by Rick Raphael
second as the fire surged and then winked out. Thesudden darkness blinded them despite the unchanged power of thetelevision and military floodlights still focused on the yard.Pandemonium erupted from the ranks of newsmen and photographers who hadwitnessed the dazzling demonstration.
Peterson stared in awe at the slightly smoking and warped pie tin."Well, cut out my tongue and call me Oppenheimer," he exclaimed.
"That was just the milk," Johnny said. "You know of a good safe placewe could try it out with one of those eggs? I'd be afraid to test 'emanywhere around here after what happened to Hetty this morning."
* * * * *
An hour later, a military helicopter chewed its way into the night,carrying three gallons of Sally's milk from the ranch to Nellis AFBwhere a jet stood ready to relay the sealed cannister to the AEClaboratories at Albuquerque.
In the ranch house living room Peterson had set up headquarters and anArmy field telephone switchboard was in operation across the room.
An AEC security man was running the board. Hetty had decided that oneearthquake a day was enough and had gone to bed. Barney bewildered buthappily pleased at so much company, sat on the edge of a chair andavidly watched and listened, not understanding a thing he saw or heard.At the back of the room, Johnny hunched over Big Jim Thompson'sroll-top desk, working up a list of supplies he would need to repairthe damages from the week's growing list of explosions.
Peterson and three of his staff members were in lengthy consultation ata big table in the middle of the room. The Army field phone atPeterson's elbow jangled.
Across the room, the switchboard operator swung around and called:"It's the commissioner, Dr. Peterson. I just got through to him."Peterson picked up the phone.
"John," he shouted into the instrument, "Peterson here. Where have youbeen?" Tinny, audible squawks came from the phone and Peterson held itaway from his ear.
"Yes, I know all about it," he said. "Yes ... yes ... yes. I knowyou've had a time with the papers. Yes, I heard the radio. Yes, John, Iknow it sounds pretty ridiculous. What? Get up to the ranch and findout. Where do you think I'm calling from?"
The squawking rattled the receiver and Peterson winced.
"Look, commissioner," he broke in, "I can't put a stop to thosestories. What? I said I can't put a stop to the stories for one reason.They're true."
The only sound that came from the phone was the steady hum of the line.
"Are you there, John?" Peterson asked. There was an indistinct mumblefrom Washington. "Now listen carefully, John. What I need out here justas quickly as you can round them up and get them aboard a plane is thebest team of biogeneticists in the country.
"What? No, I don't need a team of psychiatrists, commissioner. I amperfectly normal." Peterson paused. "I think!"
He talked with his chief for another fifteen minutes. At two othertelephones around the big table, his chief deputy and the seniorsecurity officer of the task force handled a half dozen calls duringPeterson's lengthy conversation. When Peterson hung up, the machinerywas in motion gathering the nation's top biochemists, animalgeneticists, agricultural and animal husbandry experts and a baker'sdozen of other assorted -ists, ready to package and ship them by planeand train to the main AEC facility at Frenchman's Flat and to theCircle T.
Peterson sighed gustily as he laid down the phone and reached for hispipe. Across the table, his assistant put a hand over the mouthpiece ofhis telephone and leaned towards Peterson.
"It's the Associated Press in New York," he whispered. "They're hotterthan a pistol about the blackout and threatening to call the Presidentand every congressman in Washington if we don't crack loose withsomething."
"Why couldn't I have flunked Algebra Two," Peterson moaned. "No, I hadto be a genius. Now look at me. A milkmaid." He looked at his watch."Tell 'em we'll hold a press conference at 8:00 a.m. outside the ranchgate."
The assistant spoke briefly into the phone and again turned toPeterson. "They say they want to know now whether the milk and eggstory is true. They say they haven't had anything but an officialrunaround and a lot of rumor."
"Tell them we neither deny nor confirm the story. Say we areinvestigating. We'll give them a formal statement in the morning,"Peterson ordered.
He left the table and walked to the desk where Johnny was finishing hislist of building supplies.
"What time do you usually get those eggs?" he asked.
"Well, as a rule, Hetty gets out and gathers them up about nine eachmorning. But they've probably been laid a couple of hours earlier.
"That's going to make us awfully late to produce anything for thosebabbling reporters," the scientist said.
"Come to think of it," Johnny said thoughtfully, "we could rig up alight in the chicken house and make the hens lay earlier. That way youcould have some eggs about four or five o'clock in the morning."
Barney had been listening.
"And them eggs make a mighty fine breakfast of a morning," hevolunteered cheerfully. Peterson glared at him and Johnny grinned.
"I think the doctor wants the golden kind," he said with a smile.
"Oh, them," Barney said with a snort of disgust. "They wouldn't make anomelet fit for a hog. You don't want to fuss with them, doc."
* * * * *
Under Johnny's direction, a crew of technicians ran a power line intothe slightly-wrecked chicken house. There were loud squawks ofindignation from the sleeping hens as the men threaded their waythrough the nests. The line was installed and the power applied. Aone-hundred-fifty-watt bulb illuminated the interior of the chickenhouse to the discordant clucking and cackling of the puzzled birds.
Solomon, the big rooster, was perched on a crossbeam, head tucked underhis wing. When the light flooded the shed he jerked awake and fasteneda startled and unblinking stare at the strange sun. He scrambledhastily and guiltily to his feet and throwing out his great chest,crowed a shrieking hymn to Thomas A. Edison. Johnny chuckled as thetechnicians jumped at the sound. He left the hen house, went back tothe house and to bed.
He set his alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. and dropped immediately into adeep and exhausted sleep.
When he and the sleepy-eyed Peterson went into the chicken house at4:30, there were eleven of the golden eggs resting on the straw nests.
They turned the remainder of the normal eggs over to Hetty who whippedup a fast and enormous breakfast. While Peterson and Johnny wereeating, a writing team of AEC public information men who had arrivedduring the night, were polishing a formal press release to be given tothe waiting reporters at eight. The phones had been manned throughoutthe night. Peterson's bleary-eyed aide came into the kitchen andslumped into a chair at the table.
"Get yourself a cup of coffee, boy," Hetty ordered, "while I fix yousomething to eat. How you like your eggs?"
"Over easy, Mrs. Thompson and thanks," he said wearily. "I think I'vegot everything lined up, doctor. The eggs are all packed, ready to goin your car and the car will be ready in about ten minutes. They'restill setting up down range but they should be all in order by the timeyou get there.
"The bio men and the others should be assembled in the main briefingroom at range headquarters. I've ordered a double guard around thebarn, to be maintained until the animal boys have finished theiron-the-ground tests. And they're padding a device van to take Sally tothe labs when they're ready.
"And ... oh yeah, I almost forgot ... the commissioner called about tenminutes ago and said to tell you that the Russians are going to make aformal protest to the U.N. this morning. They say we're trying to wipeout the People's Republic by contaminating their milk."
The sound of scuffling in the yard and loud yells of protest camethrough the back porch window. The door swung open and a splutteringand irate Barney was thrust into the room, still in the clutches of apair of armed security policemen.
"Get your hands offn me," Barney roared as he struggled and squirmedimpotently in their grip. "Doc, tell these pist
ol-packing bellhops toturn me loose."
"We caught him trying to get into the barn, sir," one of the officerstold Peterson.
"Of course I was going into the barn," the indignant ranch handscreamed. "Where'd you think I would go to milk a cow?"
Peterson smiled. "It's all right, Fred. It's my fault. I should havetold you Mr. Hatfield has free access."
The security men released Barney. He shook himself and glared at them.
"I'm terribly, sorry, Barney," Dr. Peterson said. "I forgot that youwould be going down to milk the cows and I'm glad you reminded
