Ed M. Clinton

“ Meriwether continued, his face still set, "of our feeling that the Confederation has been eager to take on Terra. They've clearly been waiting for some positive advantage to offset our pure strength-in-numbers."
It was a touchable touching an untouchable. Both scientist and general were doing their own version of right.... Walker forced his eyes upward and stared at his superior. "Your tone says that such a war might be—"
"Unwelcome at this time. Unwelcome at this time." Meriwether shifted around in his chair, and scratched at its leather arms with the manicured tips of his gnarled fingers. ”

“ Walker stared at the typed statement on his desk. It was a decoded intelligence message from United Terra's prime agent in the Interplanetary Confederation, and it was very brief: the Confederation had developed a long-range neural weapon effectively cancelling out every armament development achieved by United Terra in fifteen years of a cold war that of late had become bitter cold. The all-but-autonomous colonies of Mars and Venus, united now for twenty years in an economic league, had been itching for independence for a quarter of a century. ”

“ Walker, I don't have to tell you that this weapon, if it is what our agent infers—and there is no reason to believe otherwise—that this weapon makes it impossible for us to go to war with the Confederation—unless, as Chief of Weapons Development, you can tell me that we have something in our arsenal to combat it. ”

“ You see, I've been involved in an expensive research program."
"Ah." Walker sat forward and smashed out his cigarette. "This may be important."
"Oh, it is, it is. But not, I am afraid, in the way you mean."
"You can never tell. What have you been doing?"
"Completing a unified theory of life. Why a crystal grows but isn't alive, why an organism that dies isn't like a crystal. What is the process we call life? What is its relationship to the space-time continuum—"
He said it so casually that Walker was caught off his guard completely. "Are you serious, Millet?" ”

“ They drank, and Walker said: "I feel a bit freer to say what I have come for."
"Shoot," nodded Millet, sipping his drink.
"For security reasons, I'll talk in generalities. But the basic fact is, United Terra is faced with a serious situation. It is most desirable that the research you were conducting when you left us, be continued."
"There are a lot of other capable physicists, both eager to be a part of such activity and blessed with security clearances."
"You know very well, Millet, that this was an unique, almost independent line of development that comes to a stop in your brain. ”

“ Besides," and suddenly he felt silly, "the lines of communication for research which might enable us to pick up where you left off, in time—too much time—are somewhat entangled in security." He glared. "Don't laugh, Millet; it's a fact of life which must be faced." ”

“ Others have contributed. Some pioneers long dead, some among the living." His eyes twinkled. "You see, important things beside the development of weapons of destruction do continue in the scientific world. Did you think that was the end of everything for me, ten years ago?" He shook his head in mock gravity. "It was just the beginning. I wanted out, you see."
"You wanted out?" Walker leaned forward, unwilling to believe what he had heard. "Are you trying to tell me that you arranged your discharge?"
Millet shrugged. "Why, of course. ”

“ Millet waved his pipe. "Good. Afterwards, you can stop beating around the bush, eh?"
"Yes, of course," mumbled Walker.
"You know," said Millet as he got up and went to a bookcase, "a man's got to earn a living. Do much reading?"
"Not these days. Used to." He scratched a cigarette on the sole of his shoe and inhaled hugely. "Not enough time these days for reading."
Millet reached into the bookcase and came out with a stack of magazines. "Well, that's how I make my living." He handed the stack to Walker. "Writing. ”

“ He turned, stamping angrily as he did so, and was startled to see a man, wearing work clothes and holding a pair of heavy soiled gloves in his left hand, standing on the ground by the end of the porch. ”