Man Who Sold the Moon / Orphans of the Sky

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Pinero beamed. “True, and clever, my friend. But you have pushed the analogy too far. It is not done in the precise manner in which one measures the length of an electrical conductor. In some ways it is more like measuring the length of a long corridor by bouncing an echo off the far end. At birth there is a sort of twist in the corridor, and, by proper calibration, I can detect the echo from that twist. There is just one case in which I can get no determinant reading; when a woman is actually carrying a child, I can’t sort out her life-line from that of the unborn infant.”

  “Let’s see you prove it.”

  “Certainly, my dear friend. Will you be a subject?”

  One of the others spoke up. “He’s called your bluff, Luke. Put up, or shut up.”

  “I’m game. What do I do?”

  “First write the date of your birth on a sheet of paper, and hand it to one of your colleagues.”

  Luke complied. “Now what?”

  “Remove your outer clothing and step upon these scales. Now tell me, were you ever very much thinner, or very much fatter, than you are now? No? What did you weigh at birth? Ten pounds? A fine bouncing baby boy. They don’t come so big anymore.”

  “What is all this flubdubbery?”

  “I am trying to approximate the average cross-section of our long pink conductor, my dear Luke. Now will you seat yourself here. Then place this electrode in your mouth. No, it will not hurt you; the voltage is quite low, less than one micro-volt, but I must have a good connection.” The doctor left him and went behind his apparatus, where he lowered a hood over his head before touching his controls.

  Some of the exposed dials came to life and a low humming came from the machine. It stopped and the doctor popped out of his little hide-away.

  “I get sometime in February, nineteen-twelve. Who has the piece of paper with the date?”

  It was produced and unfolded. The custodian read, “February 22nd, 1912.”

  The stillness that followed was broken by a voice from the edge of the little group. “Doc, can I have another drink?”

  The tension relaxed, and several spoke at once, “Try it on me, doc.” “Me first, doc, I’m an orphan and really want to know.” “How about it, doc. Give us all a little loose play.”

  He smilingly complied, ducking in and out of the hood like a gopher from its hole. When they all had twin slips of paper to prove the doctor’s skill, Luke broke a long silence:

  “How about showing how you predict death, Pinero.”

  “If you wish. Who will try it?”

  No one answered. Several of them nudged Luke forward. “Go ahead, smart guy. You asked for it.” He allowed himself to be seated in the chair. Pinero changed some of the switches, then entered the hood. When the humming ceased, he came out, rubbing his hands briskly together.

  “Well, that’s all there is to see, boys. Got enough for a story?”

  “Hey, what about the prediction? When does Luke get his ‘thirty’?”

  Luke faced him. “Yes, how about it? What’s your answer?”

  Pinero looked pained. “Gentlemen, I am surprised at you. I give that information for a fee. Besides, it is a professional confidence. I never tell anyone but the client who consults me.”

  “I don’t mind. Go ahead and tell them.”

  “I am very sorry. I really must refuse. I agreed only to show you how, not to give the results.”

  Luke ground the butt of his cigarette into the floor. “It’s a hoax, boys. He probably looked up the age of every reporter in town just to be ready to pull this. It won’t wash, Pinero.”

  Pinero gazed at him sadly. “Are you married, my friend?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any one dependent on you? Any close relatives?”

  “No. WHY, do you want to adopt me?”

  Pinero shook his head sadly. “I am very sorry for you, my dear Luke. You will die before tomorrow.”

  SCIENCE MEET ENDS IN RIOT

  SAVANTS SAPS SAYS SEER

  DEATH PUNCHES TIMECLOCK

  SCRIBE DIES PER DOC’S DOPE

  ‘HOAX’ CLAIMS SCIENCE HEAD

  “. . . within twenty minutes of Pinero’s strange prediction, Timons was struck by a falling sign while walking down Broadway toward the offices of the Daily Herald where he was employed.

  “Doctor Pinero declined to comment but confirmed the story that he had predicted Timons’s death by means of his so-called chronovitameter. Chief of Police Roy . . .”

  Does the FUTURE worry You????????

  Don’t waste money on fortune tellers—Consult

  Doctor Hugo Pinero, Bio-Consultant,

  to help you plan for the future by infallible

  scientific methods.

  No Hocus-Pocus

  No “Spirit” Messages

  $10,000 Bond posted in forfeit to back our predictions

  Circular on request

  SANDS of TIME, Inc.

  Majestic Bldg., Suite 700

  (adv.)

  Legal Notice

  To whom it may concern, greetings; I, John Cabot Winthrop III, of the firm Winthrop, Winthrop, Ditmars & Winthrop, Attorneys-at-Law, do affirm that Hugo Pinero of this city did hand to me ten thousand dollars in lawful money of the United States, and instruct me to place it in escrow with a chartered bank of my selection with escrow instructions as follows:

  The entire bond shall be forfeit, and shall forthwith be paid to the first client of Hugo Pinero and/or Sands of Time, Inc., who shall exceed his life tenure as predicted by Hugo Pinero by one per centum, or to the estate of the first client who shall fail of such predicted tenure in a like amount, whichever occurs first in point of time.

  I do further affirm that I have this day placed this bond in escrow with the above related instructions with the Equitable-First National Bank of this city.

  Subscribed and sworn,

  John Cabot Winthrop III

  Subscribed and sworn to before me

  this 2nd day of April, 1951.

  Albert M. Swanson

  Notary Public in and for this county and state

  My commission expires June 17, 1951.

  “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Radio Audience, let’s go to Press! Flash! Hugo Pinero, The Miracle Man from Nowhere, has made his thousandth death prediction without a claimant for the reward he posted for anyone who catches him failing to call the turn. With thirteen of his clients already dead it is mathematically certain that he has a private line to the main office of the Old Man with the Scythe. That is one piece of news I don’t want to know before it happens. Your Coast-to-Coast Correspondent will not be a client of Prophet Pinero . . .”

  The judge’s watery baritone cut through the stale air of the courtroom. “Please, Mr. Weems, let us return to our muttons. This court granted your prayer for a temporary restraining order, and now you ask that it be made permanent. In rebuttal, Dr. Pinero claims that you have presented no cause and asks that the injunction be lifted, and that I order your client to cease from attempts to interfere with what Pinero describes as a simple lawful business. As you are not addressing a jury, please, omit the rhetoric and tell me in plain language why I should not grant his prayer.”

  Mr. Weems jerked his chin nervously, making his flabby grey dewlap drag across his high stiff collar, and resumed:

  “May it please the honorable court, I represent the public—”

  “Just a moment. I thought you were appearing for Amalgamated Life Insurance.”

  “I am, Your Honor, in a formal sense. In a wider sense I represent several other major assurance, fiduciary, and financial institutions; their stockholders, and policy holders, who constitute a majority of the citizenry. In addition we feel that we protect the interests of the entire population; unorganized, inarticulate, and otherwise unprotected.”

  “I thought that I represented the public,” observed the judge drily. “I am afraid I must regard you as appearing for your client-of-record. But continue; what is your thesis?”

&nb
sp; The elderly barrister attempted to swallow his Adam’s apple, then began again. “Your Honor, we contend that there are two separate reasons why this injunction should be made permanent, and, further, that each reason is sufficient alone. In the first place, this person is engaged in the practice of soothsaying, an occupation proscribed both in common law and statute. He is a common fortune teller, a vagabond charlatan who preys on the gullibility of the public. He is cleverer than the ordinary gypsy palm-reader, astrologer, or table tipper, and to the same extent more dangerous. He makes false claims of modern scientific methods to give a spurious dignity to his thaumaturgy. We have here in court leading representatives of the Academy of Science to give expert witness as to the absurdity of his claims.

  “In the second place, even if this person’s claims were true—granting for the sake of argument such an absurdity”—Mr. Weems permitted himself a thin-lipped smile—“we contend that his activities are contrary to the public interest in general, and unlawfully injurious to the interests of my client in particular. We are prepared to produce numerous exhibits with the legal custodians to prove that this person did publish, or cause to have published, utterances urging the public to dispense with the priceless boon of life insurance to the great detriment of their welfare and to the financial damage of my client.”

  Pinero arose in his place. “Your Honor, may I say a few words?”

  “What is it?”

  “I believe I can simplify the situation if permitted to make a brief analysis.”

  “Your Honor,” cut in Weems, “this is most irregular.”

  “Patience, Mr. Weems. Your interests will be protected. It seems to me that we need more light and less noise in this matter. If Dr. Pinero can shorten the proceedings by speaking at this time, I am inclined to let him. Proceed, Dr. Pinero.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Taking the last of Mr. Weems’s points first, I am prepared to stipulate that I published the utterances he speaks of—”

  “One moment, Doctor. You have chosen to act as your own attorney. Are you sure you are competent to protect your own interests?”

  “I am prepared to chance it, Your Honor. Our friends here can easily prove what I stipulate.”

  “Very well. You may proceed.”

  “I will stipulate that many persons have cancelled life insurance policies as a result thereof, but I challenge them to show that anyone so doing has suffered any loss or damage therefrom. It is true that the Amalgamated has lost business through my activities, but that is the natural result of my discovery, which has made their policies as obsolete as the bow and arrow. If an injunction is granted on that ground, I shall set up a coal oil lamp factory, then ask for an injunction against the Edison and General Electric companies to forbid them to manufacture incandescent bulbs.

  “I will stipulate that I am engaged in the business of making predictions of death, but I deny that I am practicing magic, black, white, or rainbow colored. If to make predictions by methods of scientific accuracy is illegal, then the actuaries of the Amalgamated have been guilty for years in that they predict the exact percentage that will die each year in any given large group. I predict death retail; the Amalgamated predicts it wholesale. If their actions are legal, how can mine be illegal?

  “I admit that it makes a difference whether I can do what I claim, or not; and I will stipulate that the so-called expert witnesses from the Academy of Science will testify that I cannot. But they know nothing of my method and cannot give truly expert testimony on it—”

  “Just a moment, Doctor. Mr. Weems, is it true that your expert witnesses are not conversant with Dr. Pinero’s theory and methods?”

  Mr. Weems looked worried. He drummed on the tabletop, then answered, “Will the Court grant me a few moments indulgence?”

  “Certainly.”

  Mr. Weems held a hurried whispered consultation with his cohorts, then faced the bench. “We have a procedure to suggest, Your Honor. If Dr. Pinero will take the stand and explain the theory and practice of his alleged method, then these distinguished scientists will be able to advise the Court as to the validity of his claims.”

  The judge looked inquiringly at Pinero, who responded, “I will not willingly agree to that. Whether my process is true or false, it would be dangerous to let it fall into the hands of fools and quacks”—he waved his hand at the group of professors seated in the front row, paused and smiled maliciously—“as these gentlemen know quite well. Furthermore it is not necessary to know the process in order to prove that it will work. Is it necessary to understand the complex miracle of biological reproduction in order to observe that a hen lays eggs? Is it necessary for me to reeducate this entire body of self-appointed custodians of wisdom—cure them of their ingrown superstitions—in order to prove that my predictions are correct? There are but two ways of forming an opinion in science. One is the scientific method; the other, the scholastic. One can judge from experiment, or one can blindly accept authority. To the scientific mind, experimental proof is all-important and theory is merely a convenience in description, to be junked when it no longer fits. To the academic mind, authority is everything and facts are junked when they do not fit theory laid down by authority.

  “It is this point of view—academic minds clinging like oysters to disproved theories—that has blocked every advance of knowledge in history. I am prepared to prove my method by experiment, and, like Galileo in another court, I insist, ‘It still moves!’

  “Once before I offered such proof to this same body of self-styled experts, and they rejected it. I renew my offer; let me measure the life lengths of the members of the Academy of Science. Let them appoint a committee to judge the results. I will seal my findings in two sets of envelopes; on the outside of each envelope in one set will appear the name of a member, on the inside the date of his death. In the other envelopes I will place names, on the outside I will place dates. Let the committee place the envelopes in a vault, then meet from time to time to open the appropriate envelopes. In such a large body of men some deaths may be expected, if Amalgamated actuaries can be trusted, every week or two. In such a fashion they will accumulate data very rapidly to prove that Pinero is a liar, or no.”

  He stopped, and pushed out his little chest until it almost caught up with his little round belly. He glared at the sweating savants. “Well?”

  The judge raised his eyebrows, and caught Mr. Weems’s eye. “Do you accept?”

  “Your Honor, I think the proposal highly improper—”

  The judge cut him short. “I warn you that I shall rule against you if you do not accept, or propose an equally reasonable method of arriving at the truth.”

  Weems opened his mouth, changed his mind, looked up and down the faces of learned witnesses, and faced the bench. “We accept, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Arrange the details between you. The temporary injunction is lifted, and Dr. Pinero must not be molested in the pursuit of his business. Decision on the petition for permanent injunction is reserved without prejudice pending the accumulation of evidence. Before we leave this matter I wish to comment on the theory implied by you, Mr. Weems, when you claimed damage to your client. There has grown up in the minds of certain groups in this country the notion that because a man or corporation has made a profit out of the public for a number of years, the government and the courts are charged with the duty of guaranteeing such profit in the future, even in the face of changing circumstances and contrary public interest. This strange doctrine is not supported by statute nor common law. Neither individuals nor corporations have any right to come into court and ask that the clock of history be stopped, or turned back, for their private benefit. That is all.”

  Bidwell grunted in annoyance. “Weems, if you can’t think up anything better than that, Amalgamated is going to need a new chief attorney. It’s been ten weeks since you lost the injunction, and that little wart is coining money hand over fist. Meantime every insurance firm in the country is going broke. Hoskins, what
’s our loss ratio?”

  “It’s hard to say, Mr. Bidwell. It gets worse every day. We’ve paid off thirteen big policies this week; all of them taken out since Pinero started operations.”

  A spare little man spoke up. “I say, Bidwell, we aren’t accepting any new applications for United until we have time to check and be sure that they have not consulted Pinero. Can’t we afford to wait until the scientists show him up?”

  Bidwell snorted. “You blasted optimist! They won’t show him up. Aldrich, can’t you face a fact? The fat little blister has got something; how I don’t know. This is a fight to the finish. If we wait, we’re licked.” He threw his cigar into a cuspidor, and bit savagely into a fresh one. “Clear out of here, all of you! I’ll handle this my own way. You too, Aldrich. United may wait, but Amalgamated won’t.”

  Weems cleared his throat apprehensively. “Mr. Bidwell, I trust you will consult with me before embarking on any major change in policy?”

  Bidwell grunted. They filed out. When they were all gone and the door closed, Bidwell snapped the switch of the interoffice announcer. “O.K.; send him in.”

  The outer door opened; a slight dapper figure stood for a moment at the threshold. His small dark eyes glanced quickly about the room before he entered, then he moved up to Bidwell with a quick soft tread. He spoke to Bidwell in a flat emotionless voice. His face remained impassive except for the live animal eyes. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the proposition?”

  “Sit down, and we’ll talk.”

  Pinero met the young couple at the door of his inner office.

  “Come in, my dears, come in. Sit down. Make yourselves at home. Now tell me, what do you want of Pinero? Surely such young people are not anxious about the final roll call?”

  The boy’s honest young face showed slight confusion. “Well, you see, Dr. Pinero, I’m Ed Hartley and this is my wife, Betty. We’re going to have—that is, Betty is expecting a baby and, well—”