"The matter bank is composed of the same elements as the matter for transmission?" asked Kingman.
"No. Some elements release more energy than others. It is desirable that the energy-transfer be slightly negative. That is to say that additional energy must be used in order to make the thing work."
"Why?
"All power lines and other devices are developed for delivering energy, not receiving it. It is less disastrous to take energy from a power line than to try and drive it back in—and the energy must be dissipated somehow."
"Then the matter bank is not the same material."
"No," said Farrell. "The substance of the matter bank is nonhomogeneous. Instantaneously, it will be whatever element is necessary to maintain the fine balance of energy—and it is in constant change."
"Proceed," said Kingman.
"In passing from the disintegrator tube to reintegrator tube, the energy impresses its characteristic signal on a sub-ether transmission system. Radio might work, except that the signal is unbelievably complex. Wired communications—"
"Objection to the term," said Kingman.
"Sustained."
"Wired ... transfer? ... might work, but probably would not due to this same high complexity in transmitted signal. At any rate, upon reception, the signal is used to influence, or modulate, the energy passing from a disintegrator tube to a reintegrator tube in the receiver. But this time the tube is tearing down the matter bank and restoring the object. Follow?"
"I believe so. Does the Court understand?"
"This Court can follow the technical terms."
"Now, Dr. Farrell, the matter transmitter does actually transmit over a power-transmission tube?"
"Yes. Of the type developed by us for communications."
"But it is a power tube?"
"Yes."
"Then are you certain that you are sending no energy?"
"I object!" shouted Tinkin. "The question has no answer!"
"Hasn't it?" queried Kingman. "My worthy opponent, all questions have an answer."
"Objection overruled," snapped Hamilton sourly. "Let the witness answer."
"It is impossible to send communications without sending some energy. It is the intent to which the energy is put that determines the classification."
"Explain further."
"You must send energy when you communicate with a light-blinker," grinned Farrell, "The receiving party receives the energy, but couldn't possibly read a newspaper with it. The beams at Venus Equilateral send out several million watts—and by the time they get to Luna, they require amplifications bordering on the million-times before they are usable. The intent is clear—we are not supplying power, we are sending intelligence."
"I contend," said Kingman to the judge, "that the contract states clearly that developments of this device are to be used for communications only when operated by Venus Equilateral. I further contend that the transmission of matter does not constitute a communication, but rather a transfer of energy."
"I object," said Tinkin. "If this statement was objectionable to the learned counsel before, it is equally objectionable to me now."
"Previously," said Kingman suavely, "counsel was trying to influence a witness. I am merely trying to explain my point."
Hamilton cleared his throat. "Counsel is merely attempting to influence the Court; the same privilege will be available to his opponent at the proper time. That is why we have courts."
Tinkin sat down.
"I maintain that the concept of communication precludes matter transmission," stormed Kingman. "Matter transmission becomes a problem for the transportation companies and the power companies. Matter, your honor, is energy. They are transmitting energy!"
He stalked over to Tinkin and smiled affably. "Cross-examination?" he offered.
"No questions," said Tinkin.
Hamilton rapped on the bench. "Court is adjourned for ten minutes!"
"Looking for something?" asked Don. Arden turned from the window and faced him.
"I was trying to see Niagara Falls," she smiled. "I've heard that you could see 'em from Buffalo."
"You can," laughed her husband, "but not from this part of Buffalo. What do you want to see Niagara Falls for, anyway? Just a lot of water falling over a cliff at two pints to the quart."
"If you recall, chum, we went to Mars, not Niagara. There wasn't two pints of water on the whole planet, let alone a thing like Niagara."
Don nodded. "At the risk of offending a lot of Buffalonians, I'm beginning to dislike the place."
"It isn't the people," said Arden. "It's the position we're in. Bad, huh?"
"Not going too good at all. Kingman slips in a sly dig every now and then. Frankly, I am getting worried. He's got a few points that really hit very close to home. If he can sell the judge on a couple more of them, we'll be under the sod."
"You won't be out entirely, will you?"
"Not entirely. He'll have to use the beams of Venus Equilateral to operate, but he'll be collecting all the real gravy. We'll just be leasing our beams to him."
"Well, don't go down without a fight, chum."
"I won't. I really hate to see Kingman get ahead of this, though." Don stretched, took another look out across the city of Buffalo, and then said: "We'd best be getting back. We'll be late ... he said ten minutes."
They went down the staircase slowly, and at the courtroom door they met Keg Johnson. The latter smiled wearily. "Not too good?"
"Nope."
"Don, if you lose, then what?"
"Appeal, I guess."
"That isn't too good. Judges do not reverse lower courts unless a real miscarriage of justice takes place."
"I know, but that's our only chance."
"What would you advise me to do?"
"Meaning?" asked Don.
"Interplanet. We'll be run right out of business if this thing goes over to Kingman and that bunch."
"I know."
"Look, Don, have you tried living matter?"
"Plants go through with no ill effects. Microscopic life does, too. Animals we have tried usually die because of internal disorders—but they move while being scanned, and their bodies come out looking rather ugly. An anaesthetized mouse went through all right—lived for several hours. Died because the breathing-function made a microscopic rift in the lungs, and the beating heart didn't quite meet true. We must speed up the scanning-time to a matter of micro-seconds and then we can send living bodies with no harm."
"That would clean out the space lines," said Keg. "I think I'll offer that bird a slice of Interplanet for an interest, if he wins. We've got to have it, Don."
"I know, Keg. No hard feelings."
"Of course," said Keg wistfully. "We'll be across a barrel if you win, too. But the barrel will be less painful with you holding the handles than if Terran Electric holds them. The same offer goes for you, too."
"O.K.," nodded Channing. He turned and entered the courtroom.
Tinkin called Don Channing to the stand as his first witness. Don explained the function of Venus Equilateral, the job of interplanetary communications, and their work along other lines of endeavor. Then Tinkin said to the judge:
"I have here a glass cube, three inches on a side. This cube was transmitted from Venus Equilateral to the Lunar Station. I offer it as Exhibit A. It was a test-sample, and as you see, it emerged from the test absolutely perfect."
The judge took the cube, examined it with some interest, and then set it down on the desk.
"Now," said Tinkin, "if you do not object, I should like to present a demonstration of the matter transmitter. May I?"
Hamilton brightened slightly. "Permission is granted."
"Thank you." Tinkin made motions and the technicians came in with the two cabinets.
"This isn't good," said Kingman's assistant to the lawyer. "The old goat looks interested."
"Don't worry," said Kingman. "This'll take a long time, and by the time they get done, Hamilton will be ready to throw them out. Besides, it will make a good arguing point for my final blast. And, brother, I've got a talking-point that will scream for itself."
"But suppose they convince—"
"Look," smiled Kingman, "this is really no argument as to whether matter or intelligence is carried. Believe me, that has nothing to do with it. I'm keeping this one under the wraps until shooting-time so they won't be able to get an argument against it. We're a cinch. That's why I kept it in a legal court instead of a technical court. The Techs would award it to Channing on a technical basis, but the legal boys have got to follow my argument."
"How about an appeal?"
"The record of this court is still a very heavy argument. Look, they're about to start."
The racket and hubbub died, and Tinkin faced the judge. "These are plainly labeled. They are matter transmitter and matter receiver. We have here a set of metal bars. They are made of copper, steel, aluminum, some complex alloys, and the brother to that glass cube you have before you. We will transmit this set of objects from here to there. Have you any suggestions?"
"A matter of control and identity. What have you for control?"
"Nothing that is outside of our hands," smiled Tinkin. "Would you care to send something of your own? Your gavel? Inkwell? Marked coin? Anything?"
"I'd offer my glasses except for the fact that I can not see without them," said Judge Hamilton.
"We wouldn't break them or damage them a bit."
"I know—that much faith I have—but I'd not see the experiment."
"A good point. Anything else?"
"My watch. It is unique enough for me." He handed over the watch, which was quite sizable.
Tinkin inspected the watch and smiled. "Very old, isn't it? A real collector's item, I daresay."
Hamilton beamed. "There are nine of them in the Solar System," he said. "And I know where the other eight are."
"O.K., we'll put it on the top. I'll have to stop it, because the movement of the balance wheel would cause a rift during transmission."
"How about the spring tension?"
"No need to worry about that. We've sent loaded springs before. Now, people, stand back and we'll go on the air."
Don Channing himself inspected the machinery to see that nothing was wrong. He nodded at Walt Franks at the receiver, and then started the initial operations. "We are synchronizing the two machines," he said. "Absolute synchronization is necessary. Ready, Walt?"
"Right!"
Channing pushed a button. There was a minute, whirring hum, a crackle of ozone, very faint, and the almost-imperceptible wave of heat from both machines. "Now," said Walt Franks, "we'll see."
He opened the cabinet and reached in with a flourish.
His face fell. It turned rosy. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but choking sounds came forth. He spluttered, took a deep breath, and then shook his head in slow negation. Slowly, like a boy coming in for a whipping, Walt took out the judge's watch. He handed it to Don.
Don, knowing from Walt's expression that something was very, very wrong, took the watch gingerly, but quickly. He hated to look and was burning with worried curiosity at the same time.
In all three dimensions, the watch had lost its shape. It was no longer a lenticular object, but had a very faint sine wave in its structure. The round case was distorted in this wave, and the face went through the same long swell and ebb as the case. The hands maintained their distance from this wavy face by conforming to the sine-wave contour of the watch. And Channing knew without opening the watch that the insides were all created on the sine-wave principle, too. The case wouldn't have opened, Don knew, because it was a screw-on case, and the threads were rippling up and down along with the case and cover. The knurled stem wouldn't have turned, and as Channing shook the watch gently, it gave forth with one—and only one—tick as the slack in the distorted balance wheel went out.
He faced the judge. "We seem—"
"You blasted fools and idiots!" roared the judge. "Nine of them—!"
He turned and stiffly went to his seat. Channing returned to the witness chair.
"How do you explain that?" roared Judge Hamilton.
"I can only think of one answer," offered Channing in a low voice. "We made the power supplies out of power and voltage transducers and filtered the output for sixty cycles. Buffalo is still using twenty-five-cycle current. Since the reactances of both capacity and inductance vary according to the—"
"Enough of this!" roared Hamilton. "I—No, I may not say it. I am on the bench and what I am thinking would bring impeachment. Proceed Attorney Kingman."
Kingman took the cue, and before anyone realized that it was still Tinkin's floor, he opened.
"Dr. Channing, you can send a gallon of gasoline through this, ah, so-called matter transmitter?"
"Naturally."
"Then, your honor, it is my contention that no matter what the means or the intent, this instrument utilizes the sub-etheric effects to transmit energy! It is seldom possible to transmit power over the same carriers that carry communications—only very specialized cases prevail, and they are converted to the job. But this thing is universal. Perhaps it does transmit intelligence. It will and can be used to transmit energy! Matter, your honor, is energy! That, even the learned opponent will admit. We have our own means of transmitting power—this is another—and no matter what is intended, power and energy will be transmitted over its instruments.
"Since this machine transmits energy, I ask that you rule that it fall under that classification. I rest my case."
Hamilton nodded grumly. Then he fixed Tinkin with an ice-cold stare. "Have you anything to offer that may possibly be of any interest to me?"
Tinkin shook his head. He was still stunned.
"I shall deliver my ruling in the morning. I am overwrought and must rest. Adjourned until tomorrow morning."
The only sounds in the room were the tinkle of glassware and the occasional moan of utter self-dislike. Channing sat with his glass in his hand and made faces as he lifted it. Franks matched his mood. Both of them were of the type that drinks only when feeling good because it made them feel better. When they drank while feeling low, it made them feel lower, and at the present time they were about as far down as they could get. They knew it; they took the liquor more as a local anaesthetic than anything else. Arden, whose disappointment was not quite as personal as theirs, was not following them drink for drink, but she knew how they felt and was busying herself with glass, ice, and bottle as they needed it.
It was hours since the final let-down in the court. They knew that they could appeal the case, and probably after a hard fight they would win. It might be a year or so before they did, and in the meantime they would lose the initial control over the matter transmitter. They both felt that having the initial introduction in their hands would mean less headache than having Terran Electric exploit the thing to the bitter end as quickly as possible.
The fact of sunrise—something they never saw on Venus Equilateral—did not interest them one bit. It grew light outside, and as the first glimmerings of sunrise came, a knock on their door came also.
"Mice," hissed Walt.
"S'nock on door."
"Mice knocking on door?"
"Naw."
"Mice gnawing on door?"
"It's Wes Farrell," announced Arden, opening the door.
"Let'm in. S'all right, Wes. Anyone c'n make mishtake."
"He's sober."
"Gettum drink," said Don. "Gettum drink—gettum drunk."
"Look, fellows, I'm sorry about that fool mistake. I've been working on the judge's ticker. I've fixed it."
"Fitched it?" asked Walt, opening his eyes wide.
"Close 'em—Y'll bleed t' death," gurgled Don.
Farrell dangled the judge's watch before them. It was perfect. It ticked, it ran, and though they couldn't possibly have seen the hands from a distance of more than nine inches, it was keeping perfect time.
Don shook his head, moaned at the results of the shaking, put both hands on his head to hold it down, and looked again. "How'ja do it?"
"Made a recording of the transmitted signal. Fixed the power-supply filters first. Then took the recording—"
"On whut?" spluttered Walt.
"On a disk like the alloy-tuners in the communications beams. Worked fine. Anyway, I recorded the signal, and then started to buck out the ripple by adding some out-of-phase hum to cancel the ripple."
"Shounds reas'n'ble."
"Worked. I had a couple of messes, though."
"Messessesesss?" hissed Walt, losing control over his tongue.
"Yes. Had a bit of trouble making the ripple match." Farrell pulled several watches from his pocket. "This one added ripple. It's quite cockeyed. This one had cross-ripple and it's really a mess. It sort of looks like you feel, Walt. I've got 'em with double ripples, triple ripples, phase distortion, over-correction, and one that reminds me of a pancake run through a frilling machine."
Channing looked at the collection of scrambled watches and shuddered. "Take'm away—brrrrrr."
Arden covered the uninspiring things with a tablecloth.
"Thanks," said Don.
"Do you think the judge'll forgive us?" asked Farrell.
"Don't say it," said Walt, bursting with laughter.
"I don't have to," chortled Don.
"They're both hysterical," explained Arden.
"Carbogen and Turkish bath," said Don. "And quick! Arden, call us a taxi."
"You're both taxis," giggled Arden. "O.K., fellows. Can do." She went to the phone and started to call.
Farrell looked uncomprehendingly at Walt and then at Don, and shook his head. "Mind telling me?" he pleaded.
"Wes, you're a million!" roared Channing, rolling on the floor.
Farrell turned to Arden.
"Let them alone," she said. "Something probably pleases them highly. We'll find out later—Yes? Operator? Will you call a cab for Room 719? Thanks."
Attorney Tinkin faced Judge Hamilton with a slight smile. "Prior to your ruling, I wish to present you with your watch. Also I ask permission to sum up my case—an act which I was unprepared to do last evening."
Hamilton reached for the watch, but Tinkin kept it.
"You may state your case—but it will make little difference in my ruling unless you can offer better evidence than your opponent."
"Thank you," said Tinkin. He made a show of winding the watch, and he set it accurately to the court clock on the wall. "Your honor, a telegram is a message. It requires energy for transmission. A letter also requires energy for carrying and delivery. A spacegram requires the expenditure of great energy to get the message across. The case in hand is this: If the energy is expended in maintaining the contact, then communications are involved. But when the energy is expected to be used on the other side—and the energies transmitted are far above and beyond those necessary for mere maintenance of contact, it then may be construed that not the contact but the transmittal of energy is desired, and power transmission is in force."
Tinkin swung Hamilton's watch by the chain.
"The matter of sending flowers by telegram is not a matter of taking a bouquet to the office and having the items sent by electricity to Northern Landing. A message is sent—an order to ship or deliver. It makes no difference whether the order be given in person or sent by spacegram. It is a communication that counts. In this device, a communication is sent which directs the device to produce a replica of the transmitted object. Ergo it must fall under the realm of communications. I will now demonstrate this effect, and also one other effect which is similar to telegraphic communications."
Tinkin ignored Hamilton's outstretched hand, and put the watch in the cabinet. Hamilton roared, but Tinkin held up a hand to stop him. "I assure you that this will cause no ill effects. We have repaired the damage."
"For every minute of delay between now and the moment I receive my watch, I shall fine you one hundred dollars for contempt of court."
"Well worth it," smiled Tinkin.
Channing pressed the switch.
Click!went the receiver, and from a slide, Channing removed the judge's watch. With a flourish, he started it, and handed it to the judge, who glared.
"Now," added Tinkin, "I wish to add—
Click!
"—two objects may be similar in form—
Click!
"—but can not be identities!
Click!
"However, two communications—
Click!
"—may be dissimilar in form—
Click!
"—but identical in meaning!
Click!
"We have before us—
Click!
"—a condition where—
Click!
"—identical messages are—
Click!
"—being reproduced in identical form—
Click!
"—just like a bunch of—
Click!
"—carbon copies!"
Click!
"The production rate of which—
Click!
"—will be high enough—
Click!
"—to lower the cost—
Click!
"—of this previously rare item—
Click!
"—until it is well within the reach of all."
Click!
"Just as in communications—
Click!
"—we may send an order—
Click!
"—directing the fabrication—
Click!
"—of several hundred similar items!
Click!
"And our supplier will bill us—
Click!
"—for them later!"
Brrr-rup!
"That last buzz or burp was a signal that we have reached the end of our matter bank. Our credit, for example, has run out. However, Dr. Channing is about to make a substantial deposit with the manufacturer, and we will resume operations later. I ask you—
Click!
"—can you do this with energy?"
Click!
"Stop that infernal—
Click!
"—machine before I have you all held for disrespect, perjury, contempt of court, and grand larceny!" yelled the judge.
Channing stopped the machine and started to hand out the carbon-copy watches to the audience, who received them with much glee. Kingman came to life at this point. He rose from his chair and started to object, but he was stopped by Tinkin who leaned over and whispered:
"My worthy and no doubt learned opponent, I'd advise that you keep your magnificent oratory buttoned tight in those flapping front teeth of yours. If we all get into that gadget—how would you like to fight ten or twelve of us?"
THE END.