"That's a promise," said Walt. "Take it easy, and don't worry. We'll be catching up with them one of these days."
"Hadley, how much coating have we got on those cathodes?" asked Don Channing.
"Not too much. We had about twenty G hours to begin with. We went to a half G for twenty hours, and now we're running on a quarter G, which would let us go for forty hours more."
"Well, look. If it should come to a choice between floor and signal gun, we'll choose the gun. We've about eight hours left in the cathodes, and since everybody is now used to quarter G we might even slide it down to an eighth G, which would give us about sixteen hours."
"Your gun is still putting out?"
"So far as I can tell. Six hours from now, we should know, I think, predicating my guess on whatever meager information they must have."
"We could save some juice by killing most of the lights in the ship."
"That's a thought. Johannson, have one of your men run around and remove all lights that aren't absolutely necessary. He can kill about three-quarters of them, I'm certain. That'll save us a few kilowatt hours," said Channing. "And another thing. I'm about to drop the power of our electron gun and run it continuously. If the boys are anywhere in the neighborhood, they'll be needing continuous disturbance for direction finding. I'd say in another five hours that we should start continuous radiation."
"You know, Channing, if this thing works out all right, it will be a definite vote for pure, deductive reasoning."
"I know. But the deductive reasoning is not too pure. It isn't guesswork. There are two factors of known quality. One is that I know Walt Franks and the other is that he knows me. The rest is a simple matter of the boys on the station knowing space to the last inch, and applying the theory of probabilities to it. We'll hear from them soon, or I'll miss my guess. Just you wait."
"Yeah," drawled Captain Johannson, "we'll wait!"
Chuck Thomas made another computation and said: "Well, Walt, we've been narrowing them down for quite a long time now. We're getting closer and closer to them, according to the field intensity. I've just got a good idea of direction on that last five minute shot. Have Franklen swivel us around on this course; pretty soon we'll be right in the middle of their shots."
"We're approaching them asymptotically," observed Walt. "I wish I knew what our velocity was with respect to theirs. Something tells me that it would be much simpler if I knew."
"Walt," asked Arden, "how close can you see a spaceship?"
"You mean how far? Well, I don't know that it has ever been tried and recorded. But we can figure it out easy enough by analogy. A period is about thirty-thousandths of an inch in diameter, and visible from a distance of thirty inches. I mean visible with no doubt about its being there. That's a thousand to one. Now, theAriadneis about six hundred feet tall and about four hundred feet in its major diameter, so we can assume a little more than the four hundred feet—say five hundred feet average of circular area, say—follow me?"
"Go on, you're vague, but normal."
"Then at a thousand to one, that becomes five hundred thousand feet, and dividing by five thousand—round figures because it isn't important enough to use that two hundred and eighty feet over the five thousand—gives us one thousand miles. We should be able to see theAriadnefrom a distance of a thousand miles."
"Then at four thousand miles per second we'll be in and through and out of visual range in a half second?"
"Oh, no. They're rambling on a quite similar course at an unknown but high velocity. Our velocity with respect to theirs is what will determine how long they're within visual range."
"Hey, Walt," came the voice of Chuck Thomas. "The intensity of Don's beam has been cut to about one-quarter and is now continuous. Does that mean anything?"
"Might mean trouble for them. Either they're running out of soup and mean for us to hurry up, or they assume we're close enough to obviate the need for high power. We'd better assume they want haste and act accordingly. How're the boys on the radio detectors coming along?"
"Fine. They've taken over the direction finding and claim that we are right on their tail."
"Anything in the sights, Jimmy?"
"Not yet. But the electroscope boys claim that quarter power or not, the input is terrific."
"Take a rest, Jimmy. We won't be there for a while yet. No use burning your eyes out trying to see 'em. There'll be time enough for you to do your share after we get 'em close enough to see with the naked eye. What do the beam-scanners say?"
"Shucks," answered the man on the scanners, "they're still radiating. How are we going to fix 'em on a reflected wave when they're more powerful on their own hook? The whole plate is glaring white. And, incidentally, so is the celestial globe in the meteor spotter. I've had to cut that or we'd never be able to hold this course. Anything like a meteor that comes in our way now will not register, and—"
TheRelay Girllurched sickeningly. All over the ship, things rattled and fell to the floors. Men grabbed at the closest solid object, and then theRelay Girlstraightened out once more.
"Whoosh!" said Franks. "That was a big one!"
"Big one?" called Jimmy. "That, my friend, was none other than theAriadne!"
"Can you prove that?"
"Sure," chuckled Jimmy. "I saw 'em. I can still see 'em!"
"Franklen, hang on about seven G and follow Jimmy's orders. Chuck, see if you can get anything cogent out of your gadget. Holy Green Fire, with a cubic million million million megaparsecs in which to run, we have to be so good that we run right into our quarry. Who says that radio direction finding is not a precise science? Who says that we couldn't catch—"
"Walt, they're losing fast."
"O.K., Jimmy, can you give me any idea as to their velocity with respect to ours?"
"How long is she?"
"Six hundred feet."
Jimmy was silent for some seconds, "They're out of sight again, but I make it about four to seven hundred miles per second."
"At seven G we should match that seven hundred in about four hours."
"And then go on decelerating so that they'll catch up?"
"No," said Walt. "I used the max figure and we can assume they aren't going that fast, quite. At the end of four hours, we'll turnover and wait until they heave in sight again and then we'll do some more oscillating. We can match their velocity inside of ten hours, or Franklen will get fired."
"If I don't," promised Franklen, "I'll quit. You can't fire me!"
"We should be able to contact them by radio," said Walt.
"We are!" called the radio man. "It's Channing. He says: 'Fancy meeting you here.' Any answer?"
"Just say, 'Dr. Channing, I presume?'"
Channing's voice came out of the ship's announcer system as the radio man made the necessary connections. It said: "Right—but what kept you so long?"
"Our boss was away," replied Walt. "And we can't do a thing without him."
"Some boss. Some crew of wild men. Can't go off on a fishing trip without having my bunch chasing all over the Solar System."
"What's wrong with a little sight-seeing tour? We didn't mean any harm. And speaking of harm, how are you and the rest of that bunch getting along?"
"We're O.K. What do you plan after we finally get close enough together to throw stones across?"
"We've got a whole hold full of spare batteries and a double set of replacement cathodes. There is a shipload of gravanol aboard, too. You'll need that and so will we. By the time we finish this jaunt, we'll have been about as far out as anybody ever gets."
"Yeah—got any precise figures? We've been running on a guess and a hope. I make it about seven hundred million."
"Make it eight and a half. At six G you'll cover another hundred and fifty million miles before you stop. Take it twenty-two hours at six G—and then another twenty-two at six. That should put you right back here but going the other way at the same velocity. But wait, you've been coasting. Mark off that last twenty-two hours and make it like this: You'll be one thousand million miles from Sol when you come to a stop at the end of the first twenty-two hours at six G. That hangs you out beyond the orbit of Saturn by a couple of hundred million. Make it back forty-four hours at six G, turnover and continue. By that time we'll all be in so close that we can make any planet at will—preferably you to Terra and we'll head for Venus Equilateral. You'll come aboard us? No need for you to go with the rest."
"I can have the scooter sent out from Terra," said Channing. "How's Arden?"
"I'm fine, you big runabout. Wait until I get you!"
"Why, Arden, I thought you might be glad to see me."
"Glad to see you?"
"But Arden—"
"Don't you 'But Arden' me, you big gadabout. Glad to see you! Boy, any man that makes me chase him all over the Solar System! You just wait. As soon as I get ahold of you, Don Channing, I'm going to—to bust out and bawl like a kid! Hurry up, willya?"
"I'll be right over," said Don soberly.
And, strangely enough, Don did not deviate.
Six thousand years ago, Sargon of Akkad held court on the plains of Assyria by torchlight. Above his head there shone the myriad of stars, placed there to increase his power and glory.
But on one of the stars above called Mars, there were people who knew a mighty civilization and a vast world of science. They flew above the thin air of Mars and they hurled power by energy beam across the face of the planet.
Then they—died. They died, and they left but broken fragments of their once-mighty civilization buried in the shifting, dusty sands of Mars. Long centuries afterwards, man crossed space to find these fragments and wonder.
How or why they died is a matter of conjecture. It is known that iron is the most stable of all known atomic structures besides helium. It is also known that the surface of Mars has its characteristic reddish hue because of the preponderance of iron compounds there. From the few remaining artifacts, it is known that Mars exceeded the present Terran science, which includes atomic power. The inference is that Mars died completely in the horror of atomic war.
This is but reasoning. The facts that are of interest include the finding of a gigantic vacuum tube fastened to a shattered steel tower in the sands between Canalopsis and Lincoln Head, Mars.
The original finders, Martian archeologists Baler and Carroll, were versed enough in electronics to make tests. They discovered many interesting facts about this tube before they sold it to Terran Electric for a monumental sum of money. Their reasons for selling the thing were simple. They preferred digging in the sands of Mars to plunging into the depths of a highly technical manufacturing business, and the money was more than adequate.
Don Channing's main objection was that Carroll and Baler did not consult Venus Equilateral before they disposed of their find.
That made it necessary for Venus Equilateral to acquire a tube for their research by dealing with Terran Electric, which in this case was similar to obtaining a ton of uranium ore from Oak Ridge back in the year 1945. Often, of course, the shortest distance home is...
Don Channing stood back and admired his latest acquisition with all of the fervency of a high school girl inspecting her first party dress. It was so apparent, this affection between man and gadget, that the workmen who were now carrying off the remnants of the packing case did so from the far side of the bench so that they would not come between the Director of Communications and the object of his affection. So intent was Channing to the adoration of the object that he did not hear the door open, nor the click of high heels against the plastic flooring. He was completely unaware of his surroundings until Arden said:
"Don, what on earth is that?"
"Ain't she a beaut," breathed Channing.
"Jilted for a jimcrank," groaned Arden. "Tell me, my quondam husband, what is it?"
"Huh?" asked Don, coming to life once more.
"In plain, unvarnished words of one cylinder, what is that ... thatthat?"
"Oh, you mean the transmission tube?"
"How do you do?" said Arden to the big tube. "Funny looking thing, not like any transmitting tube I've ever seen before."
"Not a transmitting tube," explained Channing. "It is one of those power transmission tubes that Baler and Carroll found on the Martian Desert."
"I presume that is why the etch says: 'Made by Terran Electric, Chicago'?"
Channing laughed. "Not the one found—there was onlyonefound. This is a carbon copy. They are going to revolutionize the transmission of power with them."
"Funny-looking gadget."
"Not so funny. Just alien."
"Know anything about it?"
"Not too much. But I've got Barney Carroll coming out here and a couple of guys from Terran Electric. I'm going to strain myself to keep from tinkering with the thing until they get here."
"Can't you go ahead? It's not like you to wait."
"I know," said Channing. "But the Terran Electric boys have sewed up the rights to this dingus so tight that it is squeaking. Seems to be some objection to working on them in the absence of their men."
"Why?"
"Probably because Terran Electric knows a good thing when they see it. Barney's latest 'gram said that they were very reluctant to lend this tube to us. Legally they couldn't refuse, but they know darned well that we're not going to run power in here from Terra—or anywhere else. They know we want it for experimentation, and they feel that it is their tube and that if any experimentation is going to take place, they're going to do it."
The workmen returned with two smaller cases; one each they placed on benches to either side of the big tube. They knocked the boxes apart and there emerged two smaller editions of the center tube—and even Arden could see that these two were quite like the forward half and the latter half, respectively, of the larger tube.
"Did you buy 'em out?" she asked.
"No," said Don simply. "This merely makes a complete circuit."
"Explain that one, please."
"Sure. This one on the left is the input-terminal tube which they call the power-end. The good old D.C. goes in across these big terminals. It emerges from the big end, here, and bats across in a beam of intangible something-or-other until it gets to the relay tube, where it is once more tossed across to the load-end tube. The power is taken from these terminals on the back end of the load-end tube and is then suitable for running motors, refrigerators, and so on. The total line-loss is slightly more than the old-fashioned transmission line. The cathode-dynode requires replacements about once a year. The advantages over high-tension wires are many; in spite of the slightly-higher line-losses, they are replacing long-lines everywhere.
"When they're properly aligned they will arch right over a mountain of solid iron without attenuation. It takes one tower every hundred and seventy miles, and the only restriction on tower height is that the tube must be above ground by ten to one the distance that could be flashed over under high intensity ultraviolet light."
"That isn't clear to me."
"Well, high tension juice will flash over better under ultraviolet illumination. The tube must be high enough to exceed this distance by ten to one at the operating voltage of the stuff down the line. The boys in the Palanortis Jungles say they're a godsend, since there are a lot of places where the high tension towers would be impossible since the Palanortis Whitewood grows about a thousand feet tall."
"You'd cut a lot of wood to ream a path through from Northern Landing to the power station on the Boiling River," said Arden.
"Yeah," drawled Don, "and towers a couple of hundred miles apart are better than two thousand feet. Yeah, these things are the nuts for getting power shipped across country."
"Couldn't we squirt it out from Terra?" asked Arden. "That would take the curse off of our operating expenses."
"It sure would," agreed Channing heartily. "But think of the trouble in aligning a beam of that distance. I don't know—there's this two hundred miles' restriction, you know. They don't transmit worth a hoot over that distance, and it would be utterly impossible to maintain stations in space a couple of hundred miles apart, even from Venus, from which we maintain a fairly close tolerance. We might try a hooting big one, but the trouble is that misalignment of the things result in terrible effects."
The door opened and Chuck Thomas and Walt Franks entered.
"How's our playthings?" asked Walt.
"Cockeyed looking gadgets," commented Chuck.
"Take a good look at 'em," said Channing. "Might make some working X-ray plates, too. It was a lucky day that these got here before the boys from Terran Electric. I doubt that they'd permit that."
"O.K.," said Chuck, "I'll bring the X-ray up here and make some pix. We'll want working prints; Warren will have to take 'em and hang dimensions on to fit."
"And we," said Channing to Walt Franks, "will go to our respective offices and wait until the Terran Electric representatives get here."
The ship that came with the tubes took off from the landing stage, and as it passed their observation dome, it caught Don's eye. "There goes our project for the week," he said.
"Huh?" asked Walt.
"He's been like that ever since we tracked him down on theAriadne," said Arden.
"I mean the detection of driver radiation," said Channing.
"Project for the week?" asked Walt. "Brother, we've been tinkering with that idea for months, now."
"Well," said Don, "there goes four drivers, all batting out umpty-ump begawatts of something. They can hang a couple of G on a six hundred foot hull for hours and hours. The radiation they emit must be detectable; don't tell me that such power is not."
"The interplanetary companies have been tinkering with drivers for years and years," said Walt. "They have never detected it?"
"Could be, but there are a couple of facts that I'd like to point out. One is that they're not interested in detection. They only want the best in driver efficiency. Another thing is that the radiation from the drivers is sufficient to ionize atmosphere into a dull red glow that persists for several minutes. Next item is the fact that we on Venus Equilateral should be able to invent a detector; we've been tinkering with detectors long enough. Oh, I'll admit that it is secondary-electronics—"
"Huh? That's a new one on me."
"It isn't electronics," said Channing. "It's sub-etheric or something like that. We'll call it subelectronics for lack of anything else. But we should be able to detect it somehow."
"Suppose there is nothing to detect?"
"That smacks of one hundred percent efficiency," laughed Don. "Impossible."
"How about an electric heater?" asked Arden.
"Oh, Lord, Arden, an electric heater is the most ineffic—"
"Is it?" interrupted Arden with a smile. "What happens to radiation when intercepted?"
"Turns to heat, of course."
"That takes care of the radiation output," said Arden. "Now, how about electrical losses?"
"Also heat."
"Then everything that goes into an electric heater emerges as heat," said Arden.
"I get it," laughed Walt. "Efficiency depends on what you hope to get. If what you want is losses, anything that is a total loss is one hundred percent efficient. Set your machine up to waste power and it becomes one hundred percent efficient as long as there is nothing coming from the machine that doesn't count as waste."
"Fine point for arguing," smiled Channing. "But anything that will make atmosphere glow dull red after the passage of a ship will have enough waste to detect. Don't tell me that the red glow enhances the drive."
The door opened again and Chuck Thomas came in with a crew of men. They ignored the three, and started to hang heavy cloth around the walls and ceiling. Chuck watched the installation of the barrier-cloth, and then said: "Beat it—if you want any young Channings!"
Arden, at least, had the grace to blush.
The tall, slender man handed Don an envelope full of credentials. "I'm Wesley Farrell," he said. "Glad to have a chance to work out here with you fellows."
"Glad to have you," said Don. He looked at the other man.
"This is Mark Kingman."
"How do you do?" said Channing. Kingman did not impress Channing as being a person whose presence in a gathering would be demanded with gracious shouts of glee.
"Mr. Kingman is an attorney for Terran Electric," explained Wesley.
Kingman's pedestal was lowered by Channing.
"My purpose," said Kingman, "is to represent my company's interest in the transmission tube."
"In what way?" asked Don.
"Messrs. Baler and Carroll sold their discovery to Terran Electric outright. We have an iron-bound patent on the device and/or any developments of the device. We hold absolute control over the transmission tube, and therefore may dictate all terms on which it is to be used."
"I understand. You know, of course, that our interest in the transmission tube is purely academic."
"I have been told that. We're not too certain that we approve. Our laboratories are capable of any investigation you may desire, and we prefer that such investigations be conducted under our supervision."
"We are not going to encroach on your power rights," explained Channing.
"Naturally," said Kingman in a parsimonious manner. "But should you develop a new use for the device, we shall have to demand that we have complete rights."
"Isn't that a bit high-handed?" asked Don.
"We think not. It is our right."
"You're trained technically?" asked Don.
"Not at all. I am a lawyer, not an engineer. Dr. Farrell will take care of the technical aspects of the device."
"And in looking out for your interests, what will you require?"
"Daily reports from your group. Daily conferences with your legal department. These reports should be prepared prior to the day's work so that I may discuss with the legal department the right of Terran Electric to permit or disapprove the acts."
"You understand that there may be a lot of times when something discovered at ten o'clock may change the entire program by ten oh six?"
"That may be," said Kingman, "but my original statements must be adhered to, otherwise I am authorized to remove the devices from your possession. I will go this far, however; if you discover something that will change your program for the day, I will then call an immediate conference which should hurry your program instead of waiting until the following morning for the decision."
"Thanks," said Channing dryly. "First, may we take X-ray prints of the devices?"
"No. Terran Electric will furnish you with blueprints which we consider suitable." Kingman paused for a moment. "I shall expect the complete program of tomorrow's experiments by five o'clock this evening."
Kingman left, and Wes Farrell smiled uncertainly. "Shall we begin making the list?"
"Might as well," said Channing. "But, how do you lay out a complete experimental program for twelve hours ahead?"
"It's a new one on me, too," said Farrell.
"Well, come on. I'll get Walt Franks, and we'll begin."
"I wonder if it might not be desirable for Kingman to sit in on these program-settings?" said Channing, after a moment of staring at the page before him.
"I suggested that to him. He said 'No.' He prefers his information in writing."
Walt came in on the last words. Channing brought Franks up to date and Walt said: "But why should he want a written program if he's going to disallow certain ideas?"
"Sounds to me like he's perfectly willing to let us suggest certain lines of endeavor; he may decide that they look good enough to have the Terran Electric labs try themselves," said Channing.
Wes Farrell looked uncomfortable.
"I have half a notion to toss him out," Channing told Farrell. "I also have half a notion to make miniatures of this tube and go ahead and work regardless of Kingman or Terran Electric. O.K., Wes, we won't do anything illegal. We'll begin by making our list."
"What is your intention?" asked Wes.
"We hope that these tubes will enable us to detect driver radiation, which will ultimately permit us to open ship-to-ship two-way communication."
"May I ask how you hope to do this?"
"Sure. We're going to cut and try. No one knows a thing about the level of driver-energy; we've selected a name for it: Subelectronics. The driver tube is akin to this transmission tube, if what I've been able to collect on the subject is authentic. By using the transmission tube—"
"Your belief is interesting. I've failed to see any connection between our tube and the driver tube."
"Oh, sure," said Channing expansively. "I'll admit that the similarity is of the same order as the similarity between an incandescent lamp and a ten dynode electron-multiplier such as we use in our final beam stages. But recall this business of the cathode-dynode. In both, the emitting surface is bombarded by electrons from electron guns. They both require changing."
"I know that, but the driver cathode disintegrates at a rate of loss that is terrific compared to the loss of emitting surface in the transmission tube."
"The driver cathode is worth about two hundred G-hours. But remember, there is no input to the driver such as you have in the transmission tube. The power from the driver comes from the disintegration of the cathode surface—there isn't a ten-thousandth of an inch of plating on the inside of the tube to show where it went. But the transmission tube has an input and the tube itself merely transduces this power to some level of radiation for transmission. It is re-transduced again for use. But the thing is this: your tube is the only thing that we know of that will accept sub-electronic energy and use it. If the driver and the transmission tubes are similar in operational spectrum, we may be able to detect driver radiation by some modification."
"That sounds interesting," said Wes. "I'll be darned glad to give you a lift."
"Isn't that beyond your job?" asked Channing.
"Yeah," drawled Farrell, "but could you stand by and watch me work on a beam transmitter?"
"No—"
"Then don't expect me to watch without getting my fingers dirty," said Farrell cheerfully. "Sitting around in a place like this would drive me nuts without something to do."
"O.K., then," smiled Don. "We'll start off by building about a dozen miniatures. We'll make 'em about six inches long—we're not going to handle much power, you know. That's first."
Kingman viewed the list with distaste. "There are a number of items here which I may not allow," he said.
"For instance?" asked Channing with lifted eyebrows.
"One, the manufacture or fabrication of power transmission tubes by anyone except Terran Electric is forbidden. Two, your purpose in wanting to make tubes is not clearly set forth. Three, the circuit in which you intend to use these tubes is unorthodox, and must be clearly and fully drawn and listed."
"Oh, spinach! How can we list and draw a circuit that is still in the embryonic stage?"
"Then clarify it. Until then I shall withhold permission."
"But look, Mr. Kingman, we're going to develop this circuit as we go along."
"You mean that you're going to fumble your way through this investigation?"
"We do not consider a cut-and-try program as fumbling," said Walt Franks.
"I am beginning to believe that your research department has not the ability to reduce your problems to a precise science," said Kingman coldly.
"Name me a precise science," snapped Channing, "or even a precise art!"
"The legal trade is as precise as any. Everything we do is done according to legal precedent."
"I see. And when there is no precedent?"
"Then we all decide upon the proper course, and establish a precedent."
"But I've got to show you a complete circuit before you'll permit me to go ahead?"
"That's not all. Your program must not include reproducing these tubes either in miniature or in full size—or larger. Give me your requirements and I shall request Terran Electric to perform the fabrication."
"Look, Kingman, Venus Equilateral has facilities to build as good a tube as Terran Electric. I might even say better, since our business includes the use, maintenance, and development of radio tubes; your tubes are not too different from ours. Plus the fact that we can whack out six in one day, whilst it will take seventy-three hours to get 'em here after they're built on Terra."
"I'm sorry, but the legal meaning of the patent is clear. Where is your legal department?"
"We have three. One on each of the Inner Planets."
"I'll request you to have a legal representative come to the station so that I may confer with him. One with power of attorney to act for you."
"Sorry," said Channing coldly. "I wouldn't permit any attorney to act without my supervision."
"That's rather a backward attitude," said Kingman. "I shall still insist on conducting my business with one of legal mind."
"O.K. We'll have Peterman come out from Terra. But he'll still be under my supervision."
"As you wish, I may still exert my prerogative and remove the tubes from your possession."
"You may find that hard to do," said Channing.
"That's illegal!"
"Oh, no, it won't be. You may enter the laboratory at any time and remove the tubes. Of course, if you are without technical training you may find it most difficult to disconnect the tubes without getting across a few thousand volts. That might be uncomfortable."
"Are you threatening me?" said Kingman, bristling. His stocky frame didn't take to bristling very well, and he lost considerable prestige in the act.
"Not at all, I'm just issuing a fair warning that the signs that say: 'DANGER! HIGH-VOLTAGE!' are not there for appearance."
"Sounds like a threat to me."
"Have I threatened you? It sounds to me as though I were more than anxious for your welfare. Any threat of which you speak is utterly without grounds, and is a figment of your imagination; based upon distrust of Venus Equilateral, and the personnel of Venus Equilateral Relay Station."
Kingman shut up. He went down the list, marking off items here and there. While he was marking, Channing scribbled a circuit and listed the parts. He handed it over as Kingman finished.
"This is your circuit?" asked the lawyer skeptically.
"Yes."
"I shall have to ask for an explanation of the symbols involved."
"I shall be happy to present you with a book on essential radio technique," offered Channing. "A perusal of which will place you in possession of considerable knowledge. Will that suffice?"
"I believe so. I cannot understand how; being uncertain of your steps a few minutes ago, you are now presenting me with a circuit of your intended experiment."
"The circuit is, of course, merely symbolic. We shall change many of the constants before the day is over—in fact, we may even change the circuit."
"I shall require a notice before each change so that I may pass upon the legal aspects."
"Walt," said Don, "will you accompany me to a transparency experiment on the Ninth Level?"
"Be more than glad to," said Walt. "Let's go!"
They left the office quickly, and started for Joe's. They had not reached the combined liquor vending and restaurant establishment when the communicator called for Channing. It was announcing the arrival of Barney Carroll, so instead of heading for Joe's, they went to the landing stage at the south end of the station to greet the Visitor.
"Barney," said Don, "of all the companies, why did you pick on Terran Electric?"
"Gave us the best deal," said the huge, grinning man.
"Yeah, and they're getting the best of my goat right now."
"Well, Jim and I couldn't handle anything as big as the power transmission set-up. They paid out a large slice of jack for the complete rights. All of us are well paid now. After all, I'm primarily interested in Martian artifacts, you know."
"I wonder if they had lawyers," smiled Walt wryly.
"Probably. And, no doubt, the legals had a lot to do with the fall of the Martian civilization."
"As it will probably get this one so wound up with red tape that progress will be impossible—or impractical."
"Well, Barney, let's take a run up to the lab. We can make paper-talk even if Brother Kingman won't let us set it to soldering iron. There are a lot of things I want to ask you about the tube."
They sat around a drawing table and Channing began to sketch. "What I'd hoped to do is this," he said, drawing a schematic design. "We're not interested in power transmission, but your gadget will do a bit of voltage amplification because of its utter indifference to the power-line problem of impedance matching. We can take a relay tube and put in ten watts, say, across ten thousand ohms. That means the input will be somewhat above three hundred volts. Now, if our output is across a hundred thousand ohms, ten watts will give us one thousand volts. So we can get voltage amplification at the expense of current—which we will not need. Unfortunately, the relay tube as well as the rest of the system will give out with the same kind of power that it is impressed with—so we'll have amplification of driver radiation. Then we'll need a detector. We haven't been able to get one either yet, but this is a start, providing that Terran Electric will permit us to take a deep breath without wanting to pass on it."
"I think you may be able to get amplification," said Barney. "But to do it, you'll have to detect it first."
"Huh?"
"Sure. Before these darned things will work, this in-phase anode must be right on the beam. That means that you'll require a feedback circuit from the final stage to feed the in-phase anodes. Could be done without detection, I suppose."
"Well, for one thing, we're going to get some amplification if we change the primary anode—so. That won't permit the thing to handle any power, but it will isolate the output from the input and permit more amplifications. Follow?"
"Can we try it?"
"As soon as I get Terran Electric's permission."
"Here we go again!" groaned Walt.
"Yeah," said Don to Barney, "now you'll see the kind of birds you sold your gadget to."
They found Kingman and Farrell in conference. Channing offered his suggestion immediately, and Kingman looked it over, shaking his head.
"It is not permitted to alter, change, rework, or repair tubes owned by Terran Electric," he said.
"What are we permitted to do?" asked Channing.
"Give me your recommendation and I shall have the shop at Terran Electric perform the operation."
"At cost?"
"Cost plus a slight profit. Terran Electric, just as Venus Equilateral, is not in business from an altruistic standpoint."
"I see."
"Also," said Kingman severely, "I noticed one of your men changing the circuit slightly without permission. Why?"
"Who was it?"
"The man known as Thomas."
"Charles Thomas is in charge of development work," said Channing. "He probably noted some slight effect that he wanted to check."
"He should have notified me first—I don't care how minute the change. I must pass on changes first."
"But you wouldn't know their worth," objected Barney.
"No, but Mr. Farrell does, and will so advise me."
Wes looked at Channing. "Have you been to the Ninth Level yet?"
"Nope," said Channing.
"May I accompany you?"
Channing looked at Farrell critically. The Terran Electric engineer seemed sincere, and the pained expression on his face looked like frustrated sympathy to Don. "Come along," he said.
Barney smiled cheerfully at the sign on Joe's door. "That's a good one, 'Best Bar in Twenty-seven Million Miles, Minimum!' What's the qualification for?"
"That's as close as Terra ever gets. Most of the time the nearest bar is at Northern Landing, Venus; sixty-seven million miles from here. Come on in and we'll get plastered."
Farrell said, "Look, fellows, I know how you feel. They didn't tell me that you weren't going to be given permission to work. I understood that I was to sort of walk along, offer suggestions and sort of prepare myself to take over some research myself. This is sickening."
"I think you mean that."
"May I use your telephone? I want to resign."
"Wait a minute. If you're that sincere, why don't we outguess 'em?"
"Could do," said Wes. "How?"
"Is there any reason why we couldn't take a poke to Sol himself?"
"You mean haul power out of the sun?"
"That's the general idea. Barney, what do you think?"
"Could be—but it would take a redesign."
"Fine. And may we pray that the redesign is good enough to make a difference to the Interplanetary Patent Office." Channing called Joe, "The same. Three Moons all around. Scotch," he explained to the others, "synthesized in the Palanortis Country."
"Our favorite import," said Walt.
Joe grinned. "Another tablecloth session in progress?"
"Could be. As soon as we oil the think-tank, we'll know for sure."
"What does he mean?" asked Barney.
Joe smiled. "They all have laboratories and draftsmen and textbooks," he said. "But for real engineering, they use my tablecloths. Three more problems and I'll have a complete tablecloth course in astrophysics, with a sideline in cartooning and a minor degree in mechanical engineering."
"Oh?"
"Sure. Give 'em a free hand, and a couple of your tubes and a tablecloth and they'll have 'em frying eggs by morning. When I came out here, they demanded a commercial bond and I thought they were nuts. Who ever heard of making a restaurateur post a bond? I discovered that all of their inventions are initially tinkered out right here in the dining room—I could steal 'em blind if I were dishonest!" Joe smiled hugely. "This is the only place in the System where the tablecloths have been through blueprint machines. That," he said confidentially to Barney, "is why some of the stuff is slightly garbled. Scotch mixed with the drawings. They have the cloths inspected by the engineering department before they're laundered; I lose a lot of tablecloths that way."
Joe left cheerfully amid laughter.
The Three Moons came next, and then Don began to sketch. "Suppose we make a driver tube like this," he said. "And we couple the top end, where the cathode is, to the input side of the relay tube. Only the input side will require a variable-impedance anode, coupled back from the cathode to limit the input to the required value. Then the coupling anodes must be served with an automatic-coupling circuit so that the limiting power is passed without wastage."
Barney pulled out a pencil. "If you make that automatic-coupling circuit dependent upon the output from the terminal ends," he said, "it will accept only the amount of input that is required by the power being used from the output. Over-cooling these two anodes will inhibit the power-intake."
"Right," said Wes. "And I am of the opinion that the power available from Sol is of a magnitude that will permit operation over and above the limit."
"Four million tons of energy per second!" exploded Walt. "That's playing with fire!"
"You bet. We'll fix 'em with that!"
"Our experience with relay tubes," said Farrell slowly, "indicates that some increase in range is possible with additional anode-focussing. Build your tube-top with an extra set of anodes, and that'll give us better control of the beam."
"We're getting farther and farther from the subject of communications," said Channing with a smile. "But I think that we'll get more out of this."
"How so?"
"Until we get a chance to tinker with those tubes, we won't get ship-to-ship two ways. So we'll gadgeteer up something that will make Terran Electric foam at the mouth, and swap a hunk of it for full freedom in our investigations. Or should we bust Terran Electric wholeheartedly?"
"Let's slug 'em," said Walt.
"Go ahead," said Wes. "I'm utterly disgusted, though I think our trouble is due to the management of Terran Electric. They like legal tangles too much."
"We'll give 'em a legal tangle," said Barney. He was adding circuits to the tablecloth sketch.
Channing, on his side, was sketching in some equations, and Walt was working out some mechanical details. Joe came over, looked at the tablecloth, and forthright went to the telephone and called Warren. The mechanical designer came, and Channing looked up in surprise. "Hi," he said, "I was just about to call you."
"Joe did."
"O.K. Look, Warren, can you fake up a gadget like this?"
Warren looked the thing over. "Give me about ten hours," he said. "We've got a spare turnover driver from theRelay Girlthat we can hand-carve. There are a couple of water-boilers that we can strip, cut open, and make to serve as the top end. How're you hoping to maintain the vacuum?"
"Yes," said Wes Farrell, "that's going to be the problem. If there's any adjusting of electrodes to do, this'll take months."
"That's why we, on Venus Equilateral, are ahead of the whole ding-busted Solar System in tube development," said Don. "We'll run the thing out in the open—and I do mean open! Instead of the tube having the insides exhausted, the operators will have their envelopes served with fresh, canned air."
"Like a cartoon I saw somewhere," grinned Walt. "Had a bird in full armor tinkering with a radio set. The caption was: 'Why shield the set?'"
"Phooey," said Warren. "Look, Tom Swift, is this another of the Franks' brainchildren?"
"Tom Swift?" asked Wes.
"Yeah. That's the nom de plume he invents under. The other guy we call Captain Lightning."
"Oh?" asked Farrell. "Do you read him, too?"
"Sure," grinned Warren. "And say, speaking of comics, I came upon an old, old volume of Webster's International Dictionary in a rare-edition library in Chicago a couple of months ago, and they define 'Comic' as amusing, funny, and ludicrous; not imaginative fiction. How things change."
"They do."
"But to get back to this goldberg, what is it?"
"Warren," said Channing soberly, "sit down!" Warren did. "Now," grinned Channing, "this screwball gadget is an idea whereby we hope to draw power out of the sun."
Warren swallowed once, and then waved for Joe. "Double," he told the restaurateur. Then to the others he said, "Thanks for seating me. I'm ill, I think. Hearing things. I could swear I heard someone say that this thing is to take power from Sol."
"That's it."
"Um-m-m. Remind me to quit Saturday. This is no job for a man beset by hallucinations."
"You grinning idiot, we're not fooling!"
"Then you'd better quit," Warren told Don. "This is no job for a bird with delusions of grandeur, either. Look, Don, you'll want this in the experimental blister at south end? On a coupler to the beam-turret so that it'll maintain direction at Sol?"
"Right. Couple it to the rotating stage if you can. Remember, that's three miles from south end."
"We've still got a few high-power selsyns," said Warren, making some notations of his own on the tablecloth. "And thanks to the guys who laid out this station some years ago, we've plenty of unused circuits from one end to the other. We'll couple it, all right. Oh, Mother. Seems to me like you got a long way off of your intended subject. Didn't you start out to make a detector for driver radiation?"
"Yup."
"And you end up tapping the sun. D'ye think it'll ever replace the horse?"
"Could be. Might even replace the coal mine. That's to be seen. Have you any idea of how long you'll be?"
"Make it ten hours. I'll get the whole crew on it at once."
"Fine."
"But look. What's the reason for this change in program?"
"That's easy," said Don. "First, we had a jam session. Second, we've come to the conclusion that the longest way 'round is the shortest way home. We're now in the throes of building something with which to dazzle the bright-minded management of Terran Electric and thus make them susceptible to our charm. We want a free hand at the transmission tubes, and this looks like a fair bit of bait."
"I get it. Quote: 'Why buy power from Terran Electric? Hang a Channing Power Beam on your chimney pot and tap the sun?' Whoa, Mazie. Bring on the needle, Watson. Hang out the flags, fire the cannon, ring the bells; for Venus Equilateral is about to hang a pipeline right into four million tons of energy per second! Don, that's a right, smart bit of power to doodle with. Can you handle it?"
"Sure," said Channing with a wave of his hand, "we'll hang a fuse in the line!"
"O.K.," said Warren, sweeping the tablecloth off the table like Mysto, the Magician, right out from under the glasses. "I'll be back—wearing my asbestos pants!"
Wes Farrell looked dreamily at the ceiling. "This is a screwy joint," he said idly. "What do we do for the next ten hours?"
"Red Herring stuff," said Channing with what he hoped was a Machiavellian leer.
"Such as?"
"Making wise moves with the transmission tubes. Glomming the barrister's desk with proposed ideas for his approval; as many as we can think of so that he'll be kept busy. We might even think of something that may work, meanwhile. Come, fellow conspirators, to horse!" Channing picked up his glass and drained it, making a wry face. "Rotten stuff—I wish I had a barrel of it!"
Channing surveyed the set-up in the blister. He inspected it carefully, as did the others. When he spoke, his voice came through the helmet receivers with a slightly tinny sound: "Anything wrong? Looks O.K. to me."
"O.K. by me, too," said Farrell.
"Working in suit is not the best," said Don. "Barney, you're the bright-eyed lad, can you align the plates?"
"I think so," came the muffled booming of Barney's powerful voice. "Gimme a screwdriver!"
Barney fiddled with the plate-controls for several minutes. "She's running on dead center alignment, now," he announced.
"Question," put in Wes, "do we get power immediately, or must we wait whilst the beam gets there and returns?"
"You must run your power line before you get power," said Walt. "My money is on the wait."
"Don't crack your anode-coupling circuit till then," warned Wes. "We don't know a thing about this; I'd prefer to let it in easy-like instead of opening the gate and letting the whole four million tons per second come tearing in through this ammeter!"
"Might be a little warm having Sol in here with us," laughed Channing. "This is once in my life when we don't need a milliameter, but a million-ammeter!"
"Shall we assign a pseudonym for it?" chuckled Walt.
"Let's wait until we see how it works."
The minutes passed slowly, and then Wes announced: "She should be here. Check your anode-coupler, Barney."
Barney advanced the dial, gingerly. The air that could have grown tense was, of course, not present in the blister. But the term is just a figure of speech, and therefore it may be proper to say that the air grew tense. Fact is, it was the nerves of the men that grew tense. Higher and higher went the dial, and still the meter stayed inert against the zero-end pin.
"Not a wiggle," said Barney in disgust. He twirled the dial all the way 'round and snorted. The meter left the zero pin ever so slightly.
Channing turned the switch that increased the sensitivity of the meter until the needle stood halfway up the scale.
"Solar power, here we come," he said in a dry voice. "One-half ampere at seven volts! Three and one-half watts. Bring on your atom-smashers! Bring on your power-consuming factory districts. Hang the whole load of Central United States on the wires, for we have three and one-half watts! Just enough to run an electric clock!"
"But would it keep time?" asked Barney. "Is the frequency right?"
"Nope—but we'd run it. Look, fellows, when anyone tells you about this, insist that we got thirty-five hundred milliwatts on our first try. It sounds bigger."
"O.K., so we're getting from Sol just about three-tenths of the soup we need to make the set-up self sustaining," said Walt. "Wes, this in-phase anode of yours—what can we do with it?"
"If this thing worked, I was going to suggest that there is enough power out there to spare. We could possibly modulate the in-phase anode with anything we wanted, and there would be enough junk floating around in the photosphere to slam on through."
"Maybe it is that lack of selectivity that licks us now," said Don, "Run the voltage up and down a bit. There should be D. C. running around in Sol, too."
"Whatever this power-level is running at," said Barney, "we may get in-phase voltage—or in-phase power by running a line from the power terminal back. Move over, boys, I'm going to hang a test clip in here."
Barney's gloved hands fumbled a bit, but the clip was attached. He opened the anode-coupler once again, and the meter slammed against the full-scale peg.
"See?" he said triumphantly.
"Yup," said Channing cryptically. "You, Bernard, have doubled our input."
"Mind if I take a whack at aligning it?" asked Wes.
"Go ahead. What we need is a guy with eyes in his fingertips. Have you?"
"No, but I'd like to try."
Farrell worked with the deflection plate alignment, and then said, ruefully: "No dice, Barney had it right on the beam."
"Is she aligned with Sol?" asked Channing.
Walt squinted down the tube. "Couldn't be better," he said, blinking.
"Could it be that we're actually missing Sol?" asked Don. "I mean, could it be that line-of-sight and line-of-power aren't one and the same thing?"
"Could be," acknowledged Wes. Walt stepped to the verniers and swung the big intake tube over a minute arc. The meter jumped once more, and Channing stepped the sensitivity down again. Walt fiddled until the meter read maximum and then he left the tube that way.
"Coming up," said Channing. "We've now four times our original try. We now have enough juice to run an electric train—toy size! Someone think of something else, please. I've had my idea for the day."
"Let's juggle electrode-spacing," suggested Wes.
"Can do," said Walt, brandishing a huge spanner wrench in one gloved hand.
Four solid, futile hours later, the power output of the solar beam was still standing at a terrifying fourteen watts. Channing was scratching furiously on a pad of paper with a large pencil; Walt was trying voltage-variations on the supply-anodes in a desultory manner; Barney was measuring the electrode spacing with a huge vernier rule, and Wes was staring at the sun, dimmed to seeable brightness by a set of dark glasses.
Wes was muttering to himself. "Electrode-voltages, O.K. ... alignment perfect ... solar power output ... not like power-line electricity ... solar composition ... Russell's mixture—"
"Whoooo said that!" roared Channing.
"Who said what?" asked Barney.
"Why bust our eardrums?" objected Walt.
"What do you mean?" asked Wes, coming to life for the moment.
"Something about Russell's Mixture. Who said that?"
"I did. Why?"
"Look, Wes, what are your cathodes made of?"
"Thorium, C. P. metal. That's why they're shipped in metal containers in a vacuum."
"What happens if you try to use something else?"
"Don't work very well. In fact, if the output cathode and the input dynode are not the same metal, they won't pass power at all."
"You're on the trail right now!" shouted Channing. "Russell's Mixture!"
"Sounds like a brand of smoking tobacco to me. Mind making a noise like an encyclopedia and telling me what is Russell's Mixture?"
"Russell's Mixture is a conglomeration of elements which go into the making of Sol—and all the other stars," explained Don. "Hydrogen, Oxygen, Sodium, and Magnesium, Iron, Silicon, Potassium, and Calcium. They, when mixed according to the formula for Russell's Mixture, which can be found in any book on the composition of the stars, become the most probable mixture of metals. They—Russell's Mixture—go into the composition of all stars, what isn't mentioned in the mix isn't important."
"And what has this Russell got that we haven't got?" asked Walt.
"H, O, Na, Mg, Fe, Si, K, and Ca. And we, dear people, have Th, which Russell has not. Walt, call up the metallurgical lab and have 'em whip up a batch."
"Cook to a fine edge and serve with a spray of parsley? Or do we cut it into cubes—"
"Go ahead," said Channing. "Be funny. You just heard the man say that dissimilar dyno-cathodes do not work. What we need for our solar beam is a dynode of Russell's Mixture so that it will be similar to our cathode—which in this case is Sol. Follow me?"
"Yeah," said Walt, "I follow, but, brother, I'm a long way behind. But I'll catch up," he promised as he made connection between his suit-radio and the station communicator system. "Riley," he said, "here we go again. Can you whip us up a batch of Russell's Mixture?"
Riley's laugh was audible to the others, since it was broadcast by Walt's set. "Yeah, man, we can—if it's got metal in it? What, pray tell, is Russell's Mixture?"
Walt explained the relation between Russell's Mixture and the composition of Sol.
"Sun makers, hey?" asked Riley. "Is the chief screwball up there?"
"Yup," said Walt, grinning at Don.
"Sounds like him. Yeah, we can make you an alloy consisting of Russell's Mixture. Tony's got it here, now, and it doesn't look hard. How big a dynode do you want?"
Walt gave him the dimensions of the dynode in the solar tube.
"Cinch," said Riley. "You can have it in two hours."
"Swell."
"But it'll be hotter than hell. Better make that six or seven hours. We may run into trouble making it jell."
"I'll have Arden slip you some pectin," said Walt. "Tomorrow morning, then?"
"Better. That's a promise."
Walt turned to the rest. "If any of us can sleep," he said, "I suggest it. Something tells me that tomorrow is going to be one of those days that mother told me about. I'll buy a drink."
Walt opened the anode-coupler circuit, and the needle of the output ammeter slammed across the scale and wound the needle halfway around the stop pin. The shunt, which was an external, high-dissipation job, turned red, burned the paint off of its radiator fins, and then proceeded to melt. It sputtered in flying droplets of molten metal. Smoke spewed from the case of the ammeter, dissipating in the vacuum of the blister.
Walt closed the coupler circuit.
"Whammo!" he said. "Mind blowing a hundred-amp meter?"
"No," grinned Don. "I have a thousand-amp job that I'll sacrifice in the same happy-hearted fashion. Get an idea of the power?"
"Voltmeter was hanging up around ten thousand volts just before the amp-meter went by."
"Um-m-m. Ten thousand volts at a hundred amps. That is one million watts, my friends, and no small potatoes. To run the station's communicating equipment we need seven times that much. Can we do it?"
"We can. I'll have Warren start running the main power bus down here and we'll try it. Meanwhile, we've got a healthy cable from the generator room; we can run the non-communicating drain of the station from our plaything here. That should give us an idea. We can use a couple of million watts right there. If this gadget will handle it, we can make one that will take the whole load without groaning. I'm calling Warren right now. He can start taking the load over from the generators as we increase our intake. We'll fade, but not without a flicker."
Walt hooked the output terminals of the tube to the huge cable blocks, using sections of the same heavy cable.
Warren called: "Are you ready?"
"Fade her in," said Walt. He kept one eye on the line voltmeter and opened the anode-coupler slightly. The meter dipped as Warren shunted the station load over to the tube circuit. Walt brought the line voltage up to above normal, and it immediately dropped as Warren took more load from the solar intake. This jockeying went on for several minutes until Warren called: "You've got it all. Now what?"
"Start running the bus down here to take the communications load," said Don. "We're running off of an eight hundred thousand mile cathode now, and his power output is terrific. Or better, run us a high-tension line down here and we'll save silver. We can ram ten thousand volts up there for transformation. Get me?"
"What frequency?"
"Yeah," drawled Channing, "have Chuck Thomas run us a control line from the primary frequency standard. We'll control our frequency with that. O.K.?"
"Right-o."
Channing looked at the set-up once more. It was singularly unprepossessing, this conglomeration of iron and steel and plastic. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that two and one-third million watts of power coursed from Sol, through its maze of anodes, and into the electric lines of Venus Equilateral. The cathodes and dynode glowed with their usual dull red glow, but there was no coruscating aura of power around the elements of the system. The gimbals that held the big tube slid easily, permitting the tube to rotate freely as the selsyn motor kept the tube pointing at Sol. The supply cables remained cool and operative, and to all appearances the set-up was inert.
"O.K., fellows," said Channing, "this is it—"
He was interrupted by the frantic waving of Kingman, from the other side of the air lock.
"I feel slightly conscious-stricken," he said with a smile that showed that he didn't mean it at all. "But let us go and prepare the goat for shearing."
Kingman's trouble was terrific, according to him. "Mr. Channing," he complained, "you are not following our wishes. And you, Mr. Farrell, have been decidedly amiss in your hobnobbing with the engineers here. You were sent out as my consultant, not to assist them in their endeavors."
"What's your grief?" asked Channing.
"I find that your laboratory has been changing the circuits without having previously informed me of the proposed change," complained Kingman. "I feel that I am within my rights in removing the tubes brought here. Your investigations have not been sanctioned—" He looked out through the air lock. "What are you doing out there?"
"We have just succeeded in taking power from the sun," said Don. He tried to keep his voice even, but the exultation was too high in him, and his voice sounded like sheer joy.
"You have been—" Kingman did a double-take. "Youwhat?" he yelled.
"Have succeeded in tapping Sol for power."
"Why, that's wonderful!"
"Thank you," said Don. "You will no doubt be glad to hear that Wes Farrell was instrumental in this program."
"Then a certain part of the idea is rightfully the property of Terran Electric," said Kingman.
"I'm afraid not," said Don. "Dr. Farrell's assistance was not requested. Though his contribution was of great value, it was given freely. He was not solicited. Therefore, since Terran Electric was not consulted formally, Dr. Farrell's contribution to our solar power beam can not be considered as offering a hold on our discovery."
"This is true, Dr. Farrell?"
"I'm afraid so. You see, I saw what was going on and became interested, academically. I naturally offered a few minor suggestions in somewhat the same manner as a motorist will stop and offer another motorist assistance in changing a tire. The problem was interesting to me and as a problem, it did not seem to me—"
"Your actions in discussing this with members of the Venus Equilateral technical staff without authorization will cost us plenty," snapped Kingman. "However, we shall deal with you later."
"You know," said Farrell with a cheerfully malicious grin, "if you had been less stuffy about our tubes, they might be less stuffy about my contribution."
"Ah, these non-legal agreements are never satisfactory. But that is to be discussed later. What do you intend to do with your invention, Dr. Channing?"
Channing smiled in a superior manner. "As you see, the device is small. Yet it handles a couple of million watts. An even smaller unit might be made that would suffice to supply a home, or even a community. As for the other end, I see no reason why the size might not be increased to a point where it may obsolete all existing power-generating stations."
Kingman's complexion turned slightly green. He swallowed hard. "You, of course, would not attempt to put this on the market yourself."
"No?" asked Channing. "I think you'll find that Venus Equilateral is as large, if not larger, than Terran Electric, and we have an enviable reputation for delivering the goods. We could sell refrigerators to the Titan colony, if we had the V-E label on them and claimed they were indispensable. Our escutcheon is not without its adherents."
"I see," said Kingman. His present volubility would not have jogged a jury into freeing the armless wonder from a pick-pocketing charge. "Is your invention patentable?"
"I think so. While certain phases of it are like the driver tube, which, of course, is public domain, the applications are quite patentable. I must admit that certain parts are of the power transmission tube, but not enough for you to claim a hold. At any rate, I shall be busy for the next hour, transmitting the details to Washington, so that the Interplanetary Patent Office may rule on it. Our Terran legal department has a direct line there, you know, and they have been directed to maintain that contact at all costs."
"May I use your lines?"
"Certainly. They are public carriers. You will not be restricted any more than any other man. I am certain that our right to transmit company business without waiting for the usual turn will not be contested."
"That sounds like a veiled threat."
"That sounds like slander!"
"Oh, no. Believe me. But wait, Dr. Channing. Is there no way in which we can meet on a common ground?"
"I think so. We want a free hand in this tube proposition."
"For which rights you will turn over a nominal interest in solar power?"
"Forty percent," said Channing.
"But we—"
"I know, you want control."
"We'd like it."
"Sorry. Those are our terms. Take 'em or leave 'em."
"Supposing that we offer you full and unrestricted rights to any or all developments you or we make on the Martian transmission tubes?"
"That might be better to our liking."
"We might buck you," said Kingman, but there was doubt in his voice.