell me about my own motives, +if I'd let it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>All of which had nothing to do +with why I was prowling around the +<i>Ludmilla</i>—or did it? I kept remembering +Anderton's challenge: "You +can't take such a gamble. There are +eight and a half million lives riding +on it—" That put it up into Braun's +normal operating area, all right. The +connection was still hazy, but on the +grounds that any link might be useful, +I phoned him.</p> + +<p>He remembered me instantly; like +most uneducated, power-driven men, +he had a memory as good as any machine's.</p> + +<p>"You never did send me that paper +you was going to write," he said. His +voice seemed absolutely unchanged, +although he was in his seventies now. +"You promised you would."</p> + +<p>"Kids don't keep their promises +as well as they should," I said. "But +I've still got copies and I'll see to it +that you get one, this time. Right +now I need another favor—something +right up your alley."</p> + +<p>"CIA business?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I didn't know you knew I +was with CIA."</p> + +<p>Braun chuckled. "I still know a +thing or two," he said. "What's the +angle?"</p> + +<p>"That I can't tell you over the +phone. But it's the biggest gamble +there ever was, and I think we need +an expert. Can you come down to +CIA's central headquarters right +away?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, if it's that big. If it ain't, +I got lots of business here, Andy. +And I ain't going to be in town long. +You're sure it's top stuff?"</p> + +<p>"My word on it."</p> + +<p>He was silent a moment. Then he +said, "Andy, send me your paper."</p> + +<p>"The paper? Sure, but—" Then I +got it. I'd given him my word. +"You'll get it," I said. "Thanks, Mr. +Braun."</p> + +<p>I called headquarters and sent a +messenger to my apartment to look +for one of those long-dusty blue folders +with the legal-length sheets inside +them, with orders to scorch it over +to Braun without stopping to breathe +more than once. Then I went back +myself.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere had changed. Anderton +was sitting by the big desk, +clenching his fists and sweating; his +whole posture telegraphed his controlled +helplessness. Cheyney was +bent over a seismograph, echo-sounding +for the egg through the river +bottom. If that even had a prayer of +working, I knew, he'd have had the +trains of the Hudson & Manhattan +stopped; their rumbling course +through their tubes would have +blanked out any possible echo-pip +from the egg.</p> + +<p>"Wild goose chase?" Joan said, +scanning my face.</p> + +<p>"Not quite. I've got something, if +I can just figure out what it is. Remember +One-Shot Braun?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What's he got to do with +it?"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 174px;"> +<img src="images/002.png" width="174" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Nothing," I said. "But I want +to bring him in. I don't think we'll +lick this project before deadline without +him."</p> + +<p>"What good is a professional +gambler on a job like this? He'll just +get in the way."</p> + +<p>I looked toward the television +screen, which now showed an +amorphous black mass, jutting up +from a foundation of even deeper +black. "Is that operation getting you +anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing's gotten us anywhere," +Anderton interjected harshly. "We +don't even know if that's the egg—the +whole area is littered with crates. +Harris, you've got to let me get that +alert out!"</p> + +<p>"Clark, how's the time going?"</p> + +<p>Cheyney consulted the stopwatch. +"Deadline in twenty-nine minutes," +he said.</p> + +<p>"All right, let's use those minutes. +I'm beginning to see this thing +a little clearer. Joan, what we've got +here is a one-shot gamble; right?"</p> + +<p>"In effect," she said cautiously.</p> + +<p>"And it's my guess that we're +never going to get the answer by +diving for it—not in time, anyhow. +Remember when the Navy lost a +barge-load of shells in the harbor, +back in '52? They scrabbled for them +for a year and never pulled up a one; +they finally had to warn the public +that if it found anything funny-looking +along the shore it shouldn't bang +said object, or shake it either. We're +better equipped than the Navy was +then—but we're working against a +deadline."</p> + +<p>"If you'd admitted that earlier," +Anderton said hoarsely, "we'd have +half a million people out of the city +by now. Maybe even a million."</p> + +<p>"We haven't given up yet, colonel. +The point is this, Joan: what +we need is an inspired guess. Get +anything from the prob series, Clark? +I thought not. On a one-shot gamble +of this kind, the 'laws' of chance are +no good at all. For that matter, the +so-called ESP experiments showed us +long ago that even the way we construct +random tables is full of holes—and +that a man with a feeling for +the essence of a gamble can make a +monkey out of chance almost at will.</p> + +<p>"And if there ever was such a +man, Braun is it. That's why I asked +him to come down here. I want him +to look at that lump on the screen +and—play a hunch."</p> + +<p>"You're out of your mind," Anderton +said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A decorous knock spared me the +trouble of having to deny, affirm or +ignore the judgment. It was Braun; +the messenger had been fast, and +the gambler hadn't bothered to read +what a college student had thought +of him fifteen years ago. He came +forward and held out his hand, while +the others looked him over frankly.</p> + +<p>He was impressive, all right. It +would have been hard for a stranger +to believe that he was aiming at respectability; +to the eye, he was already +there. He was tall and spare, +and walked perfectly erect, not without +spring despite his age. His clothing +was as far from that of a +gambler as you could have taken it +by design: a black double-breasted +suit with a thin vertical stripe, a gray +silk tie with a pearl stickpin just +barely large enough to be visible at +all, a black Homburg; all perfectly +fitted, all worn with proper casualness—one +might almost say a formal +casualness. It was only when he +opened his mouth that One-Shot +Braun was in the suit with him.</p> + +<p>"I come over as soon as your runner +got to me," he said. "What's the +pitch, Andy?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Braun, this is Joan Hadamard, +Clark Cheyney, Colonel Anderton. +I'll be quick because we need +speed now. A Polish ship has dropped +something out in the harbor. +We don't know what it is. It may be +a hell-bomb, or it may be just somebody's +old laundry. Obviously we've +got to find out which—and we want +you to tell us."</p> + +<p>Braun's aristocratic eyebrows went +up. "Me? Hell, Andy, I don't know +nothing about things like that. I'm +surprised with you. I thought CIA +had all the brains it needed—ain't +you got machines to tell you answers +like that?"</p> + +<p>I pointed silently to Joan, who had +gone back to work the moment the +introductions were over. She was still +on the mike to the divers. She was +saying: "What does it look like?"</p> + +<p>"It's just a lump of something, +Dr. Hadamard. Can't even tell its +shape—it's buried too deeply in the +mud." <i>Cloonk</i> ... <i>Oing</i>, <i>oing</i> ...</p> + +<p>"Try the Geiger."</p> + +<p>"We did. Nothing but background."</p> + +<p>"Scintillation counter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Dr. Hadamard. Could +be it's shielded."</p> + +<p>"Let us do the guessing, Monig. +All right, maybe it's got a clockwork +fuse that didn't break with the impact. +Or a gyroscopic fuse. Stick a +stethoscope on it and see if you pick +up a ticking or anything that sounds +like a motor running."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was a lag and I turned back +to Braun. "As you can see, we're +stymied. This is a long shot, Mr. +Braun. One throw of the dice—one +show-down hand. We've got to have +an expert call it for us—somebody +with a record of hits on long shots. +That's why I called you."</p> + +<p>"It's no good," he said. He took +off the Homburg, took his handkerchief +from his breast pocket, and +wiped the hatband. "I can't do it."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"It ain't my <i>kind</i> of thing," he +said. "Look, I never in my life run +odds on anything that made any difference. +But this makes a difference. +If I guess wrong—"</p> + +<p>"Then we're all dead ducks. But +why should you guess wrong? Your +hunches have been working for sixty +years now."</p> + +<p>Braun wiped his face. "No. You +don't get it. I wish you'd listen to +me. Look, my wife and my kids are +in the city. It ain't only my life, it's +theirs, too. That's what I care about. +That's why it's no good. On things +that matter to me, <i>my hunches don't +work</i>."</p> + +<p>I was stunned, and so, I could see, +were Joan and Cheyney. I suppose I +should have guessed it, but it had +never occurred to me.</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes," Cheyney said.</p> + +<p>I looked up at Braun. He was +frightened, and again I was surprised +without having any right to +be. I tried to keep at least my voice +calm.</p> + +<p>"Please try it anyhow, Mr. Braun—as +a favor. It's already too late to +do it any other way. And if you guess +wrong, the outcome won't be any +worse than if you don't try at all."</p> + +<p>"My kids," he whispered. I don't +think he knew that he was speaking +aloud. I waited.</p> + +<p>Then his eyes seemed to come back +to the present. "All right," he said. +"I told you the truth, Andy. Remember +that. So—is it a bomb or ain't it? +That's what's up for grabs, right?"</p> + +<p>I nodded. He closed his eyes. An +unexpected stab of pure fright went +down my back. Without the eyes, +Braun's face was a death mask.</p> + +<p>The water sounds and the irregular +ticking of a Geiger counter +seemed to spring out from the audio +speaker, four times as loud as before. +I could even hear the pen of +the seismograph scribbling away, until +I looked at the instrument and +saw that Clark had stopped it, probably +long ago.</p> + +<p>Droplets of sweat began to form +along Braun's forehead and his upper +lip. The handkerchief remained +crushed in his hand.</p> + +<p>Anderton said, "Of all the fool—"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" Joan said quietly.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Slowly, Braun opened his eyes. +"All right," he said. "You guys +wanted it this way. <i>I say it's a bomb.</i>" +He stared at us for a moment more—and +then, all at once, the Timkin +bearing burst. Words poured out of +it. "Now you guys do something, do +your job like I did mine—get my +wife and kids out of there—empty +the city—do something, <i>do something</i>!"</p> + +<p>Anderton was already grabbing +for the phone. "You're right, Mr. +Braun. If it isn't already too late—"</p> + +<p>Cheyney shot out a hand and +caught Anderton's telephone arm by +the wrist. "Wait a minute," he said.</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean, 'wait a minute'? +Haven't you already shot +enough time?"</p> + +<p>Cheyney did not let go; instead, +he looked inquiringly at Joan and +said, "One minute, Joan. You might +as well go ahead."</p> + +<p>She nodded and spoke into the +mike. "Monig, unscrew the cap."</p> + +<p>"Unscrew the cap?" the audio +squawked. "But Dr. Hadamard, if +that sets it off—"</p> + +<p>"It won't go off. That's the one +thing you can be sure it won't do."</p> + +<p>"What is this?" Anderton demanded. +"And what's this deadline +stuff, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"The cap's off," Monig reported. +"We're getting plenty of radiation +now. Just a minute— Yeah. Dr. +Hadamard, it's a bomb, all right. +But it hasn't got a fuse. Now how +could they have made a fool mistake +like that?"</p> + +<p>"In other words, it's a dud," Joan +said.</p> + +<p>"That's right, a dud."</p> + +<p>Now, at last, Braun wiped his face, +which was quite gray. "I told you +the truth," he said grimly. "My +hunches don't work on stuff like +this."</p> + +<p>"But they do," I said. "I'm sorry +we put you through the wringer—and +you too, colonel—but we couldn't +let an opportunity like this slip. +It was too good a chance for us to +test how our facilities would stand +up in a real bomb-drop."</p> + +<p>"A real drop?" Anderton said. +"Are you trying to say that CIA +staged this? You ought to be shot, +the whole pack of you!"</p> + +<p>"No, not exactly," I said. "The +enemy's responsible for the drop, all +right. We got word last month from +our man in Gdynia that they were +going to do it, and that the bomb +would be on board the <i>Ludmilla</i>. As +I say, it was too good an opportunity +to miss. We wanted to find out just +how long it would take us to figure +out the nature of the bomb—which +we didn't know in detail—after it +was dropped here. So we had our +people in Gdynia defuse the thing +after it was put on board the ship, +but otherwise leave it entirely alone.</p> + +<p>"Actually, you see, your hunch was +right on the button as far as it went. +We didn't ask you whether or not +that object was a live bomb. We +asked whether it was a bomb or not. +You said it was, and you were right."</p> + +<p>The expression on Braun's face +was exactly like the one he had worn +while he had been searching for his +decision—except that, since his eyes +were open, I could see that it was +directed at me. "If this was the old +days," he said in an ice-cold voice, +"I might of made the colonel's idea +come true. I don't go for tricks like +this, Andy."</p> + +<p>"It was more than a trick," Clark +put in. "You'll remember we had +a deadline on the test, Mr. Braun. +Obviously, in a real drop we wouldn't +have all the time in the world +to figure out what kind of a thing +had been dropped. If we had still +failed to establish that when the +deadline ran out, we would have +had to allow evacuation of the city, +with all the attendant risk that that +was exactly what the enemy wanted +us to do."</p> + +<p>"So?"</p> + +<p>"So we failed the test," I said. "At +one minute short of the deadline, +Joan had the divers unscrew the cap. +In a real drop that would have resulted +in a detonation, if the bomb +was real; we'd never risk it. That +we did do it in the test was a concession +of failure—an admission that +our usual methods didn't come +through for us in time.</p> + +<p>"And that means that you were +the only person who did come +through, Mr. Braun. If a real bomb-drop +ever comes, we're going to have +to have you here, as an active part of +our investigation. Your intuition for +the one-shot gamble was the one +thing that bailed us out this time. +Next time it may save eight million +lives."</p> + +<p>There was quite a long silence. All +of us, Anderton included, watched +Braun intently, but his impassive +face failed to show any trace of how +his thoughts were running.</p> + +<p>When he did speak at last, what +he said must have seemed insanely +irrelevant to Anderton, and maybe +to Cheyney too. And perhaps it +meant nothing more to Joan than +the final clinical note in a case history.</p> + +<p>"It's funny," he said, "I was +thinking of running for Congress +next year from my district. But maybe +this is more important."</p> + +<p>It was, I believe, the sigh of a man +at peace with himself.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/003.png" width="240" height="100" alt="FIN" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> August +1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of One-Shot, by James Benjamin Blish + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE-SHOT *** + +***** This file should be named 22958-h.htm or 22958-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/5/22958/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: One-Shot + +Author: James Benjamin Blish + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: October 11, 2007 [EBook #22958] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE-SHOT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +ONE-SHOT + + _You can do a great deal if + you have enough data, and + enough time to compute on it, + by logical methods. But given + the situation that neither data + nor time is adequate, and an + answer must be produced ... + what do you do?_ + +BY JAMES BLISH + +Illustrated by van Dongen + + +On the day that the Polish freighter _Ludmilla_ laid an egg in New York +harbor, Abner Longmans ("One-Shot") Braun was in the city going about +his normal business, which was making another million dollars. As we +found out later, almost nothing else was normal about that particular +week end for Braun. For one thing, he had brought his family with him--a +complete departure from routine--reflecting the unprecedentedly +legitimate nature of the deals he was trying to make. From every point +of view it was a bad week end for the CIA to mix into his affairs, but +nobody had explained that to the master of the _Ludmilla_. + +I had better add here that we knew nothing about this until afterward; +from the point of view of the storyteller, an organization like Civilian +Intelligence Associates gets to all its facts backwards, entering the +tale at the pay-off, working back to the hook, and winding up with a +sheaf of background facts to feed into the computer for Next Time. It's +rough on the various people who've tried to fictionalize what we +do--particularly for the lazy examples of the breed, who come to us +expecting that their plotting has already been done for them--but it's +inherent in the way we operate, and there it is. + +Certainly nobody at CIA so much as thought of Braun when the news first +came through. Harry Anderton, the Harbor Defense chief, called us at +0830 Friday to take on the job of identifying the egg; this was when our +records show us officially entering the affair, but, of course, Anderton +had been keeping the wires to Washington steaming for an hour before +that, getting authorization to spend some of his money on us (our +clearance status was then and is now C&R--clean and routine). + +I was in the central office when the call came through, and had some +difficulty in making out precisely what Anderton wanted of us. "Slow +down, Colonel Anderton, please," I begged him. "Two or three seconds +won't make that much difference. How did you find out about this egg in +the first place?" + +"The automatic compartment bulkheads on the _Ludmilla_ were defective," +he said. "It seems that this egg was buried among a lot of other crates +in the dump-cell of the hold--" + +"What's a dump cell?" + +"It's a sea lock for getting rid of dangerous cargo. The bottom of it +opens right to Davy Jones. Standard fitting for ships carrying +explosives, radioactives, anything that might act up unexpectedly." + +"All right," I said. "Go ahead." + +"Well, there was a timer on the dump-cell floor, set to drop the egg +when the ship came up the river. That worked fine, but the automatic +bulkheads that are supposed to keep the rest of the ship from being +flooded while the cell's open, didn't. At least they didn't do a +thorough job. The _Ludmilla_ began to list and the captain yelled for +help. When the Harbor Patrol found the dump-cell open, they called us +in." + +"I see." I thought about it a moment. "In other words, you don't know +whether the _Ludmilla_ really laid an egg or not." + +"That's what I keep trying to explain to you, Dr. Harris. We don't know +what she dropped and we haven't any way of finding out. It could be a +bomb--it could be anything. We're sweating everybody on board the ship +now, but it's my guess that none of them know anything; the whole +procedure was designed to be automatic." + +"All right, we'll take it," I said. "You've got divers down?" + +"Sure, but--" + +"We'll worry about the buts from here on. Get us a direct line from +your barge to the big board here so we can direct the work. Better get +on over here yourself." + +"Right." He sounded relieved. Official people have a lot of confidence +in CIA; too much, in my estimation. Some day the job will come along +that we can't handle, and then Washington will be kicking itself--or, +more likely, some scapegoat--for having failed to develop a comparable +government department. + +Not that there was much prospect of Washington's doing that. Official +thinking had been running in the other direction for years. The +precedent was the Associated Universities organization which ran +Brookhaven; CIA had been started the same way, by a loose corporation of +universities and industries all of which had wanted to own an ULTIMAC +and no one of which had had the money to buy one for itself. The +Eisenhower administration, with its emphasis on private enterprise and +concomitant reluctance to sink federal funds into projects of such size, +had turned the two examples into a nice fat trend, which ULTIMAC herself +said wasn't going to be reversed within the practicable lifetime of CIA. + + * * * * * + +I buzzed for two staffers, and in five minutes got Clark Cheyney and +Joan Hadamard, CIA's business manager and social science division chief +respectively. The titles were almost solely for the benefit of the +T/O--that is, Clark and Joan do serve in those capacities, but said +service takes about two per cent of their capacities and their time. I +shot them a couple of sentences of explanation, trusting them to pick up +whatever else they needed from the tape, and checked the line to the +divers' barge. + +It was already open; Anderton had gone to work quickly and with decision +once he was sure we were taking on the major question. The television +screen lit, but nothing showed on it but murky light, striped with +streamers of darkness slowly rising and falling. The audio went +_cloonck_ ... _oing_, _oing_ ... _bonk_ ... _oing_ ... Underwater +noises, shapeless and characterless. + +"Hello, out there in the harbor. This is CIA, Harris calling. Come in, +please." + +"Monig here," the audio said. _Boink_ ... _oing_, _oing_ ... + +"Got anything yet?" + +"Not a thing, Dr. Harris," Monig said. "You can't see three inches in +front of your face down here--it's too silty. We've bumped into a couple +of crates, but so far, no egg." + +"Keep trying." + +Cheyney, looking even more like a bulldog than usual, was setting his +stopwatch by one of the eight clocks on ULTIMAC's face. "Want me to take +the divers?" he said. + +"No, Clark, not yet. I'd rather have Joan do it for the moment." I +passed the mike to her. "You'd better run a probability series first." + +"Check." He began feeding tape into the integrator's mouth. "What's your +angle, Peter?" + +"The ship. I want to see how heavily shielded that dump-cell is." + +"It isn't shielded at all," Anderton's voice said behind me. I hadn't +heard him come in. "But that doesn't prove anything. The egg might have +carried sufficient shielding in itself. Or maybe the Commies didn't care +whether the crew was exposed or not. Or maybe there isn't any egg." + +"All that's possible," I admitted. "But I want to see it, anyhow." + +"Have you taken blood tests?" Joan asked Anderton. + +"Yes." + +"Get the reports through to me, then. I want white-cell counts, +differentials, platelet counts, hematocrit and sed rates on every man." + +Anderton picked up the phone and I took a firm hold on the doorknob. + +"Hey," Anderton said, putting the phone down again. "Are you going to +duck out just like that? Remember, Dr. Harris, we've got to evacuate the +city first of all! No matter whether it's a real egg or not--we can't +take the chance on it's _not_ being an egg!" + +"Don't move a man until you get a go-ahead from CIA," I said. "For all +we know now, evacuating the city may be just what the enemy wants us to +do--so they can grab it unharmed. Or they may want to start a panic for +some other reason, any one of fifty possible reasons." + +"You can't take such a gamble," he said grimly. "There are eight and a +half million lives riding on it. I can't let you do it." + +"You passed your authority to us when you hired us," I pointed out. "If +you want to evacuate without our O.K., you'll have to fire us first. +It'll take another hour to get that cleared from Washington--so you +might as well give us the hour." + +He stared at me for a moment, his lips thinned. Then he picked up the +phone again to order Joan's blood count, and I got out the door, fast. + + * * * * * + +A reasonable man would have said that I found nothing useful on the +_Ludmilla_, except negative information. But the fact is that anything I +found would have been a surprise to me; I went down looking for +surprises. I found nothing but a faint trail to Abner Longmans Braun, +most of which was fifteen years cold. + +There'd been a time when I'd known Braun, briefly and to no profit to +either of us. As an undergraduate majoring in social sciences, I'd taken +on a term paper on the old International Longshoreman's Association, a +racket-ridden union now formally extinct--although anyone who knew the +signs could still pick up some traces on the docks. In those days, Braun +had been the business manager of an insurance firm, the sole visible +function of which had been to write policies for the ILA and its +individual dock-wallopers. For some reason, he had been amused by the +brash youngster who'd barged in on him and demanded the lowdown, and had +shown me considerable lengths of ropes not normally in view of the +public--nothing incriminating, but enough to give me a better insight +into how the union operated than I had had any right to expect--or even +suspect. + +Hence I was surprised to hear somebody on the docks remark that Braun +was in the city over the week end. It would never have occurred to me +that he still interested himself in the waterfront, for he'd gone +respectable with a vengeance. He was still a professional gambler, and +according to what he had told the Congressional Investigating Committee +last year, took in thirty to fifty thousand dollars a year at it, but +his gambles were no longer concentrated on horses, the numbers, or shady +insurance deals. Nowadays what he did was called investment--mostly in +real estate; realtors knew him well as the man who had _almost_ bought +the Empire State Building. (The _almost_ in the equation stands for the +moment when the shoestring broke.) + +Joan had been following his career, too, not because she had ever met +him, but because for her he was a type study in the evolution of what +she called "the extra-legal ego." "With personalities like that, +respectability is a disease," she told me. "There's always an +almost-open conflict between the desire to be powerful and the desire to +be accepted; your ordinary criminal is a moral imbecile, but people like +Braun are damned with a conscience, and sooner or later they crack +trying to appease it." + +"I'd sooner try to crack a Timkin bearing," I said. "Braun's ten-point +steel all the way through." + +"Don't you believe it. The symptoms are showing all over him. Now he's +backing Broadway plays, sponsoring beginning actresses, joining +playwrights' groups--he's the only member of Buskin and Brush who's +never written a play, acted in one, or so much as pulled the rope to +raise the curtain." + +"That's investment," I said. "That's his business." + +"Peter, you're only looking at the surface. His real investments almost +never fail. But the plays he backs _always_ do. They have to; he's +sinking money in them to appease his conscience, and if they were to +succeed it would double his guilt instead of salving it. It's the same +way with the young actresses. He's not sexually interested in them--his +type never is, because living a rigidly orthodox family life is part of +the effort towards respectability. He's backing them to 'pay his debt to +society'--in other words, they're talismans to keep him out of jail." + +"It doesn't seem like a very satisfactory substitute." + +"Of course it isn't," Joan had said. "The next thing he'll do is go in +for direct public service--giving money to hospitals or something like +that. You watch." + +She had been right; within the year, Braun had announced the founding of +an association for clearing the Detroit slum area where he had been +born--the plainest kind of symbolic suicide: _Let's not have any more +Abner Longmans Brauns born down here_. It depressed me to see it happen, +for next on Joan's agenda for Braun was an entry into politics as a +fighting liberal--a New Dealer twenty years too late. Since I'm mildly +liberal myself when I'm off duty, I hated to think what Braun's career +might tell me about my own motives, if I'd let it. + + * * * * * + +All of which had nothing to do with why I was prowling around the +_Ludmilla_--or did it? I kept remembering Anderton's challenge: "You +can't take such a gamble. There are eight and a half million lives +riding on it--" That put it up into Braun's normal operating area, all +right. The connection was still hazy, but on the grounds that any link +might be useful, I phoned him. + +He remembered me instantly; like most uneducated, power-driven men, he +had a memory as good as any machine's. + +"You never did send me that paper you was going to write," he said. His +voice seemed absolutely unchanged, although he was in his seventies now. +"You promised you would." + +"Kids don't keep their promises as well as they should," I said. "But +I've still got copies and I'll see to it that you get one, this time. +Right now I need another favor--something right up your alley." + +"CIA business?" + +"Yes. I didn't know you knew I was with CIA." + +Braun chuckled. "I still know a thing or two," he said. "What's the +angle?" + +"That I can't tell you over the phone. But it's the biggest gamble there +ever was, and I think we need an expert. Can you come down to CIA's +central headquarters right away?" + +"Yeah, if it's that big. If it ain't, I got lots of business here, Andy. +And I ain't going to be in town long. You're sure it's top stuff?" + +"My word on it." + +He was silent a moment. Then he said, "Andy, send me your paper." + +"The paper? Sure, but--" Then I got it. I'd given him my word. "You'll +get it," I said. "Thanks, Mr. Braun." + +I called headquarters and sent a messenger to my apartment to look for +one of those long-dusty blue folders with the legal-length sheets inside +them, with orders to scorch it over to Braun without stopping to breathe +more than once. Then I went back myself. + +The atmosphere had changed. Anderton was sitting by the big desk, +clenching his fists and sweating; his whole posture telegraphed his +controlled helplessness. Cheyney was bent over a seismograph, +echo-sounding for the egg through the river bottom. If that even had a +prayer of working, I knew, he'd have had the trains of the Hudson & +Manhattan stopped; their rumbling course through their tubes would have +blanked out any possible echo-pip from the egg. + +"Wild goose chase?" Joan said, scanning my face. + +"Not quite. I've got something, if I can just figure out what it is. +Remember One-Shot Braun?" + +"Yes. What's he got to do with it?" + +[Illustration] + +"Nothing," I said. "But I want to bring him in. I don't think we'll lick +this project before deadline without him." + +"What good is a professional gambler on a job like this? He'll just get +in the way." + +I looked toward the television screen, which now showed an amorphous +black mass, jutting up from a foundation of even deeper black. "Is that +operation getting you anywhere?" + +"Nothing's gotten us anywhere," Anderton interjected harshly. "We don't +even know if that's the egg--the whole area is littered with crates. +Harris, you've got to let me get that alert out!" + +"Clark, how's the time going?" + +Cheyney consulted the stopwatch. "Deadline in twenty-nine minutes," he +said. + +"All right, let's use those minutes. I'm beginning to see this thing a +little clearer. Joan, what we've got here is a one-shot gamble; right?" + +"In effect," she said cautiously. + +"And it's my guess that we're never going to get the answer by diving +for it--not in time, anyhow. Remember when the Navy lost a barge-load of +shells in the harbor, back in '52? They scrabbled for them for a year +and never pulled up a one; they finally had to warn the public that if +it found anything funny-looking along the shore it shouldn't bang said +object, or shake it either. We're better equipped than the Navy was +then--but we're working against a deadline." + +"If you'd admitted that earlier," Anderton said hoarsely, "we'd have +half a million people out of the city by now. Maybe even a million." + +"We haven't given up yet, colonel. The point is this, Joan: what we need +is an inspired guess. Get anything from the prob series, Clark? I +thought not. On a one-shot gamble of this kind, the 'laws' of chance are +no good at all. For that matter, the so-called ESP experiments showed us +long ago that even the way we construct random tables is full of +holes--and that a man with a feeling for the essence of a gamble can +make a monkey out of chance almost at will. + +"And if there ever was such a man, Braun is it. That's why I asked him +to come down here. I want him to look at that lump on the screen +and--play a hunch." + +"You're out of your mind," Anderton said. + + * * * * * + +A decorous knock spared me the trouble of having to deny, affirm or +ignore the judgment. It was Braun; the messenger had been fast, and the +gambler hadn't bothered to read what a college student had thought of +him fifteen years ago. He came forward and held out his hand, while the +others looked him over frankly. + +He was impressive, all right. It would have been hard for a stranger to +believe that he was aiming at respectability; to the eye, he was already +there. He was tall and spare, and walked perfectly erect, not without +spring despite his age. His clothing was as far from that of a gambler +as you could have taken it by design: a black double-breasted suit with +a thin vertical stripe, a gray silk tie with a pearl stickpin just +barely large enough to be visible at all, a black Homburg; all perfectly +fitted, all worn with proper casualness--one might almost say a formal +casualness. It was only when he opened his mouth that One-Shot Braun was +in the suit with him. + +"I come over as soon as your runner got to me," he said. "What's the +pitch, Andy?" + +"Mr. Braun, this is Joan Hadamard, Clark Cheyney, Colonel Anderton. I'll +be quick because we need speed now. A Polish ship has dropped something +out in the harbor. We don't know what it is. It may be a hell-bomb, or +it may be just somebody's old laundry. Obviously we've got to find out +which--and we want you to tell us." + +Braun's aristocratic eyebrows went up. "Me? Hell, Andy, I don't know +nothing about things like that. I'm surprised with you. I thought CIA +had all the brains it needed--ain't you got machines to tell you answers +like that?" + +I pointed silently to Joan, who had gone back to work the moment the +introductions were over. She was still on the mike to the divers. She +was saying: "What does it look like?" + +"It's just a lump of something, Dr. Hadamard. Can't even tell its +shape--it's buried too deeply in the mud." _Cloonk_ ... _Oing_, _oing_ +... + +"Try the Geiger." + +"We did. Nothing but background." + +"Scintillation counter?" + +"Nothing, Dr. Hadamard. Could be it's shielded." + +"Let us do the guessing, Monig. All right, maybe it's got a clockwork +fuse that didn't break with the impact. Or a gyroscopic fuse. Stick a +stethoscope on it and see if you pick up a ticking or anything that +sounds like a motor running." + + * * * * * + +There was a lag and I turned back to Braun. "As you can see, we're +stymied. This is a long shot, Mr. Braun. One throw of the dice--one +show-down hand. We've got to have an expert call it for us--somebody +with a record of hits on long shots. That's why I called you." + +"It's no good," he said. He took off the Homburg, took his handkerchief +from his breast pocket, and wiped the hatband. "I can't do it." + +"Why not?" + +"It ain't my _kind_ of thing," he said. "Look, I never in my life run +odds on anything that made any difference. But this makes a difference. +If I guess wrong--" + +"Then we're all dead ducks. But why should you guess wrong? Your hunches +have been working for sixty years now." + +Braun wiped his face. "No. You don't get it. I wish you'd listen to me. +Look, my wife and my kids are in the city. It ain't only my life, it's +theirs, too. That's what I care about. That's why it's no good. On +things that matter to me, _my hunches don't work_." + +I was stunned, and so, I could see, were Joan and Cheyney. I suppose I +should have guessed it, but it had never occurred to me. + +"Ten minutes," Cheyney said. + +I looked up at Braun. He was frightened, and again I was surprised +without having any right to be. I tried to keep at least my voice calm. + +"Please try it anyhow, Mr. Braun--as a favor. It's already too late to +do it any other way. And if you guess wrong, the outcome won't be any +worse than if you don't try at all." + +"My kids," he whispered. I don't think he knew that he was speaking +aloud. I waited. + +Then his eyes seemed to come back to the present. "All right," he said. +"I told you the truth, Andy. Remember that. So--is it a bomb or ain't +it? That's what's up for grabs, right?" + +I nodded. He closed his eyes. An unexpected stab of pure fright went +down my back. Without the eyes, Braun's face was a death mask. + +The water sounds and the irregular ticking of a Geiger counter seemed to +spring out from the audio speaker, four times as loud as before. I could +even hear the pen of the seismograph scribbling away, until I looked at +the instrument and saw that Clark had stopped it, probably long ago. + +Droplets of sweat began to form along Braun's forehead and his upper +lip. The handkerchief remained crushed in his hand. + +Anderton said, "Of all the fool--" + +"Hush!" Joan said quietly. + + * * * * * + +Slowly, Braun opened his eyes. "All right," he said. "You guys wanted it +this way. _I say it's a bomb._" He stared at us for a moment more--and +then, all at once, the Timkin bearing burst. Words poured out of it. +"Now you guys do something, do your job like I did mine--get my wife and +kids out of there--empty the city--do something, _do something_!" + +Anderton was already grabbing for the phone. "You're right, Mr. Braun. +If it isn't already too late--" + +Cheyney shot out a hand and caught Anderton's telephone arm by the +wrist. "Wait a minute," he said. + +"What d'you mean, 'wait a minute'? Haven't you already shot enough +time?" + +Cheyney did not let go; instead, he looked inquiringly at Joan and said, +"One minute, Joan. You might as well go ahead." + +She nodded and spoke into the mike. "Monig, unscrew the cap." + +"Unscrew the cap?" the audio squawked. "But Dr. Hadamard, if that sets +it off--" + +"It won't go off. That's the one thing you can be sure it won't do." + +"What is this?" Anderton demanded. "And what's this deadline stuff, +anyhow?" + +"The cap's off," Monig reported. "We're getting plenty of radiation now. +Just a minute-- Yeah. Dr. Hadamard, it's a bomb, all right. But it +hasn't got a fuse. Now how could they have made a fool mistake like +that?" + +"In other words, it's a dud," Joan said. + +"That's right, a dud." + +Now, at last, Braun wiped his face, which was quite gray. "I told you +the truth," he said grimly. "My hunches don't work on stuff like this." + +"But they do," I said. "I'm sorry we put you through the wringer--and +you too, colonel--but we couldn't let an opportunity like this slip. It +was too good a chance for us to test how our facilities would stand up +in a real bomb-drop." + +"A real drop?" Anderton said. "Are you trying to say that CIA staged +this? You ought to be shot, the whole pack of you!" + +"No, not exactly," I said. "The enemy's responsible for the drop, all +right. We got word last month from our man in Gdynia that they were +going to do it, and that the bomb would be on board the _Ludmilla_. As I +say, it was too good an opportunity to miss. We wanted to find out just +how long it would take us to figure out the nature of the bomb--which we +didn't know in detail--after it was dropped here. So we had our people +in Gdynia defuse the thing after it was put on board the ship, but +otherwise leave it entirely alone. + +"Actually, you see, your hunch was right on the button as far as it +went. We didn't ask you whether or not that object was a live bomb. We +asked whether it was a bomb or not. You said it was, and you were +right." + +The expression on Braun's face was exactly like the one he had worn +while he had been searching for his decision--except that, since his +eyes were open, I could see that it was directed at me. "If this was the +old days," he said in an ice-cold voice, "I might of made the colonel's +idea come true. I don't go for tricks like this, Andy." + +"It was more than a trick," Clark put in. "You'll remember we had a +deadline on the test, Mr. Braun. Obviously, in a real drop we wouldn't +have all the time in the world to figure out what kind of a thing had +been dropped. If we had still failed to establish that when the deadline +ran out, we would have had to allow evacuation of the city, with all the +attendant risk that that was exactly what the enemy wanted us to do." + +"So?" + +"So we failed the test," I said. "At one minute short of the deadline, +Joan had the divers unscrew the cap. In a real drop that would have +resulted in a detonation, if the bomb was real; we'd never risk it. That +we did do it in the test was a concession of failure--an admission that +our usual methods didn't come through for us in time. + +"And that means that you were the only person who did come through, Mr. +Braun. If a real bomb-drop ever comes, we're going to have to have you +here, as an active part of our investigation. Your intuition for the +one-shot gamble was the one thing that bailed us out this time. Next +time it may save eight million lives." + +There was quite a long silence. All of us, Anderton included, watched +Braun intently, but his impassive face failed to show any trace of how +his thoughts were running. + +When he did speak at last, what he said must have seemed insanely +irrelevant to Anderton, and maybe to Cheyney too. And perhaps it meant +nothing more to Joan than the final clinical note in a case history. + +"It's funny," he said, "I was thinking of running for Congress next year +from my district. But maybe this is more important." + +It was, I believe, the sigh of a man at peace with himself. + + +FIN + + + + +Transcriber's Note + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ August + 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of One-Shot, by James Benjamin Blish + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE-SHOT *** + +***** This file should be named 22958.txt or 22958.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/5/22958/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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