The Worlds of George O

by George O. Smith

  May I ask if the speaker has any proof of the existence of such phenomena?"

  "Only the mathematical proof presented here--and a more complete study at home. These were culled from the larger mass as being more to the point. It is my belief that the force fields indicated in equation one may be set up, and that they will lead to the results shown in equation three."

  "But you have no way of telling?"

  "Only by mathematical prediction."

  A third hand went up, a slender hand that was instantly recognized as that of Dr. Edith Ward.

  "I wish to clarify a point," she said. "Mr. Barden's logic is impeccable, but it is based upon one false premise."

  Barden looked at the woman carefully. No one could call her beautiful, but there was a womanly charm about her that was in sharp contrast to the cold facts she held in her brain. She looked about thirty years old, which included the mental adjustment necessary to compare her with a younger woman. That she was the head of the Solar Space Laboratory was in itself a statement of her ability as a physicist.

  And the fact that she condemned his beliefs was as final as closing the lid and driving in the nails.

  Period!

  "I believe that my own belief is as firm as Miss Ward's," retorted Barden.

  "You will find that your premise may be valid, but the end result is not profitable," she said flatly.

  "You've experimented?" scoffed Barden.

  "I don't have to," she said. "I know!"

  "Perhaps by feminine intuition?" snapped Tom scathingly.

  Edith Ward flushed, and sat down abruptly, rebuffed and angry.

  Chairman Hansen arose and tried to speak, but the wellings and mutterings grew from a low murmur to a loud roar that changed slowly from random sounds of anger to a chant of "Throw him out! Throw him out! Throw him out!" as more and more voices took it up. Hansen banged sharply with his gavel and finally the angry cries died again into the dull muttering.

  "We are not a rabble," said Hansen sharply. "I shall ask Mr. Barden to leave quietly. We will then continue with our regular business, and forget this unhappy incident."

  Barden left amid a sullen silence.

  * * * *

  That was that. That door was closed to him, finally and completely. Barden went home in a blue funk, and fretted for several hours. Then determination arose to show them all, and he consulted his notes again.

  Time--and money!

  Doubtless it had been the same cry a thousand years ago, and there was no doubt that it would be the same stumbling block a million years from now. Perhaps on a different planet of a distant sun if Terra were no longer a running concern, but it would always be the cry.

  Well, he thought, considering both, he did not know how much time he had. He knew he had little money. Also, he knew that no matter what he did he would never know about the time factor, nor would he be able to change it much. Perhaps there might be some way to get money. If he was to be forced into the slow methods, and he failed, he would know that he had tried.

  He took his mind from the ever-present problem of putting the science across, and started to inspect the new art from a dispassionate standpoint. It was his first try at looking at the technology from the standpoint of a scientific observer. Since the day of the dream, Tom Barden's one thought had been to initiate this development. Now, for the time being, Tom Barden went through his adequate storehouse of alien knowledge to see what other developments he might get out of it.

  He grunted aloud. "If they won't let me build a better spacecraft, I'll build a better mousetrap!"

  Then he laughed, for the new art was so complex and so well developed, and so far beyond the present science, that there were a horde of little items that could be put to work. The generation of spiral magnetic fluxes, for instance, would far outdo the machinist's magnetic chuck. No plain magnetic attraction this, but a twin-screw of magnetic flux lines throughout the chuck-plate and the metal work, fastening them together.

  There were means of developing a type of superspeed radio communication along a tight beam that could not be tapped. A simple method of multi-circuit thyratron operation that had both an ionization and a deionization time of a fraction of microsecond or even less. A means of amplifying true square waves without distortion--permitting the paradox of the voltage assuming all values between zero and maximum instantaneously during the rise of the wave from zero to peak. A card-file sorting system capable of maintaining better than three million items and producing any given item with a distribution of near-items on either side--all contained in a desk-cabinet and operating silently within a three-second interval. A magneto-physical means of exhausting vacuum tubes and removing occluded gases from the tube electrodes simultaneously. The latter could be kept in operation constantly during the life of the tube, if need arose.

  He fastened on the latter. If it would generate the almost-perfect vacuum in a vacuum tube, it would also de-air electron microscopes and all other kinds of equipment.

  It was simple, too. It was not one of the direct results of the alien science, but it was an item used to develop the science from present technology. Doing it would not introduce anyone to Barden's technology any more than a thorough knowledge of small intricate mechanisms would introduce a mechanician to the field of electronics. But one cannot delve into basic electronic theory without hitting some of the principles of moving machinery.

  Thomas Barden made his plans. When the plans were made, he bought tools and parts, and went to work. Knowing every factor helped, and not many days passed before he had a working model of his magnetic vacuum pump.

  He knew where to take it, luckily. He had worked for Terran Manufacturing, Incorporated, and because of his connection there he was not unknown to the chief engineer of Solar Electric. Terran was a small outfit, and though Barden felt that he owed it some loyalty, he felt that the mighty Solar Electric could better afford the price he was prepared to ask.

  Terran would dig it up--but Solar was prepared at any time for that amount.

  And the alien race might not wait--

  * * * *

  He was ushered into the office of Hal Weston after an hour of painful waiting. The chief engineer of Solar Electric recognized him with a slight frown.

  "You're the fellow who took off on Miss Ward, aren't you?"

  "No," smiled Barden. "She happens to be the one who took off on me. I'm still right, and I intend to prove it!"

  "Not here, I hope. Your card stated differently."

  "I'm entering nowhere on false pretenses, Mr. Weston. My card states my offer completely."

  "You have a means of developing an almost perfect vacuum and simultaneously removing absorbed gas from any object in the inclosure?"

  "Right!"

  "Interesting, if true. Let's see it."

  "I have not the equipment with me. However, I have here a ten-inch glass sphere made from a laboratory flask. In it are several coins, bits of graphite, spongy palladium, and some anhydrous copper sulphate. This tube was evacuated by my equipment, and there was no other treatment for removal of extraneous material."

  "May we check that?"

  "That is why I brought it along--for your own satisfaction."

  Weston spoke into the communicator on his desk, and in a minute the door opened to admit an elderly man in a white coat. Weston gave him the flask, and said, "Dr. Grasse, this flask is supposed to be totally evacuated and all absorbed gases removed, as well as water vapor. I want a precision quantitative analysis of everything inside of this flask. And," he grinned, "get the results to me by day before yesterday."

  "Now," said Weston to Barden, "granting that this is the real goods, how large can it be made?"

  "It takes about four kilowatts per liter," said Barden. "Since the process takes only about ten seconds, the demand is quite high over a short period. But bearing in mind the four KW per liter, you may make the thing evacuate any volume up to the practical limit."

  "Nothing for a home applianc
e," laughed Weston. "But if it will drive the spitting devil out of an electron microscope in ten seconds, it's worth it.

  What are you asking for rights and royalties if it performs as you state?"

  "Mr. Weston, I'm interested in one thing only, and that is to prove the value of my theory--the one that Edith Ward scorned."

  "We're not interested in your theory, save as a theory," said Weston.

  "I don't want a position. I want enough immediate money to set up my own laboratory."

  "You'll make a lot more if you take a small option now and accept a royalty, you know."

  "I'll sell it outright for five million."

  "I'm afraid that we can't settle that amount in one afternoon."

  "That's all right," said Barden. "Get me twenty-five thousand as an option. Then take ten days to build one or to investigate all you want to. If it does not perform, I'll return your money. If it does perform, five million goes."

  "Contingent upon Dr. Grasse's findings," said Weston. "And providing that you give me your original equipment in order to save some time in making the initial investigations. I'll have the option agreement and a certified check in this office tomorrow morning."

  Barden smiled. "I know what the evacuator will do. I'll be back tomorrow with the original machine!"

  Barden's original was an un-neat bit of coils and conducting rods, and it looked out of place in Weston's office. But the chief engineer did not mind. He was gloating over the analysis, and checking the report made by one of the mathematical physicists on the theory of the operation of the evacuator. Both were more than satisfactory.

  "You're in, Barden," chuckled Weston as he countersigned the option agreement. "Now what do we do?"

  "Me?" said Barden. "I'm going to rent me a large empty plant somewhere, and start ordering equipment. I may even be back with a couple of other little gadgets later."

  "If they're as good as this looks right now, they'll be welcome."

  "I'll remember that," said Barden.

  Barden's tracks were swift from there on. His first stop was to deposit the check in the bank, to the amazement of his teller, who felt forced to check the validity of the voucher, despite the fact that it was certified. To have Thomas Barden, whose average salary had run about a hundred-fifty per week, suddenly drop twenty-five thousand in the bank was--to the banker's point of view--slightly irregular.

  Barden was not able to get out of the bank without having Mr. Coogan, the president of the bank, catch him and ply him with seventeen suggestions as to how the money could be invested. Tom almost had to get insulting before he could leave.

  The next month was a harrowing, mad maze of events. He rented an unused factory, complete with machine tools. He hired seven men to help him, and then ran into difficulties because he had to make the equipment to make the machines. He found that starting from complete behind-scratch was a back-breaking job. Daily, the railroad spur dropped a freight car to be unloaded with stuff from one of the leading manufacturers of scientific equipment. The electric company took a sizable bite when they came along the poles with some wrist-thick cables and terminated them at his plant. He ended up hiring three more men and putting them to making samples of some of the other by-products, knowing that his money would not last forever. The board of review had mentioned three million, but Barden was beginning to understand that despite all new types of equipment, they were still considering the basic physical laboratory as useful. They were right. It was a lot different starting from an empty factory and taking off from a well-maintained laboratory.

  The days sped by and became weeks. The weeks passed and became months. And as the months worked themselves slowly past, chaos disappeared and order came from madness.

  The by-products of the alien science came swiftly, and they sold well.

  Money flowed in fast enough to attract attention, and it was gratifying to Tom Barden to read an account of his "meteoric rise" that started from the day he "disagreed violently with the famed Dr. Ward."

  If he had wanted money or fame, here it was. But Barden knew the story behind the story, and he also knew that whoever the alien might be, from whatever system, and adhering to whatever culture, the alien would find no fault in his operations. He had taken the long, hard road, compared to the road taken by an accredited scientist producing such a theory. He cursed the delay, and knew that it might have cut his time down to a dangerous minimum.

  But Tom Barden had become the genius of the age. His factory had grown to a good staff, all but a few of whom worked on the basic science he needed to develop. It was developing slowly but certainly, and each experiment showed him that the alien mind had been absolutely correct.

  Daily he taught school for an hour. He knew every step, but he wanted his men to know the art when they were finished; the final experiment made.

  They would emerge from this trial-without-error period as technicians qualified to work on any phase of the new science. It gave him no small pleasure to know that his outfit would eventually be far ahead of the famous Solar Space Laboratory in techniques pertaining to the art of space travel.

  He hoped to make Dr. Edith Ward sit quietly down and eat her own words--backwards!

  His plans were not published, and the outpourings of by-products seemed high enough to any observer to be the sensible output of the many men working there. None but those who worked there knew that Tom Barden knew every detail of every gadget that hit the various markets, and that the work of making the initial models was not the result of many man-hours of experiment, but a few man-hours of building to plans that had been proven and in use.

  He was not bothered until the day it was announced that Thomas Barden Laboratories were buying a spacecraft from the government.

  The spacecraft was being delivered through the vast back doors of the factory at the same time that Dr. Edith Ward was entering the office doors in front.

  * * * *

  Barden met her in his office. "How do you do, Miss Ward."

  "How do you do," she returned with extreme politeness.

  "May I ask your business?"

  "I am here as a representative of the Solar Space Laboratory."

  "Indeed? And what has the government to say?"

  Edith Ward slammed her purse down on his desk. "You fool!" she snapped. "Stop it!"

  "Don't be upset," he said in an overly soothing tone that was intended to infuriate. It succeeded.

  "You blind fool. You're to stop experimenting in that superspeed drive!"

  "Am I?"

  "Yes," she blazed. "And I have official orders to stop it."

  "Miss Ward, you tried to block me before. You did not succeed. Why do you demand that I stop it?"

  "Because it will not work!"

  "You've experimented?"

  "I have not because it is dangerous!"

  "Then any knowledge you may have about this science is either guesswork or--feminine intuition?"

  "You accused me of that before, remember?"

  "I didn't get away with it then," said Barden. "But I can now. I was unknown then, remember? Well, remember again that I've advanced from unknown a year ago to my present stature now. And I might add that my present stature is not too far below your own, Miss Doctor Ward."

  "I have authority to stop you."

  Barden looked down at her with a cryptic smile. "Yeah?" he drawled.

  "Go ahead and try!"

  "And do you think I can't?"

  "Nope," he said.

  "How are you going to stop me?" she blazed.

  "I won't have to," he said. "Public opinion will. Don't forget, Miss Ward, that people are still running this system. People are and always have been entirely in favor of the man who came up from nowhere and did things on a big plan. Haratio Alger died a long time ago, Miss Ward, but he's still a popular idea. When you stop me, I shall appeal to the people."

  "In what way?"

  "You wouldn't be using your feminine jealousy to stall me while the Solar Lab
develops the interstellar drive, would you?"

  "You--!"

  "Nah," he warned her blithely. "Mustn't swear!"

  "Oh, damn!"

  "Now look, Miss Ward," said Barden quietly, "we've had our snarling session twice. Once when you laughed me out of the Terran Physical Society's big meeting, and now when I tell you that I am big enough so that you'll not stop me by merely expressing a personal opinion. Since I'm now big enough to command a little respect in my own right, supposing you give me some of yours, and I'll see if I can find any in me to show you. Take the previous as a partial apology if you must. But I'm wanting to know by what basis you state that pursuing this job is dangerous--or, say, more dangerous than working on high-tension lines, or space travel as it now exists."

  "The theory you present has one danger factor. According to my own interpretation of your theory, the fields you require in your spacecraft to achieve superspeed are powerful enough to cause a magnetostriction in nonmagnetic materials. This magnetostriction is an atomic magnetostriction which causes the alignment of the planetary planes of the electron orbits.

  The result is a minor chain fission reaction that becomes major after the first nineteen microseconds."

  "My theory is that nothing of that nature will take place," said Barden.

  "Remember," she said, "despite your dislike of me personally, that I am trained in physics. Therefore, my interpretation of physical phenomena and my predictions of such are more--"

  "I agree," interrupted Barden. "But again do not forget that this is a field that is new to all scientists."

  "Agreed again," she said with a slight smile. "But I've had several trained men working on your theory. They agree with me."

  "Don't believe that anyone can formulate an opinion on the material that you have available."

  "Oh, but we can."

  "Then you have experimented--"

  "No, we have not."

  "Then exactly where did you get this extra information?" demanded Barden.

  Dr. Edith Ward looked at Tom Barden carefully. "From the same place where you got yours!" she said, slowly and deliberately.

  Barden wondered, did she know?

  He grinned. "I dreamed mine," he said. "Everything that I've produced emanated from a dream." Then Barden embellished it thoroughly, knowing that the flagrance of his embroidery would sound like a lie to anyone who was really unaware of the truth. "I was invaded in a dream by a gentleman who used a mechanical educator on me and taught me everything that I've produced, everything that I've invented, and every advanced theory that I've had. I have become a scientist of an alien culture that I have full intention of making into a solar science."