Most of all, however, he disclaimed being a figurehead, to which all the loose strings of a vast and rambling organization could be tied. But sometimes it was quite difficult to know whether or not that was his primary assignment after all. His unrelenting efforts to keep out of the category seemed to be encountering more and more determination to push him in that direction.
Of course this was merely the way it looked in his more bitter moments — such as the present. Normally, he had a full awareness of the paramount importance of his position, and was determined to administer it on a scale in keeping with that importance. His decision could affect the research in the world’s major laboratories. Not that he was a dictator by any means, although there were times when dictation was called for. As when a dozen projects needed money and the Congress allotted enough for one or two. Somebody had to make a choice.
His major difficulty was that active researchers knew it was the Congressional Science Committee which was ultimately responsible for their bread and butter. And the Senators regarded the scientists, who did the actual work in the laboratories, as the only ones who mattered. Both groups tended to look upon Hockley’s office as a sort of fulcrum in their efforts to maintain balance with each other — or as referee in their sparring for adequate control over each other.
At that, however, things researchwise were better than ever before.
More funds and facilities were available. Positions in pure research were more secure.
And then, once again, rumors about Rykeman III had begun to circulate wildly a few days ago.
Since Man’s achievement of extra-galactic flight, stories of Rykeman III had tantalized the world and made research scientists sick with longing when they considered the possible truth of what they heard. The planet was rumored to be a world of super-science, whose people had an answer for every research problem a man could conceive. The very few Earthmen who had been to Rykeman III confirmed the rumors. It was a paradise, according to their stories. And among other peoples of the galaxies the inhabitants of Rykeman III were acknowledged supreme in scientific achievement. None challenged them. None even approached them in abilities.
What made the situation so frustrating to Earthmen was the additional report that the Rykes were quite altruistically sharing their science with a considerable number of other worlds on a fee basis. Earth scientists became intoxicated at the mere thought of studying at the feet of the exalted Rykes.
Except Dr. Sherman Hockley. From the first he had taken a dim view of the Ryke reports. Considering the accomplishments of the National Laboratories, he could see no reason for his colleagues’ half-shameful disowning of all their own work in favor of a completely unknown culture several hundred million light years away. They were bound to contact more advanced cultures in their explorations — and could be thankful they were as altruistic as the Rykes! — but it was no reason to view themselves as idiot children hoping to be taught by the Rykes.
He had kept his opinions very much to himself in the past, since they were not popular with his associates, who generally regarded his attitudes as simply old-fashioned. But now, for the first time, a Ryke ship was honoring Earth with a visit. There was almost hysterical speculation over the possibility that Earth would be offered tutelage by the mighty Ryke scientists. Hockley wouldn’t have said he was unalterably opposed to the idea. He would have described himself as extremely cautious. What he did oppose wholeheartedly was the enthusiasm that painted the Rykes with pure and shining light, without a shadowy hue in the whole picture.
Since his arrival, the Ryke envoy had been closeted with members of the Congressional Science Committee. Not a word had leaked as to his message. Shortly, however, the scientists were to be let in on the secret which might affect their careers for better or for worse during the rest of their lives, and for many generations to come. The meeting was going to be —Hockley jumped to his feet as he glanced at the clock. He hurried through the door to the office of his secretary, Miss Cardston, who looked meaningfully at him as he passed.
“I’ll bet there isn’t a Senator on time,” he said.
In the corridor he almost collided with Dr. Lester Showalter, who was his Administrative Assistant for Basic Research. “The Ryke character showed up fifteen minutes ago,” said Showalter. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“We’ve got six minutes yet,” said Hockley. He walked rapidly beside Showalter. “Is there any word on what the envoy’s got that’s so important?”
“No. I’ve got the feeling it’s something pretty big. Wheeler and Johnson of Budget are there. Somebody said it might have something to do with the National Lab.”
“I don’t see the connection between that and a meeting with the Ryke,” said Hockley.
Showalter stopped at the door of the conference room. “Maybe they want to sell us something. At any rate, we’re about to find out.”
The conference table was surrounded by Senators of the Committee. Layered behind them were scientists representing the cream of Hockley’s organization. Senator Markham, the bulky, red-faced Chairman greeted them. “Your seats are reserved at the head of the table,” he said.
“Sorry about the time,” Hockley mumbled. “Clock must be slow.”
“Quite all right. We assembled just a trifle early. I want you to meet our visitor, Special Envoy from Rykeman III, Liacan.”
Markham introduced them, and the stick-thin envoy arose with an extended hand. His frail, whistling voice that was in keeping with his bird-like character spoke in clear tones. “I am happy to know you, Dr.
Hockley, Dr. Showalter.”
The two men sat down in good view of the visitor’s profile. Hockley had seen the Rykes before, but had always been repelled by their snobbish approach. Characteristically, the envoy bore roughly anthropomorphic features, including a short feather covering on his dorsal side. He was dressed in bright clothing that left visible the streak of feathering that descended from the bright, plumed crown and along the back of his neck. Gravity and air pressure of Earth were about normal for him. For breathing, however, he was required to wear a small device in one narrow nostril. This was connected to a compact tank on his shoulder.
Markham called for order and introduced the visitor. There was a round of applause. Liacan bowed with a short, stiff gesture and let his small black eyes dart over the audience. With an adjustment of his breathing piece he began speaking.
“It is recognized on Earth,” he said, “as it is elsewhere, that my people of Rykeman III possess undisputed intellectual leadership in the galaxies of the Council. Your research is concerned with things taught only in the kindergartens of my world. Much that you hold to be true is in error, and your most profound discoveries are self-evident to the children of my people.”
Hockley felt a quick, painful contraction in the region of his diaphragm. So this was it!
“We are regarded with much jealousy, envy, and even hatred by some of our unlearned neighbors in space,” said the Ryke. “But it has never been our desire to be selfish with our superior achievements which make us the object of these feelings. We have undertaken a program of scientific leadership in our interstellar neighborhood. This began long before you came into space and many worlds have accepted the plan we offer.
“Obviously, it is impractical to pour out all the knowledge and basic science we have accumulated. Another world would find it impossible to sort out that which was applicable to it. What we do is act as a consultation center upon which others can call at will to obtain data pertaining to any problem at hand. Thus, they are not required to sort through wholly inapplicable information to find what they need.
“For example, if you desire to improve your surface conveyances, we will supply you with data for building an optimum vehicle suitable for conditions on Earth and which is virtually indestructible. You will of course do your own manufacturing, but even there we can supply you with technology that will make the process seem miraculous by your present standards.
“Our services are offered for a fee, payable in suitable items of goods or raw materials. When you contemplate the freedom from monotonous and unending research in fields already explored by us, I am certain you will not consider our fees exorbitant. Our desire is to raise the cultural level of all peoples to the maximum of which they are capable. We know it is not possible or even desirable to bring others to our own high levels, but we do offer assistance to all cultures in accord with their ability to receive. The basic principle is that they shall ask — and whatever is asked for, with intelligence sufficient for its utilization, that shall be granted.
“I am certain I may count on your acceptance of the generous offer of my people.”
The envoy sat down with a jiggling of his bright plume, and there was absolute silence in the room. Hockley pictured to himself the dusty, cobweb-filled laboratories of Earth vacated by scientists who ran to the phone to call the Rykes for answers to every problem.
Senator Markham stood up and glanced over the audience. “There is the essence of the program which has been submitted to us,” he said. “There is a vast amount of detail which is, of course, obvious to the minds of our friends on Rykeman III, but which must be the subject of much deliberation on the part of us comparatively simple-minded Earthmen.” He gave a self-conscious chuckle, which got no response.
Hockley felt mentally stunned. Here at last was the thing that had been hoped for by most, anxiously awaited by a few, and opposed by almost no one.
“The major difficulty,” said Markham with slow dignity, “is the price. It’s high, yes. In monetary terms, approximately twelve and a half billions per year. But certainly no man in his right mind would consider any reasonable figure too high for what we can expect to receive from our friends of Rykeman III.
“We of the Science Committee do not believe, however, that we could get a commitment for this sum to be added to our normal budget. Yet there is a rather obvious solution. The sum required is very close to that which is now expended on the National Standardization and Research Laboratories.”
Hockley felt a sudden chill at the back of his neck.
“With the assistance of the Rykes,” said Markham, “we shall have no further need of the National Laboratories. We shall require but a small staff to analyze our problems and present them to the Rykes and relay the answers for proper assimilation. Acceptance of the Ryke program provides its own automatic financing!”
He glanced about with a triumphant smile. Hockley felt as if he were looking through a mist upon something that happened a long time ago. The National Lab! Abandon the National Lab!
Around him there were small nods of agreement from his colleagues. Some pursed their lips as if doubtful — but not very much. He waited for someone to rise to his feet in a blast of protest. No one did. For a moment Hockley’s own hands tensed on the back of the chair in front of him. Then he slumped back to his seat. Now was not the time.
They had to thrash it out among themselves. He had to show them the magnitude of this bribe. He had to find an argument to beat down the Congressmen’s irrational hopes of paradise. He couldn’t plead for the Lab on the grounds of sentiment — or that it was sometimes a good idea to work out your own problems. The Senators didn’t care for the problems or concerns of the scientists. It appeared that even the scientists themselves had forgotten to care. He had to slug both groups with something very solid.
Markham was going on. “We are convinced this is a bargain which even the most obstinate of our Congressional colleagues will be quick to recognize. It would be folly to compute with building blocks when we can gain access to giant calculators. There should be no real difficulty in getting funds transferred from the National Laboratory.
“At this time we will adjourn. Liacan leaves this evening. Our acceptance of this generous offer will be conveyed to Rykeman III directly upon official sanction by the Congress. I wish to ask this same group to meet again for discussion of the details incident to this transfer of operations. Let us say at ten o’clock in the morning, gentlemen.”
* * * *
Hockley said goodbye to the envoy. Afterwards, he moved through the circle of Senators to his own group. In the corridor they tightened about him and followed along as if he had given an order for them to follow him. He turned and attempted a grin.
“Looks like a bull session is in order, gents. Assembly in five minutes in my office.” As he and Showalter opened the door to Miss Cardston’s office and strode in, the secretary looked up with a start. “I thought you were going to meet in the conference room.”
“We’ve met,” said Hockley. “This is the aftermeeting. Send out for a couple of cases of beer.” He glanced at the number surging through the doorway and fished in his billfold. “Better make it three. This ought to cover it.”
With disapproval, Miss Cardston picked up the bills and turned to the phone. Almost simultaneously there was a bellow of protest and an enormous, ham-like hand gripped her slender wrist. She glanced up in momentary fright.
Dr. Forman K. Silvers was holding her wrist with one hand and clapping Hockley on the back with the other. “This is not an occasion for beer, my boy!” he said in an enormous voice. “Make that a case of champagne, Miss Cardston.” He released her and drew out his own billfold.
“Get somebody to bring in a couple of dozen chairs,” Hockley said.
In his own office he walked to the window behind his desk and stood facing it. The afternoon haze was coming up out of the ocean. Faintly visible were the great buildings of the National Laboratories on the other side of the city. Above the mist, the sun caught the tip of the eight-story tower where the massive field tunnels of the newly designed gammatron were to be installed.
Or were to have been installed.
The gammatron was expected to make possible the creation of gravitational fields up to five thousand g’s. It would probably be a mere toy to the Rykes, but Hockley felt a fierce pride in its creation. Maybe that was childish. Maybe his whole feeling about the Lab was childish. Perhaps the time had come to give up childish things and take upon themselves adulthood.
THE FARTHEST HORIZON
It was meant to be a vacation. The three of them had looked forward to a week of joyous insanity. By letters—dozens of them—and by one long and recklessly expensive spacephone call they had planned this trip. Rick was coming home after a year-long exile on Mars.
Never again would they be separated so long, he had promised Sarah. But he had not told how he intended to keep that promise—not until he stepped off the spaceship dock and hugged her close while he punched the biceps of their sixteen-year-old Ken.
He told then about the great plans he had for all of them to live on Mars indefinitely. He told about the new space-probing crews of which he had been given command. And he told about the junior Officers Corps, which came like a golden dream to Ken.
And so this that was meant for vacation time had turned to a harsh and bitter journey.
Sarah glanced aside at the face of Rick. Spaceburned, and grim now after their quarrels, he looked straight ahead, his jaw tight. His hands gripped the steering wheel too hard, making the car sway like an overcontrolled ship.
In the edge of the rear-view mirror she could see Ken. It was like jumping backward two decades in time. But already there was the same intensity of eyes and hard-set jaw that made them alike in unapproachable severity.
A sudden scream cut through the air, far above. It seemed to hang like a vapor trail long after its source was gone.
But looking across the city at the concrete spire of the gammatron, he didn’t believe it.
He heard the clank of metal chairs as a couple of clerks began bringing them in. Then there was the clink of glassware. He turned to see Miss Cardston stiffly indicating a spot on the library table for the glasses and the frosty bottles.
Hockley walked slowly to the table and filled one of the glasses. He raised it slowly. “It’s been a short life but a merry one, gentlemen
.” He swallowed the contents of the glass too quickly and returned to his desk.
“You don’t sound very happy about the whole thing,” said Mortenson, a chemist who wore a neat, silvery mustache.
“Are you overjoyed,” said Hockley, “that we are to swap the National Lab for a bottomless encyclopedia?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Mortenson, “There are some minor objections, but in the end I’m certain we’ll all be satisfied with what we get!”
“Satisfied! Happy!” exclaimed the mathematician, Dr. Silvers. “How can you use words so prosaic and restrained in references to these great events which we shall be privileged to witness in our lifetimes?”
He had taken his stand by the library table and was now filling the glasses with the clear, bubbling champagne, sloshing it with ecstatic abandon over the table and the rug.
Hockley glanced toward him. “You don’t believe, then, Dr. Silvers, that we should maintain any reserve in regard to the Rykes?”
“None whatever! The gods themselves have stepped down and offered an invitation direct to paradise. Should we question or hold back, or say we are merely happy. The proper response of a man about to enter heaven is beyond words!”
The bombast of the mathematician never failed to enliven any backroom session in which he participated. “I have no doubt,” he said, “that within a fortnight we shall be in possession of a solution to the Legrandian Equations. I have sought this for forty years.”
“I think it would be a mistake to support the closing of the National Laboratories,” said Hockley slowly.
As if a switch had been thrown, their expressions changed. There was a sudden carefulness in their stance and movements, as if they were feinting before a deadly opponent.
Sunday is Three Thousand Years Away and Other SF Classics Page 18