“Do you suspect Eastern agent saboteurs, Master?” asked the Chief of A-Law Division.
“I do.” The Master inclined his head. “Since this meeting is strictly secret I can air my views freely without the fear of international repercussions. I suspect the East most strongly, yes, because war with that hemisphere is unpleasantly imminent. The Eastern Government, so our ambassador tells me, is becoming more vociferous every day in its demands for certain illegal claims to be met. However, it would obviously suit them perfectly if we could be thrown into a state of confusion by the subtle wrecking of our lines of communication and the morale of our people. Somewhere agents are at work with scientific equipment that eats away steel. I have reason to suspect one particular woman, but she alone cannot be responsible for such widely spaced incidents. She must be one of hundreds. Use every means in your power to detect these wreckers. We must get this thing stopped!”
With this admonition ringing in their ears, the men departed to their different sectors to formulate plans. All of them were worried, and the Master most of all since his was the major responsibility.
There was also a very worried man to the north of the city, and his troubles were not even remotely connected with steel.
Caleb Walsh was a master-agriculturist. Under his care, Government-controlled, were some thousands of acres of crops and foodstuffs in the raw state. He was also responsible for extra hard beechwood trees, which formed the basis of many things even in this age of metals and plastics. And, at the moment, it was an area of two-hundred beechwood saplings, nurtured by artificial sunlight and fertilizers, which was worrying him. The previous day he had been convinced they were thriving almost too well to be normal. Now, this morning, as he went on his rounds, he was sure of it. At the sound of smashing glass behind him he wheeled round and then fell back, astounded.
Four of the tender saplings had abruptly grown to titanic proportions and smashed their way through the lofty glass roof. It was impossible! Yet it was there.
Walsh went forward slowly, swallowing hard, staring up at the giants rearing through the broken glass. Their side branches, too, had thrust forth incredibly and smashed down all the young trees in the neighboring area.
So much Walsh took in and then he raced for a visiphone and lifted it with a hand that shook. He made a report in a cracked voice to the Controller for Agriculture. The Controller listened sympathetically because it was not the only report he had received that morning. From all parts of the country within a hundred-mile radius of the city, it appeared, news kept coming in of beech trees becoming mysteriously hypertrophied.
There was, for instance, a beech tree at an old-world farm some distance out of town. With his own eyes the astounded owner had seen it rear from a tiny sapling against the moonlight to a mammoth giant overshadowing his house. Being a somewhat old-fashioned man he wondered if, after all, there had been some truth in Jack and the Beanstalk.…
Once again, the Master found himself surrounded by his new set of problems and his face became grayer than ever as he tried to cope with them. That saboteurs could tamper with steel was a logical possibility, but that they could make beech trees grow to fantastic size within a period of minutes was neither logical nor sensible. No agent, surely, would waste time on such a fantastic and pointless diversion?
Inevitably, the facts about the beech trees leaked out, as did the news of collapsing buildings and dissolved railroad tracks. Clem Bradley heard the details when he arrived at the Cardew home in mid-morning. He, Buck, Lucy and Eva all listened to the information being given over the public broadcast.
“At the wish of the Master,” the announcer said, “the public is asked to keep calm in face of mysterious happenings around us. The collapse of the Mid-City Bridge has been followed by other incidents, equally peculiar, in which the steel girders of buildings and the permanent way of a main railroad track have been involved. Analysts are now at work on the problem and a speedy solution is anticipated. Another unusual item, which can hardly have any relation to the odd behavior of steel, is contained in a report from the Agricultural Controller in which he states that certain beechwood trees under his jurisdiction have suddenly assumed gigantic proportions. Various possibilities can be conjectured for these bizarre happenings, and—”
“We’ve more things to do than listen to this,” Buck said briefly, speaking above the announcer’s voice. “Did you manage to get here safely, Clem? You weren’t watched, or anything?”
“Of that I can’t be sure. I’m hoping for the best. Best thing we can do is whip along to the underground site and, once there, we can defy all-comers. I gather you had a visit from our zealous friend the guard during the night?”
Eva grimaced. “We certainly did. Fun and games were had by all.”
“He tackled me too, and got nothing out of it. But he did ask about some old-fashioned clothes, which I suppose were yours, Lucy?”
The girl nodded and Buck gave an anxious glance. “That’s the part I don’t like,” he said. “Once the Master takes a look at those clothes the inquiry will intensify and then we’ll be—”
“The answer to that is to get out while we can,” Clem interrupted. “You’ll have to do without your domestic help, Eva, I’m afraid.”
“Of course,” she assented, unable to disguise her relief at getting Lucy off the premises.
“You’d better get ready, Ancient,” Buck added. “Put on your overalls.”
Lucy nodded and then hurried away. Buck gave a thoughtful glance towards the public speaker. The announcements had now ceased.
“What do you make of things, Clem?” he asked, puzzled. “The queer antics of beech trees, for instance? Surely Eastern sabotage can’t be responsible for that?”
“Hardly,” Clem answered absently, and with an abstracted look in his eyes he watched Eva hand over to Buck one of her own belts.
“This do until I can get you a fresh one later today?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Buck grinned. “Even if I do feel a bit of a she-boy wearing it.”
He buckled it into place about the top of his trousers and Clem watched the proceeding with interest.
“What’s wrong with your own?” he questioned.
“Bust! Rotted away down the back for no reason. It went last night.”
“Oh?” Clem’s expression changed a little, but whatever he was intending to say did not materialize for at that moment Lucy came hurrying back, wrapped in her overalls.
“Right!” Buck said. “Let’s be on our way before it dawns on somebody to try and stop us. What about a car, Clem? Got one fixed?”
“Yes, it’s outside. My compensation claim was allowed right away and I’ve a far better car now than I had before. Come on.”
They took their leave of Eva and hurried outside, glancing to right and left along the traffic-way. There was no sign of official cars, and even less of watchers. They could not know, of course, that officialdom was concerning itself with the departure routes from town, along which people must pass to leave the city. Because of this, pinpointing of a suspect was unnecessary.
So, a little more confident, Clem settled at the car switchboard and started up the power. For the first few miles all went well, then he gave a grim glance at Buck as, ahead, there loomed an armed cordon guarding a barrier. Each autobus or pedestrian going through was being stopped, obviously for presentation of index-cards.
“Hell, we’ve driven right into it,” Buck muttered. “And no way back either,” he added, glancing at the stream of traffic banked up to the rear.
“Have to bluff our way through as best we can, that’s all,” Clem said. “No more than I expected would happen. We’ll get by — somehow.”