The Randall Garrett Omnibus: Eleven SF Classics

by Randall Garrett

  When the “minute or so” had passed, Bending, who had been watching the meters on the top of the machine, said: “See this?” He pointed at a dial face. “That's the voltage. It's controlled by this vernier knob here.” He turned the knob, and the needle on the voltmeter moved obligingly upwards. “Anything from ten to a thousand volts,” he said. “Easily adjusted to suit your taste."

  "I don't think I'd like the taste of a thousand volts,” Olcott said solemnly. “Might affect the tongue adversely.” Olcott didn't look particularly impressed. Why should he? Anyone can build a machine that can generate high voltage.

  "Is that AC or DC?” he asked.

  "DC,” said Bending. “But it can easily be converted to AC. Depends on what you want to use it for."

  Olcott nodded. “How much power does that thing deliver?"

  Sam Bending had been waiting for that question. He delivered his answer with all the nonchalance of a man dropping a burnt match in an ash tray.

  "Five hundred horsepower."

  Olcott's face simply couldn't hold its expressionless expression against something like that. His lips twitched, and his eyes blinked. “Five hundred what?"

  "I will not make the obvious pun,” said Bending. “I said ‘five hundred horsepower'-unquote. About three hundred and seventy-five kilowatts, maximum."

  Olcott appeared to be unable to say anything. He simply stared at the small, innocuous-looking Converter. Bending was unable to decide whether Olcott was overawed by the truth or simply stricken dumb by what must sound like a monstrous lie.

  Olcott licked his lips with the tip of his small, pink tongue. “Five hundred horsepower. Hm-m-m.” He took a deep breath. “No wonder those copper studs are so thick."

  "Yeah,” said Bending. “If I short ‘em across at low voltage, they get hot."

  "Short them across?” Olcott's voice sounded harsh.

  Bending was in his seventh heaven, and he showed it. His grin was running as high an energy output as that he claimed for the Converter. “Sure. The amperage is self-limiting. You can only draw about four hundred amps off the thing, no matter how low you put the voltage. When I said five hundred HP, I meant at a thousand volts. As a matter of fact, the available power in horsepower is roughly half the voltage. But that only applies to this small model. A bigger one could supply more, of course."

  "What does it weigh?” asked Olcott, in a hushed voice.

  "Little over a hundred pounds,” Bending said.

  Olcott tore his eyes away from the fantastic little box and looked into Sam Bending's eyes. “May I ask where you're getting power like that?"

  "Sure. Hydrogen fusion, same as the stellarator."

  "It's powered by deuterium?"

  Bending delivered his bombshell. “Nope. Water. Plain, ordinary aitch-two-oh. See those little vents at the side? They exhaust oxygen and helium. It burns about four hundred milligrams of water per hour at maximum capacity."

  Olcott had either regained control of himself or had passed the saturation point; Sam couldn't tell which. Olcott said: “Where do you put the water?"

  "Why put water in it?” Sam asked coolly. “That small whirring sound you hear isn't the hydrogen-helium conversion; it's a fan blowing air through a cooling coil. Even in the Sahara Desert there's enough moisture in the air to run this baby."

  "And the fan is powered—"

  "...By the machine itself, naturally,” said Bending. “It's a self-contained unit. Of course, with a really big unit, you might have to hire someone to hang out their laundry somewhere in the neighborhood, but only in case of emergencies."

  "May I sit down?” asked Olcott. And, without waiting for Sam Bending's permission, he grabbed a nearby chair and sat. “Mr. Bending,” he said, “what is the cost of one of those units?"

  "Well, that one cost several hundred thousand dollars. But the thing could be mass produced for ... oh, around fifteen hundred dollars. Maybe less."

  Olcott absorbed that, blinked, and said: “Is it dangerous? I mean, could it explode, or does it give out radiation?"

  "Well, you have to treat it with respect, of course,” Bending said. He rubbed his big hands together in an unconscious gesture of triumph. “Just like any power source. But it won't explode; that I can guarantee. And there's no danger from radiation. All the power comes out as electric current."

  * * * *

  Sam Bending remained silent while Olcott stared at the little black box. Finally, Olcott put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, as though he'd been too long without sleep. When he removed his hands, his eyes were focused on Bending.

  "You realize,” he said, “that we can't give you any sort of contract until this has been thoroughly checked by our own engineers and research men?"

  "Obviously,” said Sam Bending. “But—"

  "Do you have a patent?” Olcott interrupted.

  "It's pending,” said Bending. “My lawyer thinks it will go through pretty quickly."

  Olcott stood up abruptly. “Mr. Bending, if this machine is actually what you claim it to be-which, of course, we will have to determine for ourselves-I think that we can make you a handsome-a very handsome settlement."

  "How much?” Bending asked flatly.

  "For full rights-millions,” said Olcott without hesitation. “That would be a ... shall we say, an advance ... an advance on the royalties."

  "What, no bargaining?” Bending said, in a rather startled tone.

  * * * *

  Olcott shook his head. “Mr. Bending, you know the value of such a device as well as I do. You're an intelligent man, and so am I. Haggling will get us nothing but wasted time. We want that machine-we must have that machine. And you know it. And I know you know it. Why should we quibble?

  "I can't say: ‘Name your price'; this thing is obviously worth a great deal more than even Power Utilities would be able to pay. Not even a corporation like ours can whip up a billion dollars without going bankrupt. What we pay you will have to be amortized over a period of years. But we—"

  "Just a minute, Mr. Olcott,” Bending interrupted. “Exactly what do you intend to do with the Converter if I sell it to you?"

  Olcott hesitated. “Why ... ah—” He paused. “Actually, I couldn't say,” he said at last. “A decision like that would have to be made by the Board. Why?"

  "How long do you think it would take you to get into production?"

  "I ... ah ... frankly couldn't say,” Olcott said cautiously. “Several years, I imagine..."

  "Longer than that, I dare say,” Bending said, with more than a touch of sarcasm. “As a matter of fact, you'd pretty much have to suppress the Converter, wouldn't you?"

  Olcott looked at Bending, his face expressionless. “Of course. For a while. You know very well that this could ruin us."

  "The automobile ruined the buggy-whip makers and threw thousands of blacksmiths out of work,” Bending pointed out. “Such things are inevitable. Every new invention is likely to have an effect like that if it replaces something older. What do you think atomic energy would have done to coal mining if it weren't for the fact that coal is needed in the manufacture of steel? You can't let considerations like that stand in the way of technological progress, Mr. Olcott."

  "Is it a question of money?” Olcott asked quietly.

  Bending shook his head. “Not at all. We've already agreed that I could make as much as I want by selling it to you. No; it's just that I'm an idealist of sorts. I intend to manufacture the Converter myself, in order to make sure it gets into the hands of the people."

  "I assure you, Mr. Bending, that Power Utilities would do just that-as soon as it became economically feasible for us to do so."

  "I doubt it,” Sam Bending said flatly. “If any group has control over the very thing that's going to put them out of business, they don't release it; they sit on it. Dictators, for instance, have throughout history, promised freedom to their people ‘as soon as it was feasible'. Cincinnatus may have done it, but no one else has in the last
twenty-five centuries.

  "What do you suppose would have happened in the 1940s if the movie moguls of Hollywood had had the patent rights for television? How many other inventions actually have been held down simply because the interested parties did happen to get their hands on them first?

  "No, Mr. Olcott; I don't think I can allow Power Utilities to have a finger in this pie or the public would never get a slice of it."

  Olcott stood up slowly from the chair. “I see, Mr. Bending; you're quite frank about your views, anyway.” He paused. “I shall have to talk this over with the Board. There must be some way of averting total disaster. If we find one, we'll let you know, Mr. Bending."

  * * * *

  And that was it. That was the line that had stuck in the back of Bending's mind for two weeks. If we find a way of averting total disaster, we'll let you know, Mr. Bending.

  And they evidently thought they'd found a way. For two weeks, there had been phone calls from officers of greater or lesser importance in Power Utilities, but they all seemed to think that if they could offer enough money, Sam Bending would capitulate. Finally, they had taken the decisive step of stealing the Converter. Bending wondered how they had known where it was; he had taken the precaution of concealing it, just in case there might be an attempt at robbery, and using it as power supply for the lab had seemed the best hiding place. But evidently someone at Power Utilities had read Poe's “Purloined Letter,” too.

  He smiled grimly. Even if the police didn't find any clues leading them to the thieves who'd broken into his lab, the boys at Power Utilities would find themselves in trouble. The second they started to open the Converter, it would begin to fuse. If they were quick, whoever opened it should be able to get away from it before it melted down into an unrecognizable mass.

  Sam Bending took the tape from the playback and returned it to his files.

  He wondered how the Power Utilities boys had managed to find where the Converter was. Checking the power that had been used by Bending Consultants? Possibly. It would show that less had been used in the past two weeks than was normally the case. Only the big building next door was still using current from the power lines. Still, that would have meant that they had read the meter in the last two weeks, which, in turn, meant that they had been suspicious in the first place or they wouldn't have ordered an extra reading.

  On the other hand, if—

  The visiphone rang.

  It was the phone with the unregistered number, a direct line that didn't go through his secretary's switchboard.

  He flipped it on. “Yes?” He never bothered to identify himself on that phone; anyone who had the number knew who they were calling. The mild-looking, plumpish, blond-haired man whose face came onto the screen was immediately recognizable.

  "How's everything, Mr. Bending?” he asked with cordial geniality.

  "Fine, Mr. Trask,” Bending answered automatically. “And you?"

  "Reasonable, reasonable. I hear you had the police out your way this morning.” There was a questioning look in his round blue eyes. “No trouble, I hope."

  Sam understood the question behind the statement. Vernon Trask was the go-between for some of the biggest black market operators in the country. Bending didn't like to have to deal with him, but one had very little choice these days.

  "No. No trouble. Burglary in the night. Someone opened my safe and picked up a few thousand dollars, is all."

  "I see.” Trask was obviously wondering whether some black market operator would be approached by a couple of burglars in the next few days-a couple of burglars trying to peddle apparatus and equipment that had been stolen from Bending. There still were crooks who thought that the black market dealt in stolen goods of that sort.

  "Some of my instruments were smashed,” Bending said, “but none of them are missing."

  "I'm glad to hear that,” Trask said. And Bending knew he meant it. The black market boys didn't like to have their customers robbed of scientific equipment; it might reflect back on them. “I just thought I'd explain about missing our appointment this morning,” Trask went on. “It was unavoidable; something unexpected came up."

  Trask was being cagey, as always. He didn't talk directly, even over a phone that wasn't supposed to be tapped. Bending understood, though. Some of the robotics equipment he'd contracted to get from Trask was supposed to have been delivered that morning, but when the delivery agent had seen the police car out front, he'd kept right on going naturally enough.

  "That's all right, Mr. Trask,” Bending said. “What with all this trouble this morning, it actually slipped my mind. Another time, perhaps."

  Trask nodded. “I'll try to make arrangements for a later date. Thanks a lot, Mr. Bending. Good-by."

  Bending said good-by and cut the connection.

  Samson Bending didn't like being forced to buy from the black market operators, but there was nothing else to do if one wanted certain pieces of equipment. During the “Tense War” of the late Sixties, the Federal and State governments had gone into a state of near-panic. The war that had begun in the Near East had flashed northwards to ignite the eternal Powder Keg of Europe. But there were no alliances, no general war; there were only periodic armed outbreaks, each one in turn threatening to turn into World War III. Each country found itself agreeing to an armistice with one country while trying to form an alliance with a second and defending itself from or attacking a third.

  And yet, during it all, no one quite dared to use the Ultimate Weapons. There was plenty of strafing by fighter planes and sorties by small bomber squadrons, but there was none of the “massive retaliation” of World War II. There could be heard the rattle of small-arms fire and the rumble of tanks and the roar of field cannon, but not once was there the terrifying, all-enveloping blast of nuclear bombs.

  But, at the time, no one knew that it wouldn't happen. The United States and the Soviet Union hovered on the edges of the war, two colossi who hesitated to interfere directly for fear they would have to come to grips with each other.

  The situation made the “Brinksmanship” of former Secretary Dulles look as safe as loafing in an easy-chair.

  And the bureaucratic and legislative forces of the United States Government had reacted in a fairly predictable manner. The “security” guards around scientific research, which had been gradually diminishing towards the vanishing point, had suddenly been re-imposed-this time, even more stringently and rigidly than ever before.

  Coupled with this was another force-apparently unrelated-which acted to tie in with the Federal security regulations. The juvenile delinquent gangs had begun to realize the value of science. Teen-age hoodlums armed with homemade pistols were dangerous enough in the Fifties; add aimed rockets and remote-control bombs to their armories, and you have an almost uncontrollable situation. Something had to be done, and various laws controlling the sale of scientific apparatus had been passed by the fifty states. And-as with their liquor and divorce laws-no two of the states had the same set of laws, and no one of them was without gaping flaws.

  By the time the off-again-on-again wars in Europe had been stilled by the combined pressure of the United Nations-in which the United States and the Soviet Union co-operated wholeheartedly, working together in a way they had not done for over twenty years-the “scientific control laws” in the United States had combined to make scientific research almost impossible for the layman, and a matter of endless red tape, forms-in-octuplicate, licenses, permits, investigations, delays, and confusion for the professional.

  The answer, of course, was the black market. What bootlegging had done for the average citizen in the Twenties, the black market was doing for scientists fifty years later.

  The trouble was that, unlike the Volstead Act, the scientific prohibitions aroused no opposition from the man in the street. Indeed, he rather approved of them. He needed and wanted the products of scientific research, but he had a vague fear of the scientist-the “egghead.” To his way of thinking, the laws were
cleverly-designed restrictions promulgated by that marvelous epitome of humanity, the common man, to keep the mysterious scientists from meddling with things they oughtn't to.

  The result was that the Latin American countries went into full swing, producing just those items which North American scientists couldn't get their hands on, because the laws stayed on the books. During the next ten years, they were modified slightly, but only very slightly; but the efforts to enforce them became more and more lax. By the time the late Seventies and early Eighties rolled around, the black marketeers were doing very nicely, thank you, and any suggestion from scientists that the laws should be modified was met with an intensive counterpropaganda effort by the operators of the black market.

  Actually, the word “operators” is a misnomer. It was known by the authorities at the time that there was only one ring operating; the market was too limited to allow for the big-time operations carried on by the liquor smugglers and distillers of half a century before.

  Sam Bending naturally was forced to deal with the black market, just as everyone else engaged in research was; it was, for instance, the only source for a good many technical publications which had been put on the Restricted List. Sam wasn't as dependent on them as college and university research men were, simply because he was engaged in industrial work, which carried much higher priorities than educational work did.

  Sam, however, was fed up with the whole mess, and would have given his eyeteeth to clear up the whole stupid farce.

  * * * *

  Irritated by every petty distraction at his office, Sam Bending finally gave up trying to cope with anything for the rest of the day. At three in the afternoon, he told his secretary that he was going home, jammed his hat on his head, and went out to his car.

  He got in, turned the switch, and listened to the deep hum of the electric motors inside. Somehow, it made him feel so good that the irritations of the day lessened a great deal. He grinned.

  Power Utilities hadn't even thought of this hiding place. The Converter in the rear of the car gave the vehicle far more power than it needed, but the extra juice came in handy sometimes. The driving motors wouldn't take the full output of the generators, of course; the Converter hardly had to strain itself to drive the automobile at top speed, and, as long as there was traction, no grade could stall the car. Theoretically, it could climb straight up a wall.