“The great practical problem is that most of the elements present in sea water are in such low concentrations. The first seven elements make up about ninety-nine per cent of the total, and it’s the remaining one per cent that contains all the useful metals except magnesium.
“All my life I’ve wondered how we could do something about this, and the answer came during the war. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the techniques used in the atomic-energy field to remove minute quantities of isotopes from solutions: some of those methods are still pretty much under wraps.”
“Are you talking about ion-exchange resins?” hazarded Harry.
“Well—something similar. My firm developed several of these techniques on A.E.C. contracts, and I realized at once that they would have wider applications. I put some of my bright young men to work and they have made what we call a ‘molecular sieve.’ That’s a mighty descriptive expression: in its way, the thing is a sieve, and we can set it to select anything we like. It depends on very advanced wave-mechanical theories for its operation, but what it actually does is absurdly simple. We can choose any component of sea water we like, and get the sieve to take it out. With several units, working in series, we can take out one element after another. The efficiency’s quite high, and the power consumption negligible.”
“I know!” yelped George. “You’re extracting gold from sea water!”
“Huh!” snorted Dr. Romano in tolerant disgust. “I’ve got better things to do with my time. Too much damn gold around, anyhow. I’m after the commercially useful metals—the ones our civilization is going to be desperately short of in another couple of generations. And as a matter of fact, even with my sieve it wouldn’t be worth going after gold. There are only about fifty pounds of the stuff in every cubic mile.”
“What about uranium?” asked Harry. “Or is that scarcer still?”
“I rather wish you hadn’t asked that question,” replied Dr Romano with a cheerfulness that belied the remark. “But since you can look it up in any library, there’s no harm in telling you that uranium’s two hundred times more common than gold. About seven tons in every cubic mile—a figure which is, shall we say, distinctly interesting. So why bother about gold?”
“Why indeed?” echoed George.
“To continue,” said Dr. Romano, duly continuing, “even with the molecular sieve, we’ve still got the problem of processing enormous volumes of sea water. There are a number of ways one could tackle this: you could build giant pumping stations, for example. But I’ve always been keen on killing two birds with one stone, and the other day I did a little calculation that gave the most surprising result. I found that every time the Queen Mary crossed the Atlantic, her screws chew up about a tenth of a cubic mile of water. Fifteen million tons of minerals, in other words. Or to take the case you indiscreetly mentioned—almost a ton of uranium on every Atlantic crossing. Quite a thought, isn’t it?
“So it seemed to me that all we need do to create a very useful mobile extraction plant was to put the screws of any vessel inside a tube which would compel the slip stream to pass through one of my sieves. Of course, there’s a certain loss of propulsive power, but our experimental unit works very well. We can’t go quite as fast as we did, but the farther we cruise the more money we make from our mining operations. Don’t you think the shipping companies will find that very attractive? But of course that’s merely incidental. I look forward to the building of floating extraction plants that will cruise round and round in the ocean until they’ve filled their hoppers with anything you care to name. When that day comes, we’ll be able to stop tearing up the land and all our material shortages will be over. Everything goes back to the sea in the long run anyway, and once we’ve unlocked that treasure chest, we’ll be all set for eternity.”
For a moment there was silence on deck, save for the faint clink of ice in the tumblers, while Dr. Romano’s guests contemplated this dazzling prospect. Then Harry was struck by a sudden thought.
“This is quite one of the most important inventions I’ve ever heard of,” he said. “That’s why I find it rather odd that you should have confided in us so fully. After all, we’re perfect strangers, and for all you know might be spying on you.”
The old scientist chortled gaily.
“Don’t worry about that, my boy,” he reassured Harry. “I’ve already been on to Washington and had my friends check up on you.”
Harry blinked for a minute, then realized how it had been done. He remembered Dr. Romano’s brief disappearance, and could picture what had happened. There would have been a radio call to Washington, some senator would have got on to the Embassy, the Minsitry of Supply representative would have done his bit—and in five minutes the Doctor would have got the answer he wanted. Yes, Americans were very efficient—those who could afford to be.
It was about this time that Harry became aware of the fact that they were no longer alone. A much larger and more impressive yacht than the Valency was heading towards them, and in a few minutes he was able to read the name Sea Spray. Such a name, he thought, was more appropriate to billowing sails than throbbing diesels, but there was no doubt that the Spray was a very pretty creature indeed. He could understand the looks of undisguised covetousness that both George and Dr. Romano now plainly bore.
The sea was so calm that the two yachts were able to come alongside each other, and as soon as they had made contact a sunburned, energetic man in the late forties vaulted over onto the deck of the Valency. He strode up to Dr. Romano, shook his hand vigorously, said, “Well, you old rascal, what are you up to?” and then looked enquiringly at the rest of the company. The Doctor carried out the introductions: it seemed that they had been boarded by Professor Scott McKenzie, who’d been sailing his yacht down from Key Largo.
“Oh no!” cried Harry to himself. “This is too much! One millionaire scientist per day is all I can stand.”
But there was no getting away from it. True, McKenzie was very seldom seen in the academic cloisters, but he was a genuine professor none the less, holding the chair of geophysics at some Texas college. Ninety per cent of his time, however, he spent working for the big oil companies and running a consulting firm of his own. It rather looked as if he had made his torsion balances and seismographs pay quite well for themselves. In fact, though he was a much younger man than Dr. Romano, he had even more money owing to being in a more rapidly expanding industry. Harry gathered that the peculiar tax laws of the sovereign State of Texas also had something to do with it . . .
It seemed an unlikly coincidence that these two scientific-tycoons should have met by chance, and Harry waited to see what skulduggery was afoot. For a while the conversation was confined to generalities, but it was obvious that Professor McKenzie was extremely inquisitive about the Doctor’s other two guests. Not long after they had been introduced, he made some excuse to hop back to his own ship and Harry moaned inwardly. If the Embassy got two separate enquiries about him in the space of half an hour, they’d wonder what he’d been up to. It might even make the F.B.I. suspicious, and then how would he get those promised twenty-four pairs of nylons out of the country?
Harry found it quite fascinating to study the relation between the two scientists. They were like a couple of fighting cocks circling for position. Romano treated the younger man with a downright rudeness which, Harry suspected, concealed a grudging admiration. It was clear that Dr. Romano was an almost fanatical conservationist, and regarded the activities of McKenzie and his employers with the greatest disapproval. “You’re a gang of robbers,” he said once. “You’re seeing how quickly you can loot this planet of its resources, and you don’t give a damn about the next generation.”
“And what,” answered McKenzie, not very originally, “has the next generation ever done for us?”
The sparring continued for the best part of an hour, and much of what went on was completely over Harry’s head. He wondered why he and George were being allowed to sit in on all this, and aft
er a while he began to appreciate Dr. Romano’s technique. He was an opportunist of genius: he was glad to keep them around, now that they had turned up, just to worry Professor McKenzie and to make him wonder what other deals were afoot.
He let the molecular sieve leak out bit by bit, as if it wasn’t really important and he was only mentioning it in passing. Professor McKenzie, however, latched on to it at once, and the more evasive Romano became, the more insistent was his adversary. It was obvious that he was being deliberately coy, and that though Professor McKenzie knew this perfectly well, he couldn’t help playing the older scientist’s game.
Dr. Romano had been discussing the device in a peculiarly oblique fashion, as if it were a future project rather than an existing fact. He outlined its staggering possibilities, and explained how it would make all existing forms of mining obsolete, besides removing forever the danger of world metal shortages.
“If it’s so good,” exclaimed McKenzie presently, “why haven’t you made the thing?”
“What do you think I’m doing out here in the Gulf Stream?” retorted the Doctor. “Take a look at this.”
He opened a locker beneath the sonar set, and pulled out a small metal bar which he tossed to McKenzie. It looked like lead, and was obviously extremely heavy. The Professor hefted it in his hand and said at once: “Uranium. Do you mean to say . . .”
“Yes—every gram. And there’s plenty more where that came from.” He turned to Harry’s friend and said: “George—what about taking the Professor down in your submarine to have a look at the works? He won’t see much, but it’ll show him we’re in business.”
McKenzie was still so thoughtful that he took a little thing like a private submarine in his stride. He returned to the surface fifteen minutes later, having seen just enough to whet his appetite.
“The first thing I want to know,” he said to Romano, “is why you’re showing this to me! It’s about the biggest thing that ever happened—why isn’t your own firm handling it?”
Romano gave a little snort of disgust.
“You know I’ve had a row with the board,” he said. “Anyway, that lot of old dead beats couldn’t handle anything as big as this. I hate to admit it, but you Texas pirates are the boys for the job.”
“This is a private venture of yours?”
“Yes: the company knows nothing about it, and I’ve sunk half a million of my own money into it. It’s been a kind of hobby of mine. I felt someone had to undo the damage that was going on, the rape of the continents by people like—”
“All right— we’ve heard that before. Yet you propose giving it to us?”
“Who said anything about giving?”
There was a pregnant silence. Then McKenzie said cautiously: “Of course, there’s no need to tell you that we’ll be interested—very interested. If you’ll let us have the figures on efficiency, extraction rates, and all the other relevant statistics—no need to tell us the actual technical details if you don’t want to—then we’ll be able to talk business. I can’t really speak for my associates but I’m sure that they can raise enough cover to make any deal—”
“Scott,” said Romano—and his voice now held a note of tiredness that for the first time reflected his age—“I’m not interested in doing a deal with your partners. I haven’t time to haggle with the boys in the front room and their lawyers and their lawyers’ lawyers. Fifty years I’ve been doing that sort of thing, and believe me, I’m tired. This is my development. It was done with my money, and all the equipment is in my ship. I want to do a personal deal, direct with you. You can handle it from then on.”
McKenzie blinked.
“I couldn’t swing anything as big as this,” he protested. “Sure, I appreciate the offer, but if this does what you say, it’s worth billions. And I’m just a poor but honest millionaire.”
“Money I’m no longer interested in. What would I do with it at my time of life? No, Scott, there’s just one thing I want now—and I want it right away, this minute. Give me the Sea Spray, and you can have my process.”
“You’re crazy! Why, even with inflation, you could build the Spray for inside a million. And your process must be worth—”
“I’m not arguing, Scott. What you say is true, but I’m an old man in a hurry, and it would take me a year to get a ship like yours built. I’ve wanted her ever since you showed her to me back at Miami. My proposal is that you take over the Valency, with all her lab equipment and records. It will only take an hour to swap our personal effects—we’ve a lawyer here who can make it all legal. And then I’m heading out into the Caribbean, down through the islands, and across the Pacific.”
“You’ve got it all worked out?” said McKenzie in awed wonder.
“Yes. You can take it or leave it.”
“I never heard such a crazy deal in my life,” said McKenzie, somewhat petulantly. “Of course I’ll take it. I know a stubborn old mule when I see one.”
The next hour was one of frantic activity. Sweating crew members rushed back and forth with suitcases and bundles, while Dr. Romano sat happily in the midst of the turmoil he had created, a blissful smile upon his wrinkled old face. George and Professor McKenzie went into a legal huddle, and emerged with a document which Dr. Romano signed with hardly a glance.
Unexpected things began to emerge from the Sea Spray, such as a beautiful mutation mink and a beautiful nonmutation blonde.
“Hello, Sylvia,” said Dr. Romano politely. “I’m afraid you’ll find the quarters here a little more cramped. The Professor never mentioned you were aboard. Never mind—we won’t mention it either. Not actually in the contract, but a gentleman’s agreement, shall we say? It would be such a pity to upset Mrs. McKenzie.”
“I don’t know what you mean!” pouted Sylvia. “Someone has to do all the Professor’s typing.”
“And you do it damn badly, my dear,” said McKenzie, assisting her over the rail with true Southern gallantry. Harry couldn’t help admiring his composure in such an embarrassing situation—he was by no means sure that he would have managed as well. But he wished he had the opportunity to find out.
At last the chaos subsided, the stream of boxes and bundles subsided to a trickle. Dr. Romano shook hands with everybody, thanked George and Harry for their assistance, strode to the bridge of the Sea Spray, and ten minutes later, was halfway to the horizon.
Harry was wondering if it wasn’t about time for them to take their departure as well—they had never got round to explaining to Professor McKenzie what they were doing here in the first place—when the radiotelephone started calling. Dr. Romano was on the line.
“Forgotten his toothbrush, I suppose,” said George. It was not quite as trivial as that. Fortunately, the loudspeaker was switched on. Eavesdropping was practically forced upon them and required none of the effort that makes it so embarrassing to a gentleman.
“Look here, Scott,” said Dr. Romano, “I think I owe you some sort of explanation.”
“If you’ve gypped me. I’ll have you for every cent—”
“Oh, it’s not like that. But I did rather pressurize you, though everything I said was perfectly true. Don’t get too annoyed with me—you’ve got a bargain. It’ll be a long time, though, before it makes you any money, and you’ll have to sink a few millions of your own into it first. You see, the efficiency has to be increased by about three orders of magnitude before it will be a commercial proposition: that bar of uranium cost me a couple of thousand dollars. Now don’t blow your top—it can be done—I’m certain of that. Dr. Kendall is the man to get: he did all the basic work—hire him away from my people however much it costs you. You’re a stubborn cuss and I know you’ll finish the job now it’s on your hands. That’s why I wanted you to have it. Poetic justice, too—you’ll be able to repay some of the damage you’ve done to the land. Too bad it’ll make you a billionaire, but that can’t be helped.
“Wait a minute—don’t cut in on me. I’d have finished the job myself if I had the t
ime, but it’ll take at least three more years. And the doctors say I’ve only got six months: I wasn’t kidding when I said I was in a hurry. I’m glad I clinched the deal without having to tell you that, but believe me I’d have used it as a weapon if I had to. Just one thing more—when you do get the process working, name it after me, will you? That’s all—it’s no use calling me back. I won’t answer—and I know you can’t catch me.”
Professor McKenzie didn’t turn a hair.
“I thought it was something like that,” he said to no one in particular. Then he sat down, produced an elaborate pocket slide rule, and became oblivious to the world. He scarcely looked up when George and Harry, feeling very much outclassed, made their polite departure and silently snorkeled away.
“Like so many things that happen these days,” concluded Harry Purvis, “I still don’t know the final outcome of this meeting. I rather imagine that Professor McKenzie has run into some snags, or we’d have heard rumors about the process by now. But I’ve not the slightest doubt that sooner or later it’ll be perfected, so get ready to sell your mining shares . . .
“As for Dr. Romano, he wasn’t kidding, though his doctors were a little out in their estimates. He lasted a full year, and I guess the Sea Spray helped a lot. They buried him in mid-Pacific, and it’s just occurred to me that the old boy would have appreciated that. I told you what a fanatical conservationist he was, and it’s a piquant thought that even now some of his atoms may be going through his own molecular sieve . . .
“I notice some incredulous looks, but it’s a fact. If you took a tumbler of water, poured it into the ocean, mixed well, then filled the glass from the sea, there’d still be some scores of molecules of water from the original sample in the tumbler. So—” he gave a gruesome little chuckle—”it’s only a matter of time before not only Dr. Romano, but all of us, make some contribution to the sieve. And with that thought, gentlemen, I bid you all a very pleasant good night.”
Tales From Planet Earth Page 19
