his salary was to be one hundred and twenty thousand a year plus all expenses. On his part he was to contribute freely of his services, and the product of his work was the property of the group.
"All that fine stuff is practically meaningless," said Ward hastily. "Actually we live here like one big family. One for all and all for one."
Bennion's lips narrowed. For his eyes roving the sheet picked out one line buried deep in the text. It was to the effect that he would live in guarded quarters and have no communication with the outside world except through the censorship of Ward himself. An inch below that he found the startling news that a hundred thousand of his annual salary was not to be paid until the end of the five-year period. Then it would be paid in stock! Bennion would have accepted a lot less — if it had been in cash. This contract was tricky and unfair.
"Before I sign anything," said Bennion, without revealing his thoughts. "I'd like to see your plant and how you work. Five years, you know is a long time."
For a moment Ward did hot look pleased. Then he forced a grin.
"Of course I can't expect a man as clever as you to sign up without seeing how you live or what you are to do," he said. "By all means look the place over. When you see the fascinating work laid out for you, you'll probably be willing to come with us for nothing but your keep. Look!"
He pointed to some heavy metal pigs in the corner — cylindrical chunks about three feet high and nearly that much across. One was gold, another silver, and the third a metal that Bennion did not at once recognize.
"We poured those yesterday. One is synthetic gold — think of it. Made out of an equal weight of common dirt dug from the hill here. Down in the vault we have an equal amount of pure metallic radium. That was this morning's run-off. This afternoon we are going to be bold. We intend to jump way up in the atomic table and try a really breath-taking piece of synthesis — Eka-Gold!"
"That ought to be pretty strongly radioactive," remarked Bennion.
"Violently so. Look, here is what Hallam computes its properties to be — liquid at ordinary temperatures, like mercury. Luminous and orange-colored. Then follows a long list of rays that are predicted to come out, and its half-life will be but a matter of a few days. Why, radium will be as harmless as putty compared to it."
"I would like to see it made," said Bennion. He would have felt a lot easier about being present at this daring attempt if he had Hallam's figures, for a quick once-over first. But he knew that that was out of the question. He would not be let into any deep secrets until after his name was on the dotted line.
"Here comes Carruthers," said Ward, glancing out the window. "I'll turn you over to him until we put the big show on."
It should have been a good lunch they had in the officers' dining room. Present also were Hallam, two lieutenants of the guard, an analytical chemist, and a couple of engineers from the power house. But though the food was excellent and well served, everyone wore a strained air. Hallam became so jittery he got up and stalked out of the room in the midst of the meal.
There was absolutely no effort made by any present to keep up a conversation. It made Bennion think of a bunch of condemned men waiting for their turn to do the last mile. But the depressing meal was soon over. Bennion, on the pretext of washing up, went to his room for last-minute preparations. He wanted to get that Anrad garment on next to his skin, for he had the growing conviction that there would be not a few casualties before the day was over.
While he was slipping his clothes off his mind flashed once at the tight spot he was in. It was a safe bet that he could not get out the gate now on any terms.
Bennion shrugged. A curious blend of scientific interest and plain curiosity drove him on. He drew on the tight fitting undersuit, and then proceeded to cover it with his ordinary clothes. It was hot and awkward to wear such a garment, but not so awkward as to be caught in a beam of fifth order Gamma rays without it. Bennion had seen more than one fried remnant of a man dragged out of a heavy lead suit.
"All set?" called Carruthers, through the door.
"Rarin' to go," replied Bennion, and went to meet him.
They ducked through the zig-zag opening that pierced the first barrier wall. From there they climbed to the foot of the iron stairway that lead up the side of the main building.
"How thick are those lead walls?" asked Bennion.
"A hundred feet," replied Carruthers in a matter-of-fact tone. "Not all of it is lead, only a foot on the outer face and nine for inside lining. The rest is barium concrete. Figuring barium cement at one tenth the resistance of lead, it comes out to twenty equivalent feet altogether. It stops most everything, though leaks do occur."
Bennion could only blink. He had worked on some grand conceptions, but nothing that equaled Ward's project. Either a madman or a genius had thought this one up, and Bennion had seen too little to be sure of which.
The square iron box at the top of the stairs proved to be a large locker room, subdivided into smaller compartments. An attendant handed Bennion a lab suit which bore a prominent number. He went into one of the booths, slipped off part of his ordinary clothes and into the lead armor. It was thicker and heavier than any he had seen. There was a radio-power pickup on the shoulders and a small motor box.
Bennion found that he could move about in the suit quite easily; due to some magic of inner levers and gears.
The helmet matched the suit. It was a straight globe, without eye-panes, and as blank in front as behind, except that two small horns stuck up out of the crown where the eye-panes would have been. After Bennion had it on, he found it a marvel of comfort, barring the feeling he was on stilts. For he saw through periscopes that ran up into the little horns. He heard and talked through regular helmet circuits. He found the air good and plentiful.
He joined the gang of robot-appearing monsters waiting at the yawning door to the inner passage. Like himself, each man there was numbered — for ready identification. They tested phones and found out who was who.
"Let's go," said Hallam, but his tone was more that of a man in desperation than of a man selected to make cosmic history. Without a word the metal monsters shambled after. Again they traversed a zig-zag tunnel through the mighty wall. At the end of it they did not come put into a great central hall, as Bennion expected they would, but to a "T". It was a transverse passage — a lateral running around the hall. Hallam and part of the men went one way, Carruthers and Bennion the other.
"Along here there are still nine feet of lead between us and it," said Carruthers in a tense, hushed way. The way he pronounced that fateful "it" was enough to make a man's skin crawl. There was awe and horror in his voice.
They went on, turned a corner, and started down a long passage. Halfway down it they came to another offshoot to the right. Carruthers slowed down as he approached, and at that point he came to a dead stop. Bennion looked at him curiously, for he seemed to be swaying on his feet. He put out a hand to steady him, but Carruthers brushed it off.
"I'm all right," he muttered thickly. "Just a little nervous, that's all. You get that way after awhile. Three more steps and we'll be in the booth, with nothing between us and it but shuttered lead-glass lookout ports. You'd better leave the shutters up and stick to the periscope."
"Okay," said Bennion. He was plenty nervous himself, but he wouldn't have admitted it.
Bennion heard Carruthers catch his breath with a quick panicky sob, and then the click
