Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [222]
“Oh, is that what you had in mind, Dr. Stadler? Oh, but I am so sorry!” The words came with a bright smile of relief on Dr. Ferris’ face; his solicitous manner returned. “Do you mean that the temperature was low enough to cause you discomfort?”
“I mean that I nearly froze to death.”
“But that is unforgivable! Why didn’t they tell me? Please accept my personal apology, Dr. Stadler, and rest assured that you will never be inconvenienced again. The only excuse I can offer for our maintenance department is that the shortage of fuel was not due to their negligence, it was—oh, I realize that you would not know about it and such matters should not take up your invaluable attention—but, you see, the oil shortage last winter was a nation-wide crisis.”
“Why? For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me that those Wyatt fields were the only source of oil in the country!”
“No, no, but the sudden disappearance of a major supply wrought havoc in the entire oil market. So the government had to assume control and impose oil rationing on the country, in order to protect the essential enterprises. I did obtain an unusually large quota for the Institute—and only by the special favor of some very special connections—but I feel abjectly guilty if this proved insufficient. Rest assured that it will not happen again. It is only a temporary emergency. By next winter, we shall have the Wyatt fields back in production, and conditions will return to normal. Besides, as far as this Institute is concerned, I made all the arrangements to convert our furnaces to coal, and it was to be done next month, only the Stockton Foundry in Colorado closed down suddenly, without notice—they were casting parts for our furnaces, but Andrew Stockton retired, quite unexpectedly, and now we have to wait till his nephew reopens the plant.”
“I see. Well, I trust that you will take care of it among all your other activities.” Dr. Stadler shrugged with annoyance. “It is becoming a little ridiculous—the number of technological ventures that an institution of science has to handle for the government.”
“But, Dr. Stadler—”
“I know, I know, it can’t be avoided. By the way, what is Project X?”
Dr. Ferris’ eyes shot to him swiftly—an odd, bright glance of alertness, that seemed startled, but not frightened. “Where did you hear about Project X, Dr. Stadler?”
“Oh, I heard a couple of your younger boys saying something about it with an air of mystery you’d expect from amateur detectives. They told me it was something very secret.”
“That’s right, Dr. Stadler. It is an extremely secret research project which the government has entrusted to us. And it is of utmost importance that the newspapers get no word about it.”
“What’s the X?”
“Xylophone. Project Xylophone. That is a code name, of course. The work has to do with sound. But I am sure that it would not interest you. It is a purely technological undertaking.”
“Yes, do spare me the story. I have no time for your technological undertakings.”
“May I suggest that it would be advisable to refrain from mentioning the words ‘Project X’ to anyone, Dr. Stadler?”
“Oh, all right, all right. I must say I do not enjoy discussions of that kind.”
“But of course! And I wouldn’t forgive myself if I allowed your time to be taken up by such concerns. Please feel certain that you may safely leave it to me.” He made a movement to rise. “Now if this was the reason you wanted to see me, please believe that I—”
“No,” said Dr. Stadler slowly. “This was not the reason I wanted to see you.”
Dr. Ferris volunteered no questions, no eager offers of service; he remained seated, merely waiting.
Dr. Stadler reached over and made the book slide from the corner to the center of his desk, with a contemptuous flick of one hand. “Will