When They Come from Space Read Free Page B

course I insisted to each one of them that a mistake had been made, that I was the wrong man, that I should be turned away and not allowed to see Dr. Kibbie, and that may have hurried the process of letting me through.
    When I grew especially vehement with the Secretary that they were all making a mistake and would regret it, he shuffled through the remaining papers in a hurry, stood up, and walked over to open The Door.
    Against my will, I liked Dr. Kibbie as soon as I stepped inside his office. He was rushed, but he was cordial. It was evident he had a thousand things on his mind, but he was willing to give me that thousandth part of his mind which was my rightful share.
    He was about twenty years older than I, around fifty-eight to sixty, I'd say. I'm tall and thin, he was short and round. I'm dark-haired and can still wear it in the young-blade fashion of the day; he was shiny bald with a gray fringe around the sides and back. I'm inclined to be a little dour at times, so they tell me; he was as phony happy and bouncy as a marriage counselor—and, at once, I suspected he was about as useful.
    He had that open enthusiasm, that frank revealment of the superior con-man, as he told me all about his department and its four hundred employees.
    Four hundred employees to do research on life forms which hadn't yet been discovered. I, personally, wouldn't have known what to do with them all, but this was government. They were all working like little beavers on fancy charts and graphs, statistics and analyses—covering something which doesn't exist—which is about par for government, which models its approach to reality from the academic.
    Mainly because I couldn't find a pause to interrupt, I let him finish the quick once-over of his department, since it was apparent he liked to talk about all the wonderful things they were thinking of doing. Then I dropped my bomb.
    I wasn't the right man for the job—whatever it might be!
    Apparently that thousandth part of his mind he was giving me wasn't enough for him to grasp that I meant I was the wrong Kennedy.
    "Now, now, now, Dr.!” he chattered absently, hurriedly, and bounced out of his executive chair to pace about the room. “We haven't time for the usual polite self-deprecations. All very commendable, of course. Shows you had the proper training. Gives me confidence in you. Understand your reluctance to succeed where the rest of us have failed. Natural teamwork spirit. Commendable, most commendable. Ah yes, better to fail and keep the approval of your fellow scientists than to succeed and make enemies of them.
    "Proper attitude. Most acceptable. Proud to have you on my team, Dr. Kennedy. Knew you were just the man. Knew that right away."
    I leaned my elbow on his desk and braced my head with my hand. Too late, I realized what my procedure should have been. I should have told him I was eager for the job, just had to have it. That would have made him judiciously consider and reject me. I should have done it with Space Navy. Then they'd have been sure to find some reason why I couldn't make the grade.
    "...proper humility, modesty,” Kibbie was still rambling along. He whirled around and shook an admonitory finger at me, which made me lift my head again. “But that's all out now. For the duration. Can't afford to fail this time. Not even if the other scientists get peed off with you for admitting that you know whatever it is you know. In a war emergency, individuals have to rise to self-sacrifice. Martyrdom!"
    He beamed upon me proudly from the center of the room, where his feet had been following the intricate design of the rug, and struck a pose which might have appeared noble had not his round stomach, short legs, and pink complexion reminded me so much of a Kewpie doll won at a carnival booth.
    "What war emergency?” I was finally able to get down to the question.
    "Why—ah—” He looked startled, and then came to a quick recapitulation of my state of ignorance. For a