And, because scientific research is
pre-eminently a matter of pooling brains and efforts, the independent
scientists had banded together into teams whose leaders acquired power
greater than that of any _condottiere_ captain of Renaissance Italy.
Duncan MacLeod, sitting outwardly relaxed and merry and secretly
watchful and bitterly sad, was such a free-captain of science. One by
one, the others had rallied around him, not because he was a greater
physicist than they, but because he was a bolder, more clever, less
scrupulous adventurer, better able to guide them through the maze of
international power-politics and the no less ruthless if less nakedly
violent world of Big Industry.
There was his wife, Karen Hilquist, the young metallurgist who, before
she was twenty-five, had perfected a new hardening process for SKF and
an incredibly tough gun-steel for the Bofors works. In the few minutes
since they had returned to Team Center, she had managed to change her
coveralls for a skirt and blouse, and do something intriguing with her
hair.
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