The Worlds of George O

by George O. Smith

  "Then it is true," she breathed.

  "What is true?" he demanded.

  "Tom Barden, listen. Not only do I accept your apology of a few moments ago, but I offer mine. I--was afraid. Just as you were afraid to let the truth be known. I blustered and took my attitude because I could not let it be known that I, head of the Solar Labs, could be influenced by what the learned men would term either dream or hallucination."

  "You've had one, too?" he asked quietly.

  She nodded.

  Tom grunted. "Let's compare notes," he said. "Seems as how we got different stories out of our friends."

  Edith nodded again and said, "It was a strange dream that came to me one night about a year and a half ago. I was the soul and master of a mighty castle, an impregnable fortress with five roadways entering.

  Interpretation of that is simple, of course, the five roadways were the five senses. A... messenger came, but instead of using any of the roadways, he came through the very walls, and warned me."

  "Just what was his story?" asked Barden.

  "That Sol was a menace to a certain race. This race--never defined nor located save that it was a stellar race--was incapable of conquering Sol, except by stealth. However, it could be done by giving one smart man a partial truth, and that it was more than probable that this would be done.

  The partial truth was the technique of a new science that would, if not used properly, cause complete destruction of the system. In the final usage, there would be a fission reaction of whatever planet it was used near. The reaction would create a planetary nova, and the almost-instantaneous explosion of the planet would wipe out all life in the system, and the counter-bombardment of the sun by the exploding planet would cause the sun itself to go nova, thus completing the process."

  "I presume your informant was quite concerned over the possible destruction of a friendly race?"

  "Certainly," she said. "That is why he contacted me."

  "If I were a member of the conquer-all faction of my story, Miss Ward, I would be trying to contact someone here, to warn them of a terrible danger if the science were exploited. That would delay our work long enough for them to arrive, wouldn't it?"

  "There is nothing so dangerous as a half-truth," said Edith Ward flatly.

  "Nor as dangerous as a little knowledge," agreed Barden. "However, Miss Ward, my story is just as valid as yours. And since neither story may be checked for veracity, how do you propose to proceed?"

  "I think you'd better stop!"

  * * * *

  Barden sat down on the edge of the desk and looked down at her. She was sitting relaxed in the chair alongside, though it was only her body that was relaxed. Her face was tense, and her eyes were half-narrowed, as in deep concentration. Barden looked at her for a moment, and then smacked a fist into the palm of his hand.

  "Look," he said, "that's apparently what your informant wants. Now, as to veracity, for every statement you make about the impossibility of interpreting theoretical logic into a complete prediction of physical phenomena without experimental evidence, I can state in your own words that you can't tell anybody what the outcome will be. You want me to stop. If my story is true, then Terra will have interstellar travel and will meet this incoming race on its own terms. Either proposition is O.K."

  Edith Ward muttered something and Barden asked what she said.

  "I said that I wondered how many men were too successful in mixing nitroglycerine before they had one smart enough to mail the formula to a friend--before he went up. I also wonder how many men tried Ben Franklin's experiment with the kite and--really got electricity out of the clouds and right through their bodies and were found slightly electrocuted after the storm had blown over. Number three--novas often occur in places where there seems to be no reason. Could they be caused by races who have just discovered some new source of power? And double-novas? A second race analyzing the burst and trying their own idea out a few years later?"

  "My dear young woman," said Barden, "your attitude belies your position. You seem to be telling me not to advance in science. Yet you yourself are head of the Solar Space Laboratory, an institution of considerable renown that is dedicated to the idea of advancement in science. Do you think that your outfit has a corner on brains--that no one should experiment in any line that you do not approve?"

  "You are accusing me of egomania," she retorted.

  "That's what it sounds like."

  "All right," she snapped. "You've given your views. I'll give mine.

  You've shown reasons why both your informant and mine would tell their stories in support of your own view. Now admit that I can do the same thing!"

  "O.K.," laughed Barden uproariously. "I admit it. So what?"

  "So what!" she cried furiously. "You'll play with the future of an entire stellar race by rushing in where angels fear to tread!"

  "Careful, Miss Ward. Metaphorically, you've just termed me a fool and yourself an angel."

  "You are a fool!"

  "OK, lady, but you're no angel!"

  "Mr. Barden," she said icily, "tossing insults will get us nowhere. I've tried to give you my viewpoint. You've given me yours. Now--"

  "We're at the same impasse we were a half hour ago. My viewpoint is as valid as yours, because there's nobody within a number of light-years that can tell the truth of the matter. You are asking me to suppress a new science. Leonardo da Vinci was asked to suppress the submarine for the good of the race. He did it so well that we know about the whole affair."

  "Meaning?"

  "That true suppression would have covered the incident, too. But the submarine was suppressed only until men developed techniques and sciences that made undersea travel practical. If I suppress this science, how long do you think it will be before it is started again by someone else?

  How did either of our informants get the information?"

  "Why... ah--"

  "By trying it themselves!" said Barden, banging a fist on the desk for emphasis. "Suppression is strictly ostrich tactics, Miss Ward. You can't avoid anything by hoping that if you don't admit it's there it may go away. It never does. The way to live honorably and safely is to meet every obstacle and every danger as it comes, and, by facing them, learn how to control them. Shakespeare said that--'The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune... or nobler in the heart to take arms against a sea of troubles... and by facing them, to conquer them!' That may be bum misquote, Miss Ward, but it is true."

  "Then you intend to try it out?"

  "I most certainly do!"

  Edith Ward stood up. "I've nothing more to say. You force me to take action."

  "I'm sorry, Miss Ward. If it is battle you want, you'll get it. You'll find it harder to quell Tom Barden The Successful than you found it a year ago when you shut off Tom Barden The Theorist with a word of scorn. I'm sorry--I really am."

  "Sorry?" she repeated with disbelief.

  "Sure," he said. "Barden Laboratories and Solar Labs could really go places if we weren't fighting. Only one more thing, Miss Ward."

  "What?" she replied impatiently.

  "Divide and conquer is not uniquely Terran!"

  * * * *

  After she left, Barden wondered whether his final shot had hit anything. He returned to work and forgot about it, sensibly admitting that if it did he would not be bothered and if it did not he wouldn't stop anyway, and so he might as well get to work. He rather hoped to avoid the possible delay that would follow official action.

  Dr. Edith Ward answered him within twenty-four hours. Her word was accepted as valid in many places: it had been the final authority on such matters for some time. Up to now there had never been any defense. Plus the fact that his side of the argument had never been voiced.

  Barden didn't scourge the court for their decision. With only one accredited side of the evidence in, they could not take action. So Barden shrugged, grinned to himself, and spent several days in intense study, laying out the program that was to continue in his absence.
Then he took the flier for the Terran capital.

  It was not a court hearing. It was more of a high-powered debate before a group of qualified judges and investigators. Barden looked into the background of his judges, and was glad that the old system of appointment to investigating committees had been stopped. Though these men were not qualified physicists, they were not the old-line politicians, who took an arbitrary stand because they thought that waving a banner with a certain device would sound good to their constituents. There would be little personal opinion or personal ambition in this hearing, and not one of the judges would sacrifice either contestant on the altar of publicity.

  By unspoken agreement, neither he nor Edith Ward mentioned the source of their information. This, Barden admitted, was hard on the female physicist's argument, for she could claim only mathematical analysis, and he could claim experimental evidence.

  They heard her side, and then asked for his. He gave his arguments simply, and answered every point she brought up. There was rebuttal and rejoinder, and finally open discussion.

  "I claim that this man is not a qualified physicist," she stated firmly.

  "As such, he has not the experience necessary to judge the validity of my argument."

  "I admit that I hold no degrees," said Barden. "Neither did Thomas Edison. Is Miss Ward convinced that no man without a string of college degrees is qualified to do anything but dig ditches?"

  That hurt, for the investigators were not blessed with doctor's degrees in philosophy; the scattering of LLDs were about half honorary degrees, and their owners, though gratified for the honor, knew how they were earned.

  "Of course not," snapped Miss Ward. "I merely state--"

  "If Miss Ward is so firm in her belief, why doesn't she bring forth some experimental evidence. She has the entire holdings of the Solar Space Laboratory at her disposal. If this is as important as she claims, then the financial argument may be dispensed with. For no amount of money is capable of paying for total destruction of the solar system."

  "I need no experiments," she snapped.

  "Or is Miss Ward trying to tell us that any line of research that she does not sponsor is not worth bothering with? Or is she trying to stop me so that she can take it up? Or has she started--late--and wants me stopped before I get to the answer. That would make the famous Solar Space Laboratory a weapon."

  "Maybe there is none."

  "Then," said Barden, "why knock out a solar system that is so far away that nothing it does can have any effect upon you?"

  "A very valid point," said Edith Ward. Her eyes opened wide and her jaw fell slack. "Goodness," she breathed.

  "Are we?" he asked hollowly. His expression was one of wonder and amazement.

  "Well, if we win, and it works, they've hazarded nothing and still have their science. If we lose, they will not miss us in the first place and also they'll quickly abandon that point."

  "Guinea pigs," snorted Edith. She stood up and put one slim hand in his. She gave it a hearty shake and a firm grasp. "I'm in--from right now to the point where the whole cosmos goes up in a cloud of nuclear particles!

  I'll be at your place in the morning, with my case packed for a six months'

  trip. Now I'm getting a whole case of feminine curiosity!"

  "Yes?" he said cheerfully. "What this time?"

  "Well, if your informant was tossing us an experiment, hoping to get an answer, then why did mine warn me? They'll never see a spaceship burst at a distance of a half dozen light-years. They might never really know."

  "We'll find out," he said firmly. "There is something about both sides that I do not like!"

  * * * *

  True to her word, Edith Ward turned up at the first glimmer of daylight with her case of personal belongings. "Where'll I have it put?" she asked.

  "Ship Two, Stateroom Three," he said. "I have two crates fixed up, so that if you're right we can still get home without taking to the lifecraft."

  One hour later, the two ships lifted on their ordinary space drives, and sped with constant acceleration directly away from the sun. At three times gravity they went, and as the seconds and the minutes and the hours passed, their velocity mounted upward. In both ships, the men worked quietly on their instruments, loafed noisily, and generally killed time.

  Everything had been triply checked by the time that turnover came, six days after the start. Then, for six more days, the ships decelerated at three gravities while the sun dwindled in size. Between Tom Barden and Edith Ward there was much talk, but no solution to the problem. They covered nearly all aspects of the possibilities and came up with the same result: insufficient evidence to support any postulate.

  About the only thing that came to complete agreement was the statement that there was more to this than was clear, and it was suspicious.

  The feud that had existed faded away. It may have been the common interest, or if you will, the common menace. For though no true menace had shown, it was a common bond between Barden and Ward against a question that annoyed them simultaneously. It may have been simply the fact that man and woman find it hard to continue a dislike when they have something in common. Nature seems to have made it so. It may have been the thrill of adventure, prosaic as it was to be racing through unchangeable space for hour upon hour and day upon day with nothing but the sheerest of boredom outside of the ship. Perhaps it might have been that the sight out of any window was exactly the same today as it was yesterday and would be tomorrow or a hundred years from now--or even a thousand, for though the stars do move in their separate paths, the constellations are not materially different. The utter constancy of the sky without may have turned them inward to seek the changing play of personality.

  Regardless of the reason, by the time they reached that unmarked spot outside the orbit of Pluto where the ships became close to motionless with respect to Sol--there was no way of telling true zero-relative motion, and true zero was not important anyway--they were friends.

  The ships were rather closer together than they'd anticipated, and it took only a couple of hours of juggling to bring them together. Then the skeleton crew of the one was transferred to the other ship. It drew away--and away and away.

  "We've got more radio equipment aboard these crates than the Interplanetary Network owns," grinned Barden. "Everything on the darned crate is controlled, and every meter, instrument, and dingbat aboard her will ship the answer back here. There must be a million radio-controlled synchros aboard these ships, and cameras on both to read every factor."

  "That's fine," answered Edith with a smile. "What happens if it works like a charm and takes off at superspeed? How do your radio-controlled gadgets work then?"

  "We'd lose the ship, of course, if we didn't have a time clock on the drive. If all goes well, the first drive will run for exactly ten seconds. Then we'll have about a ten-day flight to find it again, because it will be a long way from here--straight out!" He smiled. "Of course, if we want to take a small chance, we could turn it on its own primary drive and superspeed it back if all goes well. But the radio controls will be as sluggish as the devil, because there should be about a three- or four-hour transmission delay."

  * * * *

  The other ship was a minute speck in the distance. Then a ship alarm rang, and the entire crew came to the alert. Barden said, "This is it!" in a strained voice, and he pulled the big switch.

  Along the wall was the bank upon bank of synchrometers, reading every possible factor in the controlled ship. Before the panel were trained technicians, each with a desk full of controls. Behind them were the directors, with the master controls, and behind them stood Barden and Edith Ward. From holes above peeked the lenses of cameras, recording the motions of every technician, and, behind the entire group, more cameras pointed at the vast master panel. The recorders took down every sound, and the entire proceeding was synchronized by crystal-controlled clocks running from a primary standard of frequency.

  At the starting impulse, the warm-up time
pilot lit, and the relays clicked as one, like a single, sharp chord of music. When the warm-up period ended, the pilot changed from red to green and another bank of relays crashed home with a flowing roar, each tiny click adding to the thunder of thousands of others like it.

  "That's the end of the rattle," observed Barden. "From here on in we're running on multicircuit thyratrons."

  The meter panel flashed along its entire length as the myriad of ready lights went on. The automatic starter began its cycle, and the synchrometers on the vast panel began to indicate. Up climbed the power, storing itself in the vast reservoir bit by bit, like the slow, inexorable winding of a mighty clock spring. Up it went, and the meters moved just above the limit of perception, mounting and passing toward the red mark that indicated the critical point.

  As slow as their climb was, each meter hit the red mark at the same instant.

  There was a murmur of low voices as each technician gave his notes to the recorders. No scribbling here; the voice itself, with its inflection, its ejaculation, and its personal opinion under stress, would be set down.

  Then the master switch went home with a tiny flare of ionized gases--

  And, silently, every panel went dead.

  * * * *

  "Oh!" said Edith Ward in a solemn tone.

  "Not yet," Barden objected. "This may be success."

  "But--?"

  "How do you hope to control a radio-controlled drone that is traveling faster than the velocity of propagation."

  "But how will you ever know?"

  "When we--"

  He was interrupted by the chatter of the radiation counter. Light splashed in through the tiny ports in a brilliant flare.