Kurt Mondaugen found Pokier lying on her cot breathing what he imagined were odors of her hair on the pillow. For a while then he went a little insane, talked of killing Weissmann, sabotaging the rocket program, quitting his job and seeking asylum in England. . . . Mondaugen sat, and listened to all of it, touched Pokier once or twice, smoked his pipe, till at last, at two or three in the morning, Pokier had talked through a number of unreal options, cried, cursed, punched a hole into his neighbor's cubicle, through which he heard the man snoring on oblivious. Cooled by then to a vexed engineer-elitism— "They are fools, they don't even know what sine and cosine are and they're trying to tell me"—he agreed that yes, he must wait, and let them do what they would do. . . .