Complete Venus Equilateral (1976) SSC

by George O. Smith

  “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,” Don explained. “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?”

  “Yep,” 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 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,” Don grinned. “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 ammeter 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 setup 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 then: 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 setup 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 conscience-stricken,” Don 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,” Kingman complained. “I feel that I am within my rights in removing the tubes 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. “You what?” 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 po
wer 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 VE 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 pickpocketing 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 rube 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.

  “Yes? You know, Kingman, I’m not too sure that Venus Equilateral wants to play around with power except as a maintenance angle. What if we toss the solar beam to the public domain? That is within our right, too.”

  Kingman’s green color returned, this time accompanied with beads of sweat. He turned to Farrell. “Is there nothing we can do? Is this patentable?”

  “No—Yes,” grinned Farrell.

  Kingman excused himself. He went to the office provided for him and began to send messages to the Terran Electric Company offices at Chicago. The forty-minute wait between message and answer was torture to him, but it was explained to him that light and radio crossed space at one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second and that even an Act of Congress could do nothing to help him hurry it. Meanwhile, Channing’s description tied up the Terran beam for almost an hour at the standard rate of twelve hundred words per minute. Their answers came within a few minutes of one another.

  Channing tossed the ‘gram before Kingman. “Idea definitely patentable,” said the wire.

  Kingman stood up. Apparently the lawyer believed that his pronouncement would carry more weight by looming over the smiling, easygoing faces of his parties-of-the-second-part. “I am prepared to negotiate with your legal department; offering them, and you, the full rights to the transmission tube. This will include full access to any and all discoveries, improvements, and/or changes made at any time from its discovery to the termination of this contract, which shall be terminated only by absolute mutual agreement between Terran Electric and Venus Equilateral. In return for this, Venus Equilateral will permit Terran Electric to exploit the solar beam tube fully and freely, and exclusively—”

  “Make that slightly different,” said Channing. “Terran Electric’s rights shall prevail exclusively—except within the realm of space, upon man-made celestial objects, and upon the satellites and minor natural celestial bodies where sub-relay stations of the Interplanetary Communications Company are established.”

  Kingman thought that one over. “In other words, if the transport companies desire to use the solar beam, you will hold domain from the time they leave an atmosphere until they again touch—”

  “Let’s not complicate things,” Don smiled cheerfully. “I like uncomplicated things.”

  Kingman smiled wryly. “I’m sure,” he agreed with fine sarcasm. “But I see your point. You intend to power the communications system with the solar beam. That is natural. Also, you feel that a certain amount of revenue should be coming your way. Yes, I believe that our legal departments can agree.”

  “So let’s not make the transport companies change masters in midspace.”

  “You are taking a lot on your shoulders,” said Kingman. “We wouldn’t permit our technicians to dictate the terms of an agreement.”

  “You are not going to like Venus Equilateral at all,” laughed Don. “We wouldn’t permit our legal department to dabble in things of which they know nothing. Years ago, when the first concentric beam was invented, which we now use to punch a hole in the Heaviside Layer, communications was built about a group of engineers. We held the three inner planets together by the seat of our pants, so to speak, and nurtured communications from a slipshod, hope-to-God-it-gets-through proposition to a sure thing. Funny thing, but when people were taking their messages catch-as-catch-can, there was no reason for legal lights. Now that we can and do insure messages against their loss, we find that we are often tied up with legal red tape.

  “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have a lawyer on the premises. They serve their purpose, no doubt, but in this gang the engineers tell the attorneys how to run things. We shall continue to do so. Therefore you are speaking with the proper parties, and once the contract is prepared by you, we shall have an attorney run through the whereases, wherefores, and parties-of-the-first, second, and third parts to see that there is no sleight of hand in the microscopic type.”

  “You’re taking a chance,” Kingman warned. “All men are not as fundamentally honest as Terran Electric.”

  “Kingman,” Channing smiled, “I hate to remind you of this, but who got what just now? We wanted the transmission tube.”

  “I see your point. But we have a means of getting power out of the sun.”

  “We have a hunk of that, too. It would probably have been a mere matter of time before some bright bird at Terran found the thing, as it was.”

  “I shall see that the contract gives you domain over man-made
objects in space—including those that occasionally touch upon the natural celestial objects. Also the necessary equipment operating under the charter of Venus Equilateral, wherever or whenever it may be, including any future installations.”

  “Fine. You may have trouble understanding our feelings. We are essentially a space-born company, and as such we can have no one at the helm who is not equipped to handle the technical details of operations in space.” Channing smiled reminiscently. “We had a so-called efficiency expert running Venus Equilateral a couple of years ago, and the fool nearly wrecked us because he didn’t know that the airplant was not a mass of highly complicated, chemical-reaction machinery instead of what it really is. Kingman, do you know what an airplant is?”

  “Frankly, no. I should imagine it is some sort of air-purifying device.”

  “You’ll sit down hard when I tell you that the airplant is just what it is. Martian sawgrass! Brother Burbank tossed it out because he thought it was just weeds, cluttering up the place. He was allergic to good engineering, anyway.”

  “That may be good enough in space,” said Kingman, “but on Terra, we feel that our engineers are not equipped to dabble in the legal tangles that follow when they force us to establish precedent by inventing something that has never been covered by a previous decision.”

  “O.K.,” said Don. “Every man to his own scope. Write up your contract, Kingman, and we’ll all climb on the band wagon with our illiterate X’s.”

  -

  In Evanston, north of Chicago, the leaves changed from their riotous green to a somber brown, and fell to lay a blanket over the earth. Snow covered the dead leaves, and Christmas, with its holly, went into the past, followed closely by New Year’s Eve with its hangover.

  And on a roof by the shore of Lake Michigan, a group of men stood in overcoats beside a huge machine that towered above the great letters of the Terran Electric Company sign that could be seen all the way from Gary, Indiana.

  It was a beautiful thing, this tube; a far cry from the haywire thing that had brought solar power to Venus Equilateral. It was mounted on gimbals, and the metal was bright-plated and perfectly machined. Purring motors caused the tube to rotate to follow the sun.