Cue for Quiet

by Thomas L Sherred

  "Exactly," and he reached for the cigarettes again. "It is not going to do any good by adding more fuel to your mental furnace, but it is only fair to tell you that the … elimination thing was more or less seriously discussed before you left Detroit."

  He didn't give me a chance to blow up, but raced on. "General Hayes and General Van Dorf are sensible men, dealing in material and sensible things. You are neither practical or sensible, in many ways, this being one. They, as well equipped as they are, are not prepared to cope with such a problem presented with such as you. I might add here, that neither is anyone else. What are you laughing at?"

  I couldn't help it. "The military mind at its best. First cross up the world by getting a weapon with no defense. Then when someone comes up with a defense for any weapon, including the weapon with no defense, they start turning back flips."

  "Take that idiotic grin off your face." Just the same, he thought it was rather comic, himself. "Neither of us are in the Armed Forces, so for the present we can talk and plan freely. If you think, Peter, that all this can be solved with prejudice and a smart remark, you're very, very wrong. The worst is yet to come."

  I asked him if I'd had a bed of roses, so far. "I don't think I could be much worse off than I've been so far. How would you like to be penned up-"

  "Penned up?" He snorted disgustedly. "You've had yourself a holiday, and you can't see it. Try to see the military, the legal point of view. Here is one person, Peter Ambrose Miller, one man and only one man, with the ability, the power, to cancel at one stroke every scientific advancement that armament has made in the past three thousand years."

  "And the big boys don't like it," I mused.

  "The little boys, as you use the word, won't like it, either," he said. "But, that's not the point. Not the point at all. The stem of the apple is this-what are we going to do with you?"

  "We?" I asked him.

  "We," he explained carefully, as to a baby, "is a generic term for the army, the navy, the government, the world in general. As long as you live, as long as you continue to be able to do the things you can do now, a gun or an airplane is so much scrap metal. But-only as long as you live!"

  * * * * *

  That I didn't like. "You mean that-"

  "Exactly what I said. As long as you're alive a soldier or a sailor might as well be a Zulu; useful for the length he can throw a spear or shoot an arrow, but useless as he now stands. There is no army, apparently, right now that is worth more than its body weight-again, as long as you live."

  "Do you have to harp on that?"

  "Why not? Do you want to live forever, or do you expect to?"

  He had me there. You bet I wanted to live forever. "Well?"

  He yanked pensively at his upper lip. "Two solutions; one, announce you to the world with a clang of cymbals and a roll of drums. Two, bury you someplace. Oh, figuratively speaking," he added hastily as he saw my face.

  "Solution one sounds good to me," I told him. "I could go home then."

  He made it quite clear that Solution One was only theoretical; he was firm about that. "Outside of rewriting all the peace treaties in existence, do you remember how our Congress huddled over the Bomb? Can you see Congress allowing you, can you see the General Staff agreeing to share you with, for example, a United Nations Commission? Can you?"

  No, I couldn't.

  "So," with a regretful sigh, "Solution One leaves only Solution Two. We'll grant that you must be kept under cover."

  I wondered if Stein was somewhere at the earphones of a tape recorder. For someone with as big a job as the old man likely had, it seemed that we were talking fairly freely. He went on.

  "And that Solution Two has within itself another unsolved problem; who watches you, and who watches the watchers?"

  That didn't matter to me, and I said so.

  "I suppose not to you, but it would matter to the army, and it would matter to the navy, and when J. Edgar Hoover gets around to thinking about it, it will matter to the FBI."

  "So what? Would I get a choice?"

  * * * * *

  He was curious for a moment. "Would you want one?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. I had a uniform once. The FBI go to college and take off their hats in the house, but they're still cops, and I don't like cops. Don't look at me like that; you wouldn't like cops either, if you made less than a couple of hundred a week. Nobody does. So I'm prejudiced against everybody, and just what difference does it make?"

  "Not a great deal. I was just curious." He was honest, anyway. "But you can see the possibilities, or the lack of them."

  "Look," and I got up to take as many steps as the cabin would allow. "This is where we came in. We could talk all day and get no further. All I want to know is this-what's going to happen to me, and when, and where?"

  He followed me with his steady eyes. "Well, at the immediate moment, I'm afraid that-" He hesitated.

  "I'm afraid that, quick like a bunny, you're going to have one solid headache if we don't quit using the same words over and over again. Here I am stuck in the middle of all the water in the world, and I'm tired, and I'm disgusted, and I'm starting to get mad. You're trying to smother my head in a pillow, I've got nothing but a first-class run-around from you and everyone I've seen, who has been one man named Bob Stein. I see nothing, I know less, I get cold shoulders and hot promises."

  I sailed right on, not giving him a chance to slide in one word. "Why, there must be ten thousand men and maybe some women right upstairs, and who knows how many within a few miles from here, and do I get to even pass the time of day with any of them? Do I? You bet your sweet life I don't!"

  "There aren't any women within miles of here, except nurses, and maybe a reporter, and I'm not sure about that."

  "Nurses and reporters are human, aren't they?"

  Had he found a chink in the armor? He frowned. "Is it women you want?"

  "Sure, I want women!" I flared at him. "I want a million of them! I want Esther Williams and Minnie Mouse and anyone else that looks good to me. But I don't want them on a silver platter with a gilt chain. I want them when I want them-my wife and the waitress at Art's, and the beer I used to drink would taste a lot better than the beer you said I'd get and never seen!"

  * * * * *

  The Smith stood up and I sat down. "Women and beer. Anything else?"

  "Sure," I snapped at him. "Women and beer and traffic piled up on Gratiot and the same double feature at all the movies in town-" I got a look at him. I felt silly. "All right, take out the needle. You win."

  He was a gentleman. He didn't laugh. "Win? Yes, I suppose I win." Before I could think of anything else to say, he was gone.

  [Illustration]

  [Illustration]

  PART II

  Smith knocked early the next morning when Stein was still clearing the breakfast coffee. For that time of day he was disgustingly happy.

  "The customary greeting, I believe, is good morning, is it not?"

  I gulped the rest of my cup. "Yeah. What's on your mind?"

  He sat down and waved away Stein's wordless offer of a cup. "How would we like to take a little trip?"

  We. The editorial we. "Why not?"

  "This little trip-how would you like to go back home for awhile?"

  "Home?" I couldn't believe my ears, and I stared at him.

  He'd made a slip, and he was sorry. "I meant, back Stateside."

  I slumped back in my chair. "Then you heard me the first time. What's the difference?"

  "Quite a bit of difference. No, Stein, you stay here. We're all in this together."

  "Sure," I said. "Stick around. I'm the last one to find out what's going on around here."

  He didn't appreciate my sarcasm. "I wouldn't say that, Peter."

  "Forget it. What's the story?"

  "We want you to go back where we can run some tests, this time as comprehensive as we can arrange."

  I couldn't see why what we'd done wouldn't be enough. "Don't tell me you hav
e more than the Bomb up your sleeve."

  No, it wasn't like that. "There aren't more than four or six that know anything but that the Bomb was set off prematurely because of motor failure on the drone. The general knowledge is that it was just another test in routine fashion. But, as I said, there are a few that know the truth. They think it desirable that you be examined scientifically, and completely."

  "Why?" I felt ornery.

  He knew it, and showed a little impatience. "Use your head, Peter. You know better than that. We know you're unique. We want to know why, and perhaps how, perhaps, your ability can be duplicated."

  That appealed to me. "And if you can find out what makes me tick I can go back to living like myself again?" I took his silence for assent. I had to. "Good. What do I do, and when?"

  He shrugged. "Nothing, yet. You'll go to … well, let's call it college. It shouldn't take too long. A week, maybe, maybe two, or four, at the most."

  "Then what?"

  He didn't know. We'd talk about that later. Okay with me. If a doctor could find out how I was whistling chords, all well and good. If not-could I be any worse off?

  "Then it's settled. We'll leave today, if it can be arranged, and I feel sure it can. Robert-" to Stein-"if you'll come with me we'll try to make the necessary arrangements." Stein left, and Smith left, and I got up and looked into the mirror. I needed a shave again.

  * * * * *

  My college didn't have a laboratory worth counting when I went to school. We'd had a stadium, and a losing football team instead. Now the balding, bearded physicists sat in the front row when the appropriations were spooned out. I suppose that's all for the better. I really wouldn't know. The old fellow that met us at the front door looked like an airedale, and like an airedale he sniffed all around me before getting into combat range.

  "So you're Peter Miller!"

  "That's my name," I admitted. I wondered what all the dials and the gadgets were for. It looked to me like the front end of one of these computers I used to see in the magazines.

  "I'm Kellner. You must be Stein, right? Never mind your coats. Just follow me," and off he trotted, and we trailed him into a bare office with what looked like the equipment of a spendthrift dentist.

  "You sit here," and he waved at a straightbacked chair. I sat down, Stein shifted nervously from one foot to the other, and in a moment Kellner came back with a dozen others. He didn't bother to introduce any of them. They all stood off and gaped at who'd killed Cock Robin.

  Kellner broke the silence. "Physical first?" There was a general nod. "Physical, psychological, then-we'll come to that later." To Stein: "Want to come along? Rather wait here? This is going to take some time, you know."

  Stein knew that. He also wanted to come along. Those were his orders.

  I felt self-conscious taking off my clothes in front of that ghoulish crew. The sheet they left me kept off no drafts, and I felt like a corpse ready for the embalmer, and likely appeared one. Stethoscope, a scale for my weight, a tape for my arm and the blood pressure, lights that blinked in my eyes and bells that rang in my ear … when they were finished with me I felt like a used Tinker-Toy.

  "Do I pass? Will I live?"

  Kellner didn't like juvenile humor. He turned me over to another group who, so help me, brought out a box of children's blocks to put together, timing me with a stopwatch. They used the same stopwatch to time how long it took me to come up with answers to some of the silliest questions I ever heard outside of a nursery. Now I know why they label well the patients in an insane asylum. The man with the watch galloped off and came back with Kellner and they all stood around muttering. The sheet and I were sticking to the chair.

  "Kellner. Doctor Kellner!" They didn't like me to break up the kaffeeklatch. "Can I go now? Are you all through?"

  "All through?" The airedale changed to a cackling Rhode Island Red. "Joseph, you are just beginning."

  "My name isn't Joseph, Dr. Kellner. It's Miller. Peter Ambrose Miller."

  "Excuse me, Peter," and he cackled again. "Nevertheless, you're going to be here quite awhile."

  Peter, hey? No more, Mr. Miller. Pete to my wife, Peter to my mother, and Peter to every school teacher I ever had.

  * * * * *

  They conferred awhile longer and the party broke up. Kellner and a gawkish Great Dane led me sheet and all to what I thought would be the operating room. It looked like one. I found a chair all by myself this time, and watched them hook up an electric fan. They were hipped on fans, I thought.

  Kellner trotted over. "Stop that fan." Not, please stop that fan. Just, stop that fan.

  I shivered ostentatiously. "I'm cold."

  Kellner was annoyed. "Perfectly comfortable in here." Sure, you old goat, you got your pants on. "Come, let's not delay. Stop the fan."

  I told him I was still cold, and I looked at the fan. It threw sparks, and the long cord smoked. I was going to fix those boys.

  The other man yanked the cord from the wall, and from the way he sucked his fingers, it must have been hot. Kellner was pleased at that. He ignored the man's sore fingers and snarled at him until he brought out some dry cells and hooked them in series to a large bell, almost a gong. He pressed the button and it clanged.

  "All right," and Kellner motioned imperiously to me. "No point in fooling. We know you can make it stop ringing. Now, go ahead and ring the bell."

  I looked at him. "Make the bell ring what?"

  "What?" He was genuinely puzzled. "What's this?"

  "I said make the bell ring what?" He stared blankly at me. "And you heard me the first time!" He shot an astonished glance at Stein. "Oh, hell!" I got up and started out, trailing my sheet. I almost stumbled over Stein, who was right at my shoulder.

  "Here, what's this?" Kellner was bouncing with excitement.

  I turned on him. "Listen you; I said I was cold. Not once, but twice I said I was cold. Now, blast it, I want my clothes, and I want them now. Right now!" The airedale became a fish out of water. "Do I look like a ten-year-old in to get his tonsils out? I ask you a civil question and you smirk at me, you tell me to do this and you tell me to do that and never a please or a thank you or a kiss my foot. Don't pull that Doctor write the prescription in Latin on me, because I don't like it! Catch?" Stein was right on my heel when I headed for the door.

  Poor Stein was wailing aloud. "Pete, you can't do this! Don't you know who Doctor Kellner is?"

  "One big healthy pain!" I snapped at him. "Does he know who I am? I'm Pete Miller, Mister Miller to him or to anyone but my friends. I want my pants!"

  Stein wrung his hands and slowed me down as much as I would let him. "You just can't get up and walk out like that!"

  "Oh, no?" I came to a full stop and leered at him. "Who's going to stop me?"

  That's the trouble with the doctors and lawyers and technical boys; they're so used to talking over people's heads they can't answer a civil question in less than forty syllables. Keep all the secrets in the trade. Write it in Latin, keep the patient in the dark, pat his head and tell him papa knows best.

  When Kellner caught up with us he had help. "Here, here, my man. Where do you think you are going?"

  I wished he was my age and forty pounds heavier. "Me? I'm getting out of here. And I'm not your man and I never will be. When you can admit that, and not act like I'm a set of chalkmarks on a blackboard, send me a letter and tell me about it. One side, dogface!"

  One big fellow, just the right size, puffed out his cheeks. "Just whom do you think you are addressing?"

  Whom. I looked him over. I never did like people who wore van Dyke goatees. I put whom and van Dyke on the floor. It was a good Donnybrook while it lasted. The last thing I remember was the gong in the next room clanging steadily while Stein, good old Stein, right in there beside me was swinging and yelling, "Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"

  I woke up with another headache. When I sat up with a grunt and looked around I saw Stein and his nose four inches from a mirror, gingerly trying hi
s tongue against his front teeth. I snickered. He didn't like that, and turned around.

  "You don't look so hot yourself."

  He was right. I couldn't see much out of my left eye. We grinned at each other. "Right in there pitching, weren't you?"

  He shrugged. "What did you expect me to do?"

  "Run for help," I told him. "Or stand there and watch me get a going over."

  "Sure." He looked uncomfortable. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you."

  "So you did." I thought back. "What happened to Whom when I addressed him properly?"

  It must have hurt his cheek when he tried to smile. "Still out, at last report. You know, Pete, you have a fairly good left-and a lousy temper."

  I knew that. "I just got tired of getting pushed around. Besides, with no pants I was stuck to that chair."

  "Probably." His tongue pushed gently against his sore lip. "You think that was the right way to go about making things better?"

  Maybe not. But did he have any better ideas?

  He wasn't sure, but he didn't think a laboratory was just the right place for a brawl.

  "Just why I started it. Now what?"

  He didn't know that either. "Kellner is having hysterics, and I just made some phone calls."

  If the Old Man showed up I had some nice words ready to use. "Now we might get some action."

  Stein gave me a sour look. "Not necessarily the kind you'll like. I'll be back after I try to talk some sense into Kellner."

  "Hey!" I yelled after him. "Where's my pants?"

  "Back in a few minutes," he tossed over his shoulder; "make yourself comfortable," and he left.

  * * * * *

  Comfortable with a cot and a mirror and a washbowl. I washed my face and lay on the cot with a washrag soaked in cold water on my throbbing eye. I must have dozed off. When I woke the Old Man was standing over me. I sat up and the rag fell off my eye.

  "What's cooking, Bossman?"