The Murray Leinster Megapack

by Murray Leinster

  Jones looked at him. Not hostilely, but with the detached interest of a man accustomed to nearly exact science, when he watches somebody work in one of the least precise of them all.

  Holden said:

  “You mean you’ve worked out some sort of production.”

  “No production,” said Cochrane blandly. “It isn’t necessary. A straight public-relations set-up. We concoct a story and then let it leak out. We make it so good that even the people who don’t believe it can’t help spreading it.” He nodded at Jamison. “Right now, Jamison, we want a theory that the sending of radiation at twenty times the speed of light means that there is a way to send matter faster than light—as soon as we work it out. It means that the inertia-mass which increases with speed—Einstein’s stuff—is not a property of matter, but of space, just as the air-resistance that increases when an airplane goes faster is a property of air and not of the plane. Maybe we need to work out a theory that all inertia is a property of space. We’ll see if we need that. But anyhow, just as a plane can go faster in thin air, so matter—any matter—will move faster in this field as soon as we get the trick of it. You see?”

  Holden shook his head.

  “What’s that got in it to make Dabney famous?” he asked.

  “Jamison will extrapolate from there,” Cochrane assured him. “Go ahead, Jamison. You’re on.”

  Jamison said promptly, with the hypnotic smoothness of the practiced professional:

  “When this development has been completed, not only will messages be sent at multiples of the speed of light, but matter! Ships! The barrier to the high destiny of mankind; the limitation of our race to a single planet of a minor sun—these handicaps crash and will shatter as the great minds of humanity bend their efforts to make the Dabney faster-than-light principle the operative principle of our ships. There are thousands of millions of suns in our galaxy, and not less than one in three has planets, and among these myriads of unknown worlds there will be thousands with seas and land and clouds and continents, fit for men to enter upon, there to rear their cities. There will be starships roaming distant sun-clusters, and landing on planets in the Milky Way. We ourselves will see freight-lines to Rigel and Arcturus, and journey on passenger-liners singing through the void to Andromeda and Aldebaran! Dabney has made the first breach in the barrier to the illimitable greatness of humanity!”

  Then he stopped and said professionally:

  “I can polish that up a bit, of course. All right?”

  “Fair,” conceded Cochrane. He turned to Holden. “How about a public-relations job on that order? Won’t that sort of publicity meet the requirements? Will your patient be satisfied with that grade of appreciation?”

  Holden drew a deep breath. He said unsteadily:

  “As a neurotic personality, he won’t require that it be true. All he’ll want is the seeming. But—Jed, could it be really true? Could it?”

  Cochrane laughed unpleasantly. He did not admire himself. His laughter showed it.

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “You got me a job I didn’t want. You shoved it down my throat! Now there’s the way to get it done! What more can you ask?”

  Holden winced. Then he said heavily:

  “I’d like for it to be true.”

  Jones moved suddenly. He said in an oddly surprised voice:

  “D’you know, it can be! I didn’t realize! It can be true! I can make a ship go faster than light!”

  Cochrane said with exquisite irony:

  “Thanks, but we don’t need it. We aren’t getting paid for that! All we need is a modicum of appreciation for a neurotic son-in-law of a partner of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe! A public-relations job is all that’s required. You give West the theory, and Jamison will do the prophecy, and Bell will write it out.”

  Jones said calmly:

  “I will like hell! Look! I discovered this faster-than-light field in the first place! I sold it to Dabney because he wanted to be famous! I got my pay and he can keep it! But if he can’t understand it himself, even to lecture about it…Do you think I’m going to throw in some extra stuff I noticed, that I can fit into that theory but nobody else can—Do you think I’m going to give him starships as a bonus?”

  Holden said, nodding, with his lips twisted:

  “I should have figured that! He bought his great discovery from you, eh? And that’s what he gets frustrated about!”

  Cochrane snapped:

  “I thought you psychiatrists knew the facts of life, Bill! Dabney’s not unusual in my business! He’s almost a typical sponsor!”

  “When you ask me to throw away starships,” said Jones coldly, “for a publicity feature, I don’t play. I won’t take the credit for the field away from Dabney. I sold him that with my eyes open. But starships are more important than a fool’s hankering to be famous! He’d never try it! He’d be afraid it wouldn’t work! I don’t play!”

  Holden said stridently:

  “I don’t give a damn about any deal you made with Dabney! But if you can get us to the stars—all us humans who need it—you’ve got to!”

  Jones said, again calmly:

  “I’m willing. Make me an offer—not cash, but a chance to do something real—not just a trick for a neurotic’s ego!”

  Cochrane grinned at him very peculiarly.

  “I like your approach. You’ve got illusions. They’re nice things to have. I wouldn’t mind having some myself. Bill,” he said to Dr. William Holden, “how much nerve has Dabney?”

  “Speaking unprofessionally,” said Holden, “he’s a worm with wants. He hasn’t anything but cravings. Why?”

  Cochrane grinned again, his head cocked on one side.

  “He wouldn’t take part in an enterprise to reach the stars, would he?” When Holden shook his head, Cochrane said zestfully, “I’d guess that the peak of his ambition would be to have the credit for it if it worked, but he wouldn’t risk being associated with it until it had worked! Right?”

  “Right,” said Holden. “I said he was a worm. What’re you driving at?”

  “I’m outlining what you’re twisting my arm to make me do,” said Cochrane, “in case you haven’t noticed. Bill, if Jones can really make a ship go faster than light—”

  “I can,” repeated Jones. “I simply didn’t think of the thing in connection with travel. I only thought of it for signalling.”

  “Then,” said Cochrane, “I’m literally forced, for Dabney’s sake, to do something that he’d scream shrilly at if he heard about it. We’re going to have a party, Bill! A party after your and my and Jones’ hearts!”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Holden.

  “We make a production after all,” said Cochrane, grinning. “We are going to take Dabney’s discovery—the one he bought publicity rights to—very seriously indeed. I’m going to get him acclaim. First we break a story of what Dabney’s field means for the future of mankind—and then we prove it! We take a journey to the stars! Want to make your reservations now?”

  “You mean,” said West incredulously, “a genuine trip? Why?”

  Cochrane snapped at him suddenly.

  “Because I can’t kid myself any more,” he rasped. “I’ve found out how little I count in the world and the estimation of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe! I’ve found out I’m only a little man when I thought I was a big one, and I won’t take it! Now I’ve got an excuse to try to be a big man! That’s reason enough, isn’t it?”

  Then he glared around the small laboratory under the dust-heap. He was irritated because he did not feel splendid emotions after making a resolution and a plan which ought to go down in history—if it worked. He wasn’t uplifted. He wasn’t aware of any particular feeling of being the instrument of destiny or anything else. He simply felt peevish and annoyed and obstinate about trying the impossible trick.

  It annoyed him additionally, perhaps, to see the expression of starry-eyed admiration on Babs’ face as she looked at him across the unti
dy laboratory table, cluttered up with beer-cans.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It is a matter of record that the American continents were discovered because ice-boxes were unknown in the fifteenth century. There being no refrigeration, meat did not keep. But meat was not too easy to come by, so it had to be eaten, even when it stank. Therefore it was a noble enterprise, and to the glory of the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon, to put up the financial backing for even a crackpot who might get spices cheaper and thereby make the consumption of slightly spoiled meat less unpleasant. Which was why Columbus got three ships and crews of jailbirds for them from a government still busytrying to drive the Moors out of the last corner of Spain.

  This was a precedent for the matter on hand now. Cochrane happened to know the details about Columbus because he’d checked over the research when he did a show on the Dikkipatti Hour dealing with him. There were more precedents. The elaborate bargain by which Columbus was to be made hereditary High Admiral of the Western Oceans, with a bite of all revenue obtained by the passage he was to discover—he had to hold out for such terms to make the package he was selling look attractive. Nobody buys anything that is underpriced too much. It looks phoney. So Cochrane made his preliminaries rather more impressive than they need have been from a strictly practical point of view, in order to make the enterprise practical from a financial aspect.

  There was another precedent he did not intend to follow. Columbus did not know where he was going when he set sail, he did not know where he was when he arrived at the end of his voyage, and he didn’t know where he’d been when he got back. Cochrane expected to improve on the achievement of the earlier explorer’s doings in these respects.

  He commandeered the legal department of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins, and Fallowe to set up the enterprise with strict legality and discretion. There came into being a corporation called “Spaceways, Inc.” which could not possibly be considered phoney from any inspection of its charter. Expert legal advice arranged that its actual stock-holders should appear to be untraceable. Deft manipulation contrived that though its stock was legally vested in Cochrane and Holden and Jones—Cochrane negligently threw in Jones as a convenient name to use—and they were officially the owners of nearly all the stock, nobody who checked up would believe they were anything but dummies. Stockholdings in West’s, and Jamison’s and Bell’s names would look like smaller holdings held for other than the main entrepreneurs. But these stock-holders were not only the legal owners of record—they were the true owners. Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe wanted no actual part of Spaceways. They considered the enterprise merely a psychiatric treatment for a neurotic son-in-law. Which, of course, it was. So Spaceways, Inc., quite honestly and validly belonged to the people who would cure Dabney of his frustration—and nobody at all believed that it would ever do anything else. Not anybody but those six owners, anyhow. And as it turned out, not all of them.

  The psychiatric treatment began with an innocent-seeming news-item from Lunar City saying that Dabney, the so-and-so scientist, had consented to act as consulting physicist to Spaceways, Inc., for the practical application of his recent discovery of a way to send messages faster than light.

  This was news simply because it came from the moon. It got fairly wide distribution, but no emphasis.

  Then the publicity campaign broke. On orders from Cochrane, Jamison the extrapolating genius got slightly plastered, in company with the two news-association reporters in Lunar City. He confided that Spaceways, Inc., had been organized and was backed to develop the Dabney faster-than-light-signalling field into a faster-than-light-travel field. The news men pumped him of all his extrapolations. Cynically, they checked to see who might be preparing to unload stock. They found no preparations for stock-sales. No registration of the company for raising funds. It wasn’t going to the public for money. It wasn’t selling anybody anything. Then Cochrane refused to see any reporters at all, everybody connected with the enterprise shut up tighter than a clam, and Jamison vanished into a hotel room where he was kept occupied with beverages and food at Dabney’s father-in-law’s expense. None of this was standard for a phoney promotion deal.

  The news story exploded. Let loose on an overcrowded planet which had lost all hope of relief after fifty years in which only the moon had been colonized—and its colony had a population in the hundreds, only—the idea of faster-than-light travel was the one impossible dream that everybody wanted to believe in. The story spread in a manner that could only be described as chain-reaction in character. And of course Dabney—as the scientist responsible for the new hope—became known to all peoples.

  The experts of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe checked on the publicity given to Dabney. Strict advertising agency accounting figured that to date the cost-per-customer-mention of Dabney and his discovery were the lowest in the history of advertising. Surveys disclosed that within three Earth-days less than 3.5 of every hundred interviews questioned were completely ignorant of Dabney and the prospect of travel to the stars through his discovery. More people knew Dabney’s name than knew the name of the President of the United States!

  That was only the beginning. The leading popular-science show jumped eight points in audience-rating. It actually reached top-twenty rating when it assigned a regular five-minute period to the Dabney Field and its possibilitiesin human terms. On the sixth day after Jamison’s calculated indiscretion, the public consciousness was literally saturated with the idea of faster-than-light transportation. Dabney was mentioned in every interview of every stuffed shirt, he was referred to on every comedy show (three separate jokes had been invented, which were developed into one thousand eight hundred switcheroos, most of them only imperceptibly different from the original trio) and even Marilyn Winters—Little Aphrodite Herself—was demanding a faster-than-light-travel sequence in her next television show.

  On the seventh day Bill Holden came into the office where Cochrane worked feverishly.

  “Doctor Cochrane,” said Holden, “a word with you!”

  “Doctor?” asked Cochrane.

  “Doctor!” repeated Holden. “I’ve just been interviewing my patient. You’re good. My patient is adjusted.”

  Cochrane raised his eyebrows.

  “He’s famous,” said Holden grimly. “He now considers that everybody in the world knows that he is a great scientist. He is appreciated. He is happily making plans to go back to Earth and address a few learned societies and let people admire him. He can now spend the rest of his life being the man who discovered the principle by which faster-than-light-travel will some day be achieved. Even when the furor dies down, he will have been a great man—and he will stay a great man in his own estimation. In short, he’s cured.”

  Cochrane grinned.

  “Then I’m fired?”

  “We are,” said Holden. “There are professional ethics even among psychiatrists, Jed. I have to admit that the guy now has a permanent adjustment to reality. He has been recognized as a great scientist. He is no longer frustrated.”

  Cochrane leaned back in his chair.

  “That may be good medical ethics,” he observed, “but it’s lousy business practice, Bill. You say he’s adjusted to reality. That means that he will now have a socially acceptable reaction to anything that’s likely to happen to him.”

  Holden nodded.

  “A well-adjusted person does. Dabney’s the same person. He’s the same fool. But he’ll get along all right. A psychiatrist can’t change a personality! All he can do is make it adjust to the world about so the guy doesn’t have to be tucked away in a straight-jacket. In that sense, Dabney is adjusted.”

  “You’ve played a dirty trick on him,” said Cochrane. “You’ve stabilized him, and that’s the rottenest trick anybody can play on anybody! You’ve put him into a sort of moral deep-freeze. It’s a dirty trick, Bill!”

  “Look who’s talking!” said Holden wearily. “I suppose the advertising business is altruistic and unmercenary?”


  “The devil, no!” said Cochrane indignantly. “We serve a useful purpose! We tell people that they smell bad, and so give them an alibi for the unpopularity their stupidity has produced. But then we tell them to use so-and-so’s breath sweetener or whosit’s non-immunizing deodorant they’ll immediately become the life of every party they attend! It’s a lie, of course, but it’s a dynamic lie! It gives the frustrated individual something to do! It sells him hope and therefore activity—and inactivity is a sort of death!”

  Holden looked at Cochrane with a dreary disinterest.

  “You’re adjusted, Jed! But do you really believe that stuff?”

  Cochrane grinned again.

  “Only on Tuesdays and Fridays. It’s about two-sevenths true. But it does have that much truth in it! Nobody ever gets anything done while they merely make socially acceptable responses to the things that happen to them! Take Dabney himself! We’ve got a hell of a thing coming along now just because he wouldn’t make the socially acceptable response to having a rich wife and no brains. He rebelled. So mankind will start moving to the stars!”

  “You still believe it?”

  Cochrane grimaced.

  “Yesterday morning I sweated blood in a space-suit out in the crater beyond Jones’ laboratory. He tried his trick. He had a small signal-rocket mounted on the far side of that crater,—twenty-some miles. It was in front of the field-plate that established the Dabney field across the crater to another plate near us. Jones turned on the field. He ignited the rocket by remote control. I was watching with a telescope. I gave him the word to fire.… How long do you think it took that rocket to cross the crater in that field that works like a pipe? It smashed into the plate at the lab!”

  Holden shook his head.

  “It took slightly,” said Cochrane, “slightly under three-fifths of a second.”

  Holden blinked. Cochrane said:

  “A signal-rocket has an acceleration of about six hundred feet per second, level flight, no gravity component, mass acceleration only. It should have taken a hundred seconds plus to cross that crater—over twenty miles. It shouldn’t have stayed on course. It did stay on course, inside the field. It did take under three-fifths of a second. The gadget works!”