THE OBSERVERS
By G. L. VANDENBURG
You can't be too suspicious whensecurity is at stake. When everybodywho is after a key militaryjob wears a toupee, it is obviouslya bald case of espionage.
A job as laboratory technicianwith the Army WeaponsDevelopment Center carriedabout as much prestige as a batboy in a World Series.
George Fisher was a laboratorytechnician.
He was a shy but likeable fellow,a diligent worker andtrustworthy. He didn't talk. Hewas rarely talked to. He had noburning ambition to push himselfahead in the world. Beingan assistant to the brains wasgood enough for him. He had acommendable talent for mindinghis own business.
In a security job these qualitiescounted ahead of scientificknowledge.
One day George Fisher turnedup dead. The initial shock andconcern experienced by his superiorswas soon overcome bythe coroner's finding. Suicide.
Harry Payne was the CivilianPersonnel Director of FortDickson. It was his job to finda replacement for George Fisher.
"Miss Conway!" Harry's voicelashed into the intercom.
There was an interminablepause. He cursed under hisbreath.
Then, "Yes, Mr. Payne?"
"Where the hell were you?Never mind. Bring me the fileon George Fisher."
"George Fisher?" Miss Conwaywas in her favorite state ofmind ... confusion. "But he'sdead, isn't he?"
Harry let out a deep anguishedgroan. "Yes, Miss Conway,he's dead. That's why I want hisfile. That answer your question?"
"Yes, sir. Be there in a jiffy!"
Harry could tell she was bubblingover with smiles as shespoke. A few more centurieswould pass, he thought, beforethey manufactured anotherbroad as dumb as Miss Conway.
He stuffed his hands in hispockets and looked out the window.Across the parade groundhe could see the Army WeaponsDevelopment Center. He had noidea what new bomb they mightbe working on behind thoseheavily guarded fences. Hedidn't care.
He was only concerned withthe people who worked there.The rest of Fort Dickson usedmostly Civil Service Personnel.But the barricaded securityjungle across the parade groundswas more particular about itshired help. A person's record hadto be spotless almost from theday of his conception ... or aperson could not even gain entrance.
Harry had never been insideWeapons Development. He hadonce been to traffic court as aroaring juvenile eighteen yearsbefore. That was enough to barhim from even visiting. He realized,though, that the armycouldn't afford to take chances.
Hiring new technicians requiredan arduous screeningprocess. Harry loathed it. He wasthankful that the personnel atWeapons Development werehighly paid and usually permanent.He never had to hire morethan one person a year.
Miss Conway swept into theoffice and handed Harry thefolder.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Don't mention it, boss."
Harry called after her as shewent back toward the receptionroom.
"Stay by your desk, will you?The government may need you."
A muffled giggle was her onlyresponse.
Miss Conway was a civil serviceemployee. She had beenHarry's secretary for sixmonths. Like most other civilservice personnel, according toHarry's way of thinking she wasa tower of inefficiency. His chiefannoyance stemmed from thefact that the army had arbitrarilyplaced her in his office. Hehad been given no choice in thematter. It was one hell of a wayto treat a personnel director, hethought.
He sat at his desk gloomilyaware of the headaches he'd haveto face in his quest for GeorgeFisher's replacement. He op