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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: 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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