By Proxy

by Randall Garrett

in. "Is that the truth? Was hereally working with the Space Force?"

  "Hell, no," said Elshawe. "But they'll have to claim he was now. Let mego on."

  "Shoot."

  "... He also beamed a message to the men on Moon Base One, telling themthat from now on they would be able to commute back and forth from Lunato Earth, just as simply as flying from New York to Detroit. Paragraph.

  "What followed was even more astounding. At tremendous acceleration,Malcom Porter and Terrence Elshawe, your reporter, headed for Mars.Inside Porter's ship, there is no feeling of acceleration except for asteady, one-gee pull which makes the passenger feel as though he is onan ordinary airplane, even though the spaceship may be accelerating atmore than a hundred gravities. Paragraph.

  "Porter's ship circled Mars, taking photographs of the Red Planet--thefirst close-ups of Mars to be seen by the human race. Then, at the sametremendous rate of speed, Porter's ship returned to Earth. The entiretrip took less than thirty-six hours. According to Porter, improvedships should be able to cut that time down considerably. Paragraph."

  "Have you got those pics?" Winstein cut in.

  "Sure. Porter gave me an exclusive in return for socking me. It wasworth it. Remember back in the Twenties, when the newspapermen talkedabout a scoop? Well, we've got the biggest scoop of the century."

  "Maybe," said Winstein. "The Government hasn't made any announcementyet. Where's Porter?"

  "Under arrest, where'd you think? After announcing that he would land onhis New Mexico ranch, he did just that. As soon as he stepped out, acouple of dozen Government agents grabbed him. Violation of parole--heleft the state without notifying his parole officer. But they couldn'ttouch me, and they knew it.

  "Here's another bit of news for your personal information. A bomb wentoff inside the ship after it landed and blew the drive to smithereens.The only information is inside Porter's head. He's got the Governmentwhere the short hair grows."

  "Looks like it. See here, Terry; you get all the information you can andbe back here by Saturday. You're going to go on the Weekend Report."

  "Me? I'm no actor. Let Maxon handle it."

  "No. This is hot. You're an eye-witness. Maxon will interview you.Understand?"

  "O.K.; you're the boss, Ole. Anything else?"

  "Not right now, but if anything more comes up, call in."

  "Right. 'Bye." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, cocking his feetup on the desk. It was Malcom Porter's desk and Malcom Porter's chair.He was sitting in the Big Man's office, just as though he owned it. Hisjaw still hurt a little, but he loved every ache of it. It was hard toremember that he had ever been angry with Porter.

  Just before they had landed, Porter had said: "They'll arrest me, ofcourse. I knew that when I left. But I think I can get out of it. Therewill be various kinds of Government agents all over the place, but theywon't find anything. I've burned all my notebooks.

  "I'll instruct my attorney that you're to have free run of the place sothat you can call in your story."

  * * * * *

  The phone rang. Elshawe grabbed up the receiver and said: "MalcomPorter's residence." He wished that they had visiphones out in thecountry; he missed seeing the face of the person he was talking to.

  "Let me talk to Mr. Terrence Elshawe, please," said the voice at theother end. "This is Detective Lieutenant Martin of the Los AngelesPolice Department."

  "This is me, Marty."

  "Good! Boy, have I had trouble getting to you! I had to make it anofficial call before the phone company would put the call through. Howdoes it feel to be notorious?"

  "Great. What's new?"

  "I got the dope on that Skinner fellow. I suppose you still want it? Orhas success gone to your head?"

  Elshawe had almost forgotten about Skinner. "Shoot," he said.

  The police officer rattled off Samuel Skinner's vital statistics--age,sex, date and place of birth, and so on. Then: "He lived in New Yorkuntil 1977. Taught science for fifteen years at a prep school there.He--"

  "Wait a second," Elshawe interrupted. "When was he born? Repeat that."

  "March fourth, nineteen-thirty."

  "Fifty-three," Elshawe said, musingly. "Older than he looks. O.K.; goon."

  "He retired in '77 and came to L.A. to live. He--"

  "Retired at the age of forty-seven?" Elshawe asked incredulously.

  "That's right. Not on a teacher's pension, though. He's got some kind ofannuity from a New York life insurance company. Pays pretty good, too.He gets a check for two thousand dollars on the third of every month. Ichecked with his bank on that. Nice, huh?"

  "Very nice. Go on."

  "He lives comfortably. No police record. Quiet type. One servant, aChinese, lives with him. Sort of combination of valet and secretary.

  "As far as we can tell, he has made four trips in the past three years.One in June of '79, one in June of '80, one in June of '81, and thisyear he made the fourth one. In '79, he went to Silver City, New Mexico.In '80 and '81, he went to Hawaii. This year, he went to Silver Cityagain. Mean anything to you?"

  "Not yet," Elshawe said. "Are you paying for this call, or is the Cityof Los Angeles footing the bill?"

  "Neither. You are."

  "Then shut up and let me think for a minute." After less than a minute,he said: "Martin, I want some more data on that guy. I'm willing to payfor it. Should I hire a private detective?"

  "That's up to you. I can't take any money for it, naturally--but I'mwilling to nose around a little more for you if I can. On the otherhand, I can't put full time in on it. There's a reliable detectiveagency here in L.A.-- Drake's the guy's name. Want me to get in touchwith him?"

  "I'd appreciate it. Don't tell him who wants the information or that ithas any connection with Porter. Get--"

  "Hold it, Terry ... just a second. You know that if I uncover anyindication of a crime, all bets are off. The information goes to mysuperiors, not to you."

  "I know. But I don't think there's any crime involved. You work it fromyour end and send me the bills. O.K.?"

  "Fair enough. What more do you want?"

  Elshawe told him.

  When the phone call had been completed, Elshawe sat back and made cloudsof pipe smoke, which he stared at contemplatively. Then he made twocalls to New York--one to his boss and another to a private detectiveagency he knew he could trust.

  * * * * *

  The Malcom Porter case quickly became a _cause celebre_. Somebodygoofed. Handled properly, the whole affair might have been hushed up;the Government would have gotten what it wanted, Porter would havegotten what _he_ wanted, and everyone would have saved face. But somebureaucrat couldn't see beyond the outer surface of his spectaclelenses, and some other bureaucrat failed to stop the thing in time.

  "Gall, gall, and bitter, bitter wormwood," said Oler Winstein, perchinghimself on the edge of Terry Elshawe's desk.

  "You don't Gallic, bitter, wormy, or wooden. What's up?"

  "Got a call from Senator Tallifero. He wants to know if you'll consentto appear before the Joint Congressional Committee for InvestigatingMilitary Affairs. I get the feeling that if you say 'no,' they'll send aformal invitation--something on the order of a subpoena."

  Elshawe sighed. "Oh, well. It's news, anyway. When do they want me to bein Washington?"

  "Tomorrow. Meanwhile, Porter, of course, is under arrest and in closeconfinement. Confusion six ways from Sunday." He shook his head. "Idon't understand why they just didn't pat him on the back, say they'dbeen working on this thing all along, and cover it up fast."

  "Too many people involved," Elshawe said, putting his cold pipe in thehuge ashtray on his desk. "The Civil Aeronautics crowd must have had aspotter up in those mountains; they had a warrant out for his arrestwithin an hour after we took off. They also notified the parole board,who put out an all-points bulletin immediately. The Army and the AirForce were furious because he'd evaded their radar net. Porter steppedon so many toes
so hard that it was inevitable that one or more wouldyell before they realized it would be better to keep their mouths shut."

  "Well, you get up there and tell your story, and I dare say he'll comeout of it."

  "Sure he will. They know he's got something, and they know they have tohave it. But he's going to go through hell before they give it to him."

  Winstein slid off the desk and stood up. "I hope so. He deserves it. Bythe way, it's too bad you couldn't get a story out of that Sam Skinnercharacter."

  "Yeah. But there's nothing to it. After all, even the FBI tried to findout if there was anyone at all besides Porter who might know anythingabout it. No luck. Not even the technicians who worked with him knewanything useful. Skinner didn't know anything at all." He told the liewith a perfectly straight face. He didn't like lying to Winstein, butthere was no other way. He hoped he wouldn't have to lie to theCongressional Committee; perjury was not something he liked doing. Thetrouble was, if he told the truth, he'd be worse off than if he lied.

  He took the plane that night for Washington, and spent the next threedays answering questions while he tried to keep his nerves undercontrol. Not once did they even approach the area he wanted them toavoid.

  On the plane back, he relaxed, closed his eyes, and, for the first timein days, allowed himself to think about Mr. Samuel Skinner.

  * * * * *

  The reports from the two detective agencies on the East and West Coastshadn't made much sense separately, but together they added up to enoughto have made it worth Elshawe's time to go to Los Angeles and tackleSamuel Skinner personally. He had called Skinner and made anappointment; Skinner had invited him out to his home.

  It was a fairly big house, not too new, and it sat in the middle of alot that was bigger than normal for land-hungry Los Angeles.

  Elshawe ran through the scene mentally. He could see Skinner's mild faceand hear his voice saying: "Come in, Mr. Elshawe."

  They went into the living room, and Skinner waved him toward a chair."Sit down. Want some coffee?"

  "Thanks; I'd appreciate it." While Skinner made coffee, the reporterlooked around the room. It wasn't overly showy, but it showed a sort ofsubdued wealth. It was obvious that Mr. Skinner wasn't lacking incomforts.

  Skinner brought in the coffee and then sat down, facing Elshawe, inanother chair. "Now," he said bluntly, "what was that remark you made onthe phone about showing up Malcom Porter as a phony? I understood thatyou actually went to Mars on his ship. Don't you believe the evidence ofyour own senses?"

  "I don't mean that kind of phony," Elshawe said. "And you know it. I'llcome to the point. I know that Malcom Porter didn't invent theGravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer. _You_ did."

  Skinner's eyes widened. "Where did you get that information?"

  "I can't tell you my sources, Mr. Skinner. Not yet, anyhow. But I haveenough information to tell me that you're the man. It wouldn't hold upin court, but, with the additional information you can give me, I thinkit will."

  Skinner looked baffled, as if not knowing what to say next.

  "Mr. Skinner," Elshawe went on, "a research reporter has to have alittle of the crusader in him, and maybe I've got more than most. You'vediscovered one of the greatest things in history--or invented it,whatever you want to call it. You deserve to go down in history alongwith Newton, Watt, Roentgen, Edison, Einstein, Fermi, and all the rest.

  "But somehow Malcom Porter stole your invention and he intends to takefull credit for it. Oh, I know he's paid you plenty of money not to makeany fuss, and he probably thinks you couldn't prove anything, anyway.But you don't have to be satisfied with his conscience money any more.With the backing of Magnum Telenews, you can blow Mister Glory-houndPorter's phony setup wide open and take the credit you deserve."

  Skinner didn't look at all the way Elshawe had expected. Instead, hefrowned a little and said: "I'm glad you came, Mr. Elshawe. I didn'trealize that there was enough evidence to connect me with his project."But he didn't look exactly overjoyed.

  "Well," Elshawe said tentatively, "if you'll just answer a fewquestions--"

  "Just a minute, Mr. Elshawe. Do you mind if I ask you a few questionsfirst?"

  "Go ahead."

  Skinner leaned forward earnestly. "Mr. Elshawe, who deserves credit foran invention? Who deserves the money?"

  "Why ... why, the inventor, of course."

  "The inventor? Or the man who gives it to humanity?"

  "I ... don't quite follow you."

  He leaned back in his chair again. "Mr. Elshawe, when I invented thePolarizer, I hadn't the remotest idea of what I'd invented. I taughtgeneral science in the high school Malcom Porter went to, and I had alab in my basement. Porter was a pretty bright boy, and he liked to comearound to my lab and watch me putter around. I had made this gadget--itwas a toy for children as far as I was concerned. I didn't have any ideaof its worth. It was just a little gadget that hopped up into the airand floated down again. Cute, but worthless, except as a novelty. And itwas too expensive to build it as a novelty. So I forgot about it.

  "Years later, Porter came around to me and offered to buy it. I dug itout of the junk that was in my little workshop and sold it to him.

  "A couple of years after that, he came back. He said that he'd inventedsomething. After beating all around the bush, he finally admitted thathis invention was a development of my little toy. He offered me amillion dollars if I'd keep my mouth shut and forget all about thething."

  "And you accepted?" Elshawe asked incredulously.

  "Certainly! I made him buy me a tax-paid annuity that pays me more thanenough to get by on. I don't want wealth, Mr. Elshawe--just comfort. Andthat's why I gave it to him."

  * * * * *

  "I don't follow you."

  "Let me tell you about Malcom Porter. He is one of that vast horde ofpeople who want to be _someone_. They want to be respected and looked upto. But they either can't, or won't, take the time to learn the basicsof the field they want to excel in. The beautiful girl who wants to bean actress without bothering to learn to act; the young man who wants tobe a judge without going through law school, or be a general withoutstudying military tactics; and Malcom Porter, the boy who wanted to bea great scientist--but didn't want to take the trouble to learnscience."

  Elshawe nodded. He was thinking of the "artists" who splatter up cleancanvas and call it "artistic self-expression." And the clodheads whowrite disconnected, meaningless prose and claim that it's free verse.The muddleminds who forget that Picasso learned to paint within thestrict limits of classical art before he tried new methods, and thatJames Joyce learned to handle the English language well before he wrote"Finnegan's Wake."

  "On the other hand," Skinner continued, "I am ... well, rather a shyman. As soon as Malcom told me what the device would do when it wasproperly powered, I knew that there would be trouble. I am not afighter, Mr. Elshawe. I have no desire to spend time in prison or bevilified in the news or called a crackpot by orthodox scientists.

  "I don't want to fight Malcom's claim, Mr. Elshawe. Don't you see, he_deserves_ the credit! In the first place, he recognized it for what itwas. If he hadn't, Heaven only knows how long it would have been beforesomeone rediscovered it. In the second place, he has fought and foughthard to give it to humanity. He has suffered in prison and spentmillions of dollars to get the Polarizer into the hands of the UnitedStates Government. He has, in fact, worked harder and suffered more thanif he'd taken the time and trouble to get a proper education. And it gothim what he wanted; I doubt that he would have made a very goodscientist, anyway.

  "Porter deserves every bit of credit for the Polarizer. I am perfectlyhappy with the way things are working out."

  Elshawe said: "But what if the FBI gets hold of the evidence I have?"

  "That's why I have told you the truth, Mr. Elshawe," Skinner saidearnestly. "I want you to destroy that evidence. I would deny flatlythat I had anything to do with the Polarizer, in any
case. And thatwould put an end to any inquiry because no one would believe that Iwould deny inventing something like that. But I would just as soon thatthe question never came up. I would rather that there be no whisperwhatever of anything like that."

  He paused for a moment, then, very carefully, he said: "Mr. Elshawe, youhave intimated that the inventor of the Polarizer deserves some kind ofreward. I assure you that the greatest reward you could give me would beto help me destroy all traces of any connection with the device. Willyou do that, Mr. Elshawe?"

  Elshawe just sat silently in the chair for long minutes, thinking.Skinner didn't interrupt; he simply waited patiently.

  After about ten minutes, Elshawe put his pipe carefully on a nearbytable and reached down to pick up his briefcase. He handed it toSkinner.

  "Here. It contains all the evidence I have. Including, I might say, therecording of our conversation