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Steve turned to Barby. "I think you'll enjoy it, because the girl is just your age, and she's a very friendly and pleasant young lady." Barby looked pleased and excited. "What's her name?" "Janice. Janice Miller." "Is the scientist Dr. Walter Miller by any chance?" Hartson Brant asked quickly. "Exactly right. Do you know him?" "Not personally.
Rick and Scotty sat on a library table, while the scientists occupied the few library chairs. Steve Ames sat on Hartson Brant's desk and acted as chairman for the informal session. By mutual agreement, the girls had been excluded. Jan was nearly in a state of shock over what had happened to Marks.
"I would need to examine the machine, but in theory any gadget that fits over the head could be adapted for proper placement of electrodes. The recorder would be difficult to hide, however, unless it was in another room." Rick sank back and looked at Scotty. No wonder the barber had wanted to give a treatment to Hartson Brant.
I'll tell Mike to put distance between him and you as fast as he can." "All right, Steve." There seemed to be no other way. Rick turned to his father and Winston, and repeated the conversation. "He's right, Hartson," Winston said. "You're in good enough shape to travel. Better get packed." The cyberneticist looked at Rick. "What did you call the enemy gadget? A mind reader? That's an odd name."
The boys stood silent for a few minutes; then, by unspoken agreement, turned and went back into the house. Hartson Brant came down the stairs, dressed in a suit, with white shirt and tie. Rick stared at him. "Going somewhere, Dad?" "Yes. Parnell Winston has disturbed me deeply, with the implications of his theory. I'm going to pay a call on an old friend in Newark, an associate of Chavez.
The final product will be the equations with which the technologists can begin actual system design. In other words, we are working only on the first theoretical step." "But the newspaper article said the scientists were affected by a gadget," Scotty objected. "The article was wrong. Paper covered with mathematical computations can scarcely affect anyone," Hartson Brant said decisively.
He must want us there." "But why?" Barby demanded. "You're not rocket experts. Why, even when we had the moon rocket here, you didn't work on the rocket itself." That was perfectly true. Rick shrugged. "You know as much as we do, Sis." Hartson Brant stirred his coffee thoughtfully. "I have a hunch," he said. "From the tone of the wire, I suspect John is in some kind of difficulty.
Mohammed Bartouki had assured the scientist that he would look forward to meeting the young people of Dr. Hartson Brant's household. The door was opened by a figure right out of The Arabian Nights, or so it seemed to the young people. The doorman was a huge Negro dressed in flowing red trousers that tucked in at the ankles. His sandals turned up in points at the front, Persian style.
Hartson Brant had decided it was more convenient to have a car available for use at all times than to depend on taxis, or on friends. The local sporting goods store had a good stock of equipment and Barby was able to purchase what she wanted without difficulty.
"The Egyptians are short of technicians and we may need help. I'll leave the day after Christmas, returning within ten days. If you two can pay half your expenses, and help me half the time, I'll take you with me." Both boys jumped to their feet. Rick looked anxiously at his father. Hartson Brant smiled.
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