"Yeh. It was supposed to go into orbit around Jupiter. I wouldn't be surprised if maybe it didn't land on Ganymede; the people there could have examined it, figured out where it came from, and then radioed us on the same frequency the rocket transmitter used. Paper doesn't say that, of course, but it's a reasonable hypothesis."
"Freddy, I think you must be a genius or sumpin'."
Freddy smiled and stretched out to sleep again as Willy wandered off, staring blankly at the newspaper.
Carlton Jones, America's Number One personnel specialist, scowled at the pamphlet on his desk.
SECRET, it said in big red letters across the top and bottom. Special Instructions for Operation Space Case, said the smaller letters across the middle of the top sheet.
"Now I ask you, Dwindle," Jones said to his clerkish aide, "where, in this worldful of specialists, am I going to find someone with a well-rounded education? Much less one who'll take a chance on a flier like this?"
"Gosh, Mr. Jones, I just wouldn't know," Dwindle blinked. "Have you tried looking through your files?"
"Have I tried looking through my files," Jones sighed, looking at the ceiling light. "Dwindle, my files include every gainfully employed person in the United States of America and its possessions. Millions of them. One doesn't just browse through the files looking for things."
"Oh," Dwindle said. "I'm kinda new at this specialty," he explained.
"Yes, Dwindle. However," Jones continued, "one does make IBM runouts to find things."
"Hey, that's great!" Dwindle said, brightening. "Why don't you try making an IBM runout?"
"I did, Dwindle. Please let me finish? Our instructions call for finding a person with a well-rounded education. More specifically, a person who is capable of intelligently discussing and explaining some two dozen major 'fields of knowledge.' Plus, of course, at least a passing acquaintance with some one or two hundred minor fields of knowledge.
"So I set Mathematics into the IBM sorter. Mathematics is one of the major fields of knowledge, you see."
"Yeh," Dwindle acknowledged.
"So I took the few million mathematicians' cards which I got—good mathematicians and bad mathematicians, but at least people who can get their decimals in the right place. I set the IBM sorter for Biology, and ran the mathematicians' cards through. So I got several thousand mathematician-biologists."
"That's pretty sharp!" Dwindle exclaimed with a twinkle. "Whoever thought of that!"
"Please, Dwindle," Jones moaned, pressing his palms to his eyes. "Next I sorted according to Geology. Three hundred cards came through. Three hundred people in America who know their math, biology and geology!"
"That doesn't sound like so many to me," Dwindle said hesitantly, as if wondering what there was to get so excited about.
"And of those three hundred, do you know how many understand, even vaguely, Electronics? Twelve. And of those twelve, guess how many have an adequate background in History and Anthropology? Much less an understanding of eighteen other fields?"
"Not very many, I'll bet," Dwindle replied smartly.
"None! Not even one! I tried running the cards through in every order imaginable. We've bred a race of specialists and there's not a truly educated man among us!"
"Say, you know what I bet? Even if you did find a guy who's like what all you said ..."
"Go ahead, Dwindle."
"... I bet he wouldn't even go up there to Ganymede. I sure wouldn't! I'd be scared to death," Dwindle chattered, waving his finger. "How's he gonna get back, even if he gets there O.K.? Couldn't anyone fool me with a bunch of pretty talk; I know the government doesn't have a rocket that could take off again after it got there. Gotta have launching pads and computers and all that stuff. Government ever think about that?"
Jones held his head in anguish. "Dwindle, why don't you be a good boy and run along to the snack bar for a coffee break? And bring me some aspirin when you come back."
Freddy the Fish, Willy and Oscar Fronk were occupying the same bench, a comradeship made necessary by the overpopulation of the park on such a glorious day. Oscar was surveying the passing girls and scouting for worthwhile cigarette stubs. Willy was admiring a hovering beetle's power of flight, and Freddy was reading a discarded copy of
The beetle landed on Willy's sleeve and promptly located a gaping tear in the fabric, through which bare arm showed. Willy raised his other hand menacingly.
"Don't," Freddy barked, causing Willy to jump with enough force to dislodge the beetle.
"Aw, Freddy," Willy whined, "why dintcha lemme kill it? What good's a stupid bug?"
"That would have been a rather unfortunate kill, Willy, by your bare hand on your bare arm. You must learn to be cognizant of our insect friends and insect enemies."
"So what's he, poison or sumpin'?"
"Unpleasant, at least," Freddy said. "That was a blister beetle; smash it on your arm and you'll grow a nice welt. A member of the Meloidae family."