Tomorrow Is Too Far Read Free Page A

hard to establish his ineffectual, milk-and-watery character, telling himself that he had, after all, a very responsible job and that it did not really matter if his Superman rig was permanently hidden under a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows.
    As a result he was now treated by the majority of the company’s twelve thousand-odd personnel with a mixture of amusement, irritation and dislike--the ingredients varying in strength and quantity in direct relation to his activities at the time--while his men were looked on as something between members of the company Gestapo and characters out of Gilbert and Sullivan.
    They were the stupid, petty-minded officials who refused to allow a boy who had scarcely begun to shave to visit his girl during lunch-break in another part of the factory, just because his identity tag did not have the proper endorsements. When the level of pilfering rose above acceptable limits they subjected the workers to the monstrous indignity of opening the boots of their cars, causing a traffic pile-up at the gates and making everyone late for tea. And if a couple of windows were left open or a door left unlocked or, best of all, a cigarette left smouldering, the members of Carson’s Gestapo would become quite shrewish and a memo dripping with verbal acid would arrive on the department head’s desk first thing next morning...
    As usual, Carson thought angrily, his day-dream was turning into a nightmare. The real source of his trouble lay in the fact that, despite the aura of authority, danger and intrigue which was supposed to surround a chief security officer, he had one of the most boring jobs imaginable. He knew this and accepted it most of the time.
    But was he now finding it necessary to manufacture and chase will-o’-the-wisps like the ultra-secret space-drive project he had uncovered? Probably there was a simple explanation for the evidence he had found--provided it was considered separately, item by item, and not twisted into fantastic shapes to make it all fit together.
    Angrily he reached for the first item in his tray, determined to tranquillise himself with an overdose of routine. It was an application for permission to visit the guided weapons production line, the rocket engine test area and the module assembly building by a reporter and photographer from one of the dailies. The purpose of the visit was stated as gathering material for an illustrated feature on the Hart-Ewing contribution to the nation’s aerospace industry. Simpson of the publicity department would escort the two newsmen during the visit.
    The missile which they wanted to see being produced had been sold to so many different countries that the only thing secret about it was the name of the next customer, and the country concerned had already leaked even that for political reasons. The rocket engine test area did not worry him either--there was nothing to see but a lot of unclassified smoke and flames. In the module assembly area there were a few places which would have to be avoided for reasons of commercial rather than military security, certain processes which should not be photographed.
    Simpson was aware of these places and would co-operate by avoiding them. Unlike Simpson, the majority of people at Hart-Ewing’s did not co-operate or volunteer information or offer helpful advice to the security department. That was why Carson was becoming so curious about the Pebbles business.
    Curious but not suspicious.
     

Chapter Three
     
    When he arrived for lunch Silverman was nowhere in sight, but Bill Savage was sitting at an otherwise empty table for four so he joined him. A few moments later Savage said, ‘Please do.’
    Carson grinned and said, ‘Thank you. I’m expecting company but before he comes I wonder if you could give me some information about an employee. I should ask one of your clerks instead of bothering you with it, but this isn’t official--I’m simply curious. The man’s name is