The Observers

You can't be too suspicious when security is at stake. When everybody who is after a key military job wears a toupee, it is obviously a bald case of espionage.


excerpt

A job as laboratory technician with the Army Weapons Development Center carried about as much prestige as a bat boy in a World Series.


George Fisher was a laboratory technician.


He was a shy but likeable fellow, a diligent worker and trustworthy. He didn't talk. He was rarely talked to. He had no burning ambition to push himself ahead in the world. Being an assistant to the brains was good enough for him. He had a commendable talent for minding his own business.


In a security job these qualities counted ahead of scientific knowledge.


One day George Fisher turned up dead. The initial shock and concern experienced by his superiors was soon overcome by the coroner's finding. Suicide.


Harry Payne was the Civilian Personnel Director of Fort Dickson. It was his job to find a replacement for George Fisher.


"Miss Conway!" Harry's voice lashed into the intercom.


There was an interminable pause. He cursed under his breath.


Then, "Yes, Mr. Payne?"


"Where the hell were you? Never mind. Bring me the file on George Fisher."


"George Fisher?" Miss Conway was in her favorite state of mind ... confusion. "But he's dead, isn't he?"


Harry let out a deep anguished groan. "Yes, Miss Conway, he's dead. That's why I want his file. That answer your question?"


"Yes, sir. Be there in a jiffy!"


Harry could tell she was bubbling over with smiles as she spoke. A few more centuries would pass, he thought, before they manufactured another broad as dumb as Miss Conway.