The silence in Oppenheimer's office was absolute, broken only by the faint, dry hiss of the wind against the window pane. Robert felt the walls of the small room closing in, the carefully constructed persona of the last year shattering under the weight of that single, incisive observation. He was a mouse caught in the gaze of a hawk.
He could deny it. He could feign offense, confusion. But he knew, with a chilling certainty, that it would be useless. Oppenheimer wasn't guessing; he was stating a conclusion derived from pure, ruthless logic.
So, Robert did the only thing he could. He met the scientist's gaze and remained silent. It was neither a confirmation nor a denial. It was a surrender to the intellect in the room.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Oppenheimer's thin lips. It was not a friendly expression. It was the smile of a mathematician who has just confirmed an elegant proof.
"You are not a fool, Mr. Vale," Oppenheimer said softly, resuming his slow pacing. "The work you did at Wright Field was… revolutionary in its subtlety. You advanced half a dozen critical programs by months, perhaps years, without ever seeming to be the source. A remarkable feat." He stopped and turned, his eyes alight with a terrifying curiosity. "So why, when presented with a problem of far greater import, do you suddenly become clumsy? Why do you deliberately insert errors into calculations that a first-year physics student could, with effort, solve correctly?"
He leaned on his desk, bringing his intense face closer to Robert's. "It suggests one of two things. Either you are an enemy agent, tasked with delaying our progress. Or…" He paused, the word hanging in the air like a particle waiting to decay. "…you are afraid of the answer."
Robert's heart hammered against his ribs. Afraid of the answer. It was so close to the truth it was paralyzing.
"I am not an enemy agent," Robert whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I know," Oppenheimer replied, straightening up. "Your background, what little there is of it, has been scrutinized down to the atoms. You are an enigma, but you are our enigma. Which leaves us with fear." He picked up Robert's notepad, flicking through the pages of deliberate mistakes. "You are not afraid of the mathematics. You are afraid of what the mathematics will build."
He looked out the window, towards the distant Sangre de Cristo Mountains, his expression turning grim. "We are all afraid, Mr. Vale. We are building a sun. We are touching the fire at the heart of creation. The ethical weight is… astronomical." He turned back, his gaze softening from that of an inquisitor to that of a fellow prisoner. "Is that it? A crisis of conscience? You have seen the potential of this work, and it has frozen you?"
It was an escape hatch. A logical, human explanation that was miles from the impossible truth, yet close enough to be believable. Oppenheimer was offering him a way to save himself, to re-frame his sabotage as moral hesitation.
Robert seized it. He let his shoulders slump, injecting a tremor of genuine, bone-deep fatigue into his voice. "The planes… they were one thing. Machines. But this…" He gestured weakly at the notepad. "This is different. This feels… like we're opening a door we were never meant to open."
It was the right thing to say. Oppenheimer nodded slowly, a look of profound understanding in his eyes. "I know the feeling well. The weight of this knowledge is a burden I would not wish on any man. But the Germans are working on this. Heisenberg, Diebner… they are not burdened by such scruples. If they get there first…" He left the horrific conclusion unspoken.
He came around the desk and placed a hand on Robert's shoulder. It was a surprisingly human gesture. "Your conscience does you credit. But paralysis is a luxury we cannot afford. We must see this through. We must be the ones to control this power, to ensure it does not fall into the hands of monsters." He fixed Robert with a firm, almost paternal look. "I need your mind, Robert. Not its hesitations, but its full, unfettered power. The world depends on men like us having the courage to face what we must create."
The manipulation was masterful. He had taken Robert's resistance, framed it as noble fear, and then used that very nobility to compel him to participate. He was being absolved and recruited in the same breath.
Robert nodded, feigning a resolve he did not feel. "I understand, sir."
"Good," Oppenheimer said, his business-like tone returning. "Then let's stop walking into cul-de-sacs. The moderation problem. What is the most efficient material, and what is the critical mass?"
The question was direct. A command. The test was still ongoing, but the rules had changed. He could no longer pretend to be stupid. He had to pretend to be brilliant, but cautious. He had to provide the correct answers, but slowly, and with enough doubt woven in to potentially sow delays elsewhere.
"Graphite," Robert said, his voice steady. "Extremely pure graphite. The geometry is… it's a sphere. The critical mass…" He paused, as if calculating in his head, and then gave a figure that was deliberately five percent higher than the historically accurate one. A small, safe error that would waste resources and time, but not enough to be suspicious. "But that's a theoretical minimum. In practice, with impurities and control mechanisms, you'd need significantly more."
Oppenheimer's eyes gleamed. He had his answer. "Excellent. See? The path is clear when you stop avoiding it." He made a note. "Report to Group T-3 tomorrow. They're working on implosion diagnostics. Your practical mind will be invaluable."
Robert left the office, his legs weak. He had survived the inquisition, but at a terrible cost. He was now fully integrated. The sabotage would have to be infinitely more subtle, a campaign of tiny, imperceptible delays and minor miscalculations buried in a mountain of genuine progress. He was no longer a ghost in the machine; he was a flawed gear in the heart of the clockwork, trying to slow the hands of time with every reluctant, grinding turn. The most dangerous game had begun, and the stakes were the very future he was trying to preserve.