Recoil By George O. Smith Illustrated by Orban [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Walter Franks sat in the director's office; his feet on the director's desk. He was smoking one of the director's cigarettes. He was drinking the director's liquor, filched shamelessly from the director's private filing cabinet where it reposed in the drawer marked "S." Drawer "B" would have given beer, but Walt preferred Scotch. He leaned forward and tossed the director's cigarette into the director's wastebasket and then he pressed the button on the desk and looked up. But it was not the director's secretary who entered. It was his own, but that did not disturb Franks. He knew that the director's secretary was off on Mars enjoying a honeymoon with the director. Jeanne entered and smiled. "Must you call me in here to witness you wasting the company's time?" she asked in mock anger. "Now look, Jeanne, this is what Channing does." "No dice. You can't behave as Don Channing behaves. The reason is my husband." "I didn't call to have you sit on my lap. I want to know if the mail is in." "I thought so," she said. "And so I brought it in with me. Anything more?" "Not until you get a divorce," laughed Franks. "You should live so long," she said with a smile. She stuck her tongue out at him. Walt thumbed his way through the mail, making notations on some, and setting others aside for closer reading. He came to one and tossed it across the desk at Jeanne. She took the message and read: Dear Acting Director: Having a wonderful honeymoon; glad you aren't here! Don and Arden. "Wonderful stuff, love," smiled Franks. "It is," agreed Jeanne. A dreamy look came into her eyes. "Scram, Jeanne. There are times when you can't work worth a darn. Usually when you're thinking of that husband of yours. What's he got that I haven't?" "Me," said Jeanne slyly. She arose and started for the door. "Oh," she said, "I almost forgot. Warren phoned up and said that the turret is ready for a try-out." "Fine," said Walt. "Swell." He unfolded himself from the chair with alacrity and almost beat the girl to the door. "My," she laughed, "you can move after all." "Sure," he grinned. "Now I have something for which to live." "I hope it's worth it. You've sunk a lot of change into that bug-house." "I know, but we can stand it. After all, since Don took over this affair, Interplanetary Communications is an up and running business. We're out of the Government subsidy class now, and are making money. If this works, we'll make more. It's worth a gamble." "What are you trying to build?" asked Jeanne.