by Rick Raphael
shook it. Andstared again. The meter flicked placidly along at the barely-above-normalbackground level count.
"Hey, Jack," one of the other white-suited men on the far side of thecrater called, "this hole doesn't register a thing."
The squad chief stared incredulously at his counter and banged itagainst the side of the station wagon. Still the needle held in thenormal zone. He banged it harder and suddenly the needle dropped tozero as Hetty and her ranch hands peered over the AEC man's shoulder atthe dial.
"Now ain't that a shame," Barney said sympathetically. "You done brokeit."
The rest of the disaster squad, helmets off in the blazing sun andlead-coated suits unfastened, drifted back to the squad leader at theCircle T station wagon. A mile east, the rest of the AEC convoy hadarrived and halted in a huge fan of vehicles, parked a safe distancefrom the crater. A line of more white-suited detection experts movedcautiously forward.
With a stunned look, the first squad leader turned and walked slowlydown the road towards the approaching line. He stopped once and lookedback at the gaping hole, down at his useless counter, shook his headand continued on to meet the advancing units.
By nightfall, new strands of barbed wire reflected the last rays of thered Nevada sun. Armed military policemen and AEC security police inpowder-blue battle jackets, patrolled the fences around the county roadcrater. And around the fence that now enclosed the immediate vicinityof the Circle T ranch buildings. Floodlights bathed the wire and castan eerie glow over the mass of parked cars and persons jammed outsidethe fence. A small helicopter sat off to the right of the impromptuparking lot and an NBC newscaster gave the world a verbal descriptionof the scene while he tried to talk above the snorting of thegas-powered generator that was supplying the Associated Pressradio-telephone link to San Francisco.
Black AEC vans and dun colored military vehicles raced to and from theranch headquarters, pausing to be cleared by the sentries guarding themain gates.
The AP log recorded one hundred eighteen major daily papers using theAP story that afternoon and the following morning:
CARSON CITY, NEV., May 12 (AP)--A kiloton eggnog rocked the scientificworld this morning.
"On a Nevada ranch, forty miles east of here, 60-year-old MehatibelThompson is milking a cow that gives milk more powerful than an atomicbomb. Her chickens are laying the triggering mechanisms.
"This the world learned today when an earth-shaking explosionrocked...."
* * * * *
Inside the Circle T ranch house, Hetty, bathed and cleaned and onlyslightly the worse for her experiences, was hustling about the kitchenthrowing together a hasty meal. Johnny and Barney had swept up a hugepile of broken glass, crockery and dirt and Hetty had salvaged whatdishes remained unshattered by the blast.
She weaved through a dozen men grouped around the kitchen table, somein military or security police garb, three of them wearing the uniformof the atomic scientist in the field--bright Hawaiian sports shirts,dark glasses, blue denims and sneakers. Johnny and Barney huddledagainst the kitchen drainboard out of the main stream of traffic. Thefinal editions of the San Francisco _Call-Bulletin_, Oakland _Tribune_,Los Angeles _Herald-Express_ and the Carson City _Appeal_ were spreadout on the table. Hetty pushed them aside to put down dishes.
The glaring black headlines stared up at her. "Dairy DetonationDevastates Desert," the alliterative _Chronicle_ banner read; "Bossy'sBlast Rocks Bay Area," said the _Trib_; "Atomic Butter-And-Egg BlastJars LA," the somewhat inaccurate _Herald-Ex_ proclaimed; "ThompsonRanch Scene of Explosion," the _Appeal_ stated, hewing to solid facts.
"Mrs. Thompson," the oldest of the scientists said, "won't you pleaseput down those dishes for a few minutes and give us the straight story.All afternoon long its been one thing or another with you and all we'vebeen able to get out of you is this crazy milk-egg routine."
"Time enough to talk after we've all had a bite to eat," Hetty said,juggling a platter of steaks and a huge bowl of mashed potatoes to thetable. "Now we've all had a hard day and we can all stand to get on theoutside of some solid food. I ain't had a bite to eat since thismorning and I guess you boys haven't had much either. And since you'veseemed to have made yourselves to home here, then by golly, you'regoing to sit down and eat with us.
"Besides," she added over her shoulder as she went back to the stovefor vegetables and bread, "me 'n Johnny have already told you whatstory there is to tell. That's all there is to it."
She put more platters on the now-heaping table and then went around thetable pouring coffee from the big ranch pot. "All right, you men sitdown now and dig in," she ordered.
"Mrs. Thompson," an Army major with a heavy brush mustache said, "wedidn't come here to eat. We came for information."
Hetty shoved back a stray wisp of hair and glared at the man.
"Now you listen to me, you young whippersnapper. I didn't invite you,but since you're here, you'll do me the goodness of being a mite morepolite," she snapped.
The major winced and glanced at the senior scientist. The older manraised his eyes expressively and shrugged. He moved to the table andsat down. There was a general scuffling of chairs and the rest of thegroup took places around the big table. Johnny and Barney took theirusual flanking positions beside Hetty at the head of the board.
Hetty took her seat and looked around the table with a pleased smile."Now that's more like it."
She bowed her head and, after a startled glance, the strangers followedsuit.
"We thank Thee, dear Lord," Hetty said quietly, "for this food which weare about to eat and for all Your help to us this day. It's been alittle rough in spots but I reckon You've got Your reasons for all ofit. Seein' as how tomorrow is Your day anyway, we ask that it be just amite quieter. Amen."
The satisfying clatter of chinaware and silver and polite mutteredrequests for more potatoes and gravy filled the kitchen for the nextquarter of an hour as the hungry men went to work on the prime Circle Tyearling beef.
* * * * *
After his second steak, third helping of potatoes and gravy and fourthcup of coffee, the senior scientist contentedly shoved back from thetable. Hetty was polishing the last dabs of gravy from her plate with ascrap of bread. The scientist pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from hispocket.
"With your permission, m'am," he asked his hostess. Hetty grinned. "Forheaven's sake, fire it up, sonny. Big Jim--that was my husband--used tosay that no meal could be said properly finished unless it had beensmoked into position for digestion."
Several of the other men at the table followed suit with pipes, cigarsand cigarettes. Hetty smiled benignly around the table and turned tothe senior scientist.
"What did you say your name was, sonny?" she asked.
"Dr. Floyd Peterson, Mrs. Thompson," he replied, "and at forty-sixyears of age, I deeply thank you for that 'sonny'."
He reached for the stack of newspapers on the floor beside his chairand pushing back his plate, laid them on the table.
"Now, Mrs. Thompson, let's get down to facts," he rapped the headlineswith a knuckle. "You have played hell with our schedule and I've got tohave the answers soon before I have the full atomic commission and acongressional investigation breathing down my neck.
"What did you use to make that junior grade earthquake?"
"Why, I've already told you more'n a dozen times, sonny," Hettyreplied. "It must of been the combination of them queer eggs andSally's milk."
The brush-mustached major sipping his coffee, spluttered and choked.Beside him, the head of the AEC security force at Frenchman's Flatleaned forward.
"Mrs. Thompson, I don't know what your motives are but until I findout, I'm deeply thankful that you gave those news hounds this ... this,butter and egg business," he said.
"Milk and eggs," Hetty corrected him mildly.
"Well, milk and eggs, then. But the time has ended for playing games.We must know what caused that explosion and you and Mr. Cul
pepper andMr. Hatfield," he nodded to Johnny and Barney sitting beside Hetty,"are the only ones who can tell us."
"Already told you," Hetty repeated. Johnny hid a grin.
"Look, Mrs. Thompson," Dr. Peterson said loudly and with ill-concealedexasperation, "you created and set off an explosive force that dwarfedevery test we've made at Frenchman's Flat in four years. The force ofyour explosive was apparently greater than that of a fair-sized atomicdevice and only our Pacific tests--and those of the Russians--have beenany greater. Yet within a half hour or forty-five minutes after theblast there wasn't a trace of radiation at ground level, no