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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24707-8.txt b/24707-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5e0be8 --- /dev/null +++ b/24707-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2166 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of By Proxy, by Gordon Randall Garrett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: By Proxy + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Illustrator: H. R. van Dongen + +Release Date: February 27, 2008 [EBook #24707] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + BY + PROXY + + By DAVID GORDON + + _It's been said that the act of + creation is a solitary thing--that + teams never create; only individuals. + But sometimes a team may be needed + to make creation effective...._ + + Illustrated by Van Dongen + + +Mr. Terrence Elshawe did not conform to the mental picture that pops +into the average person's mind when he hears the words "news reporter." +Automatically, one thinks of the general run of earnest, handsome, +firm-jawed, level-eyed, smooth-voiced gentlemen one sees on one's TV +screen. No matter which news service one subscribes to, the reporters +are all pretty much of a type. And Terrence Elshawe simply wasn't the +type. + +The confusion arises because thirty-odd years of television has resulted +in specialization. If you run up much Magnum Telenews time on your +meter, you're familiar with the cultured voice and rugged good looks of +Brett Maxon, "your Magnum reporter," but Maxon is a reporter only in the +very literal sense of the word. He's an actor, whose sole job is to make +Magnum news sound more interesting than some other telenews service, +even though he's giving you exactly the same facts. But he doesn't go +out and dig up those stories. + +The actual leg work of getting the news into Maxon's hands so that he +can report it to you is done by research reporters--men like Terrence +Elshawe. + +Elshawe was a small, lean man with a large, round head on which grew +close-cropped, light brown hair. His mouth was wide and full-lipped, and +had a distinct tendency to grin impishly, even when he was trying to +look serious. His eyes were large, blue, and innocent; only when the +light hit them at just the right angle was it possible to detect the +contact lenses which corrected an acute myopia. + +When he was deep in thought, he had a habit of relaxing in his desk +chair with his head back and his eyes closed. His left arm would be +across his chest, his left hand cupping his right elbow, while the right +hand held the bowl of a large-bowled briar which Elshawe puffed +methodically during his ruminations. He was in exactly that position +when Oler Winstein put his head in the door of Elshawe's office. + +"Busy?" Winstein asked conversationally. + +In some offices, if the boss comes in and finds an employee in a pose +like that, there would be a flurry of sudden action on the part of the +employee as he tried frantically to look as though he had only paused +for a moment from his busy work. Elshawe's only reaction was to open his +eyes. He wasn't the kind of man who would put on a phony act like that, +even if his boss fired him on the spot. + +"Not particularly," he said, in his slow, easy drawl. "What's up?" + +Winstein came on into the office. "I've got something that might make a +good spot. See what you think." + +If Elshawe didn't conform to the stereotype of a reporter, so much less +did Oler Winstein conform to the stereotype of a top-flight TV magnate. +He was no taller than Elshawe's five-seven, and was only slightly +heavier. He wore his hair in a crew cut, and his boyish face made him +look more like a graduate student at a university than the man who had +put Magnum Telenews together with his own hands. He had an office, but +he couldn't be found in it more than half the time; the rest of the +time, he was prowling around the Magnum Building, wandering into studios +and offices and workshops. He wasn't checking up on his employees, and +never gave the impression that he was. He didn't throw his weight +around and he didn't snoop. If he hired a man for a job, he expected the +job to be done, that was all. If it was, the man could sleep at his desk +or play solitaire or drink beer for all Winstein cared; if the work +wasn't done, it didn't matter if the culprit looked as busy as an +anteater at a picnic--he got one warning and then the sack. The only +reason for Winstein's prowling around was the way his mind worked; it +was forever bubbling with ideas, and he wanted to bounce those ideas off +other people to see if anything new and worthwhile would come of them. + +He didn't look particularly excited, but, then, he rarely did. Even the +most objective of employees is likely to become biased one way or +another if he thinks his boss is particularly enthusiastic about an +idea. Winstein didn't want yes-men around him; he wanted men who could +and would think. And he had a theory that, while the tenseness of an +emergency could and did produce some very high-powered thinking indeed, +an atmosphere of that kind wasn't a good thing for day-in-and-day-out +work. He saved that kind of pressure for the times that he needed it, so +that it was effective because of its contrast with normal procedure. + + * * * * * + +Elshawe took his heavy briar out of his mouth as Winstein sat down on +the corner of the desk. "You have a gleam in your eye, Ole," he said +accusingly. + +"Maybe," Winstein said noncommittally. "We might be able to work +something out of it. Remember a guy by the name of Malcom Porter?" + +Elshawe lowered his brows in a thoughtful frown. "Name's familiar. Wait +a second. Wasn't he the guy that was sent to prison back in 1979 for +sending up an unauthorized rocket?" + +Winstein nodded. "That's him. Served two years of a five-year sentence, +got out on parole about a year ago. I just got word from a confidential +source that he's going to try to send up another one." + +"I didn't know things were so pleasant at Alcatraz," Elshawe said. "He +seems to be trying awfully hard to get back in." + +"Not according to what my informant says. This time, he's going to ask +for permission. And this time, he's going to have a piloted craft, not a +self-guided missile, like he did in '79." + +"Ho_ho_. Well, there might be a story in it, but I can't see that it +would be much of one. It isn't as if a rocket shoot were something +unusual. The only thing unusual about it is that it's a private +enterprise shoot instead of a Government one." + +Winstein said: "Might be more to it than that. Do you remember the trial +in '79?" + +"Vaguely. As I remember it, he claimed he didn't send up a rocket, but +the evidence showed overwhelmingly that he had. The jury wasn't out +more than a few minutes, as I remember." + +"There was a little more to it than that," Winstein said. + +"I was in South Africa at the time," Elshawe said. "Covering the civil +war down there, remember?" + +"That's right. You're excused," Winstein said, grinning. "The thing was +that Malcom Porter didn't claim he hadn't sent the thing up. What he did +claim was that it wasn't a rocket. He claimed that he had a new kind of +drive in it--something that didn't use rockets. + +"The Army picked the thing up on their radar screens, going straight up +at high acceleration. They bracketed it with Cobra pursuit rockets and +blew it out of the sky when it didn't respond to identification signals. +They could trace the thing back to its launching pad, of course, and +they nabbed Malcom Porter. + +"Porter was furious. Wanted to slap a suit against the Government for +wanton destruction of private property. His claim was that the law +forbids unauthorized rocket tests all right, but his missile wasn't +illegal because it wasn't a rocket." + +"What did he claim it was?" Elshawe asked. + +"He said it was a secret device of his own invention. Antigravity, or +something like that." + +"Did he try to prove it?" + +"No. The Court agreed that, according to the way the law is worded, only +'rocket-propelled missiles' come under the ban. The judge said that if +Malcom Porter could prove that the missile wasn't rocket-propelled, he'd +dismiss the case. But Porter wanted to prove it by building another +missile. He wouldn't give the court his plans or specifications for the +drive he claimed he'd invented, or say anything about it except that it +operated--and I quote--'on a new principle of physics'--unquote. Said he +wouldn't tell them anything because the Government was simply using this +as an excuse to take his invention away from him." + +Elshawe chuckled. "That's as flimsy a defense as I've heard." + +"Don't laugh," said Winstein. "It almost worked." + +"What? How?" + +"It threw the burden of proof on the Government. They thought they had +him when he admitted that he'd shot the thing off, but when he denied +that it was a rocket, then, in order to prove that he'd committed a +crime, they had to prove that it _was_ a rocket. It wasn't up to Porter +to prove that it _wasn't_." + +"Hey," Elshawe said in admiration, "that's pretty neat. I'm almost sorry +it didn't work." + + * * * * * + +"Yeah. Trouble was that the Army had blown up the evidence. They knew it +was a rocket, but they had to prove it. They had recordings of the radar +picture, of course, and they used that to show the shape and +acceleration of the missile. They proved that he'd bought an old +obsolete Odin rocket from one of the small colleges in the Midwest--one +that the Army had sold them as a demonstration model for their rocket +engineering classes. They proved that he had a small liquid air plant +out there at his place in New Mexico. In other words, they proved that +he had the equipment to rebuild the rocket and the fuel to run it. + +"Then they got a battery of high-powered physicists up on the stands to +prove that nothing else but a rocket could have driven the thing that +way. + +"Porter's attorney hammered at them in cross-examination, trying to get +one of them to admit that it was possible that Porter had discovered a +new principle of physics that could fly a missile without rockets, but +the Attorney General's prosecutor had coached them pretty well. They all +said that unless there was evidence to the contrary, they could not +admit that there was such a principle. + +"When the prosecutor presented his case to the jury, he really had +himself a ball. I'll give you a transcript of the trial later; you'll +have to read it for yourself to get the real flavor of it. The gist of +it was that things had come to a pretty pass if a man could claim a +scientific principle known only to himself as a defense against a crime. + +"He gave one analogy I liked. He said, suppose that a man is found +speeding in a car. The cops find him all alone, behind the wheel, when +they chase him down. Then, in court, he admits that he was alone, and +that the car was speeding, but he insists that the car was steering +itself, and that he wasn't in control of the vehicle at all. And what +was steering the car? Why, a new scientific principle, of course." + +Elshawe burst out laughing. "Wow! No wonder the jury didn't stay out +long! I'm going to have to dig the recordings of the newscasts out of +the files; I missed a real comedy while I was in Africa." + +Winstein nodded. "We got pretty good coverage on it, but our worthy +competitor, whose name I will not have mentioned within these sacred +halls, got Beebee Vayne to run a commentary on it, and we got beat out +on the meters." + +"Vayne?" Elshawe was still grinning. "That's a new twist--getting a +comedian to do a news report." + +"I'll have to admit that my worthy competitor, whose name et cetera, +does get an idea once in a while. But I don't want him beating us out +again. We're in on the ground floor this time, and I want to hog the +whole thing if I can." + +"Sounds like a great idea, if we can swing it," Elshawe agreed. "Do you +have a new gimmick? You're not going to get a comedian to do it, are +you?" + +"Heaven forbid! Even if it had been my own idea three years ago, I +wouldn't repeat it, and I certainly won't have it said that I copy my +competitors. No, what I want you to do is go out there and find out +what's going on. Get a full background on it. We'll figure out the +presentation angle when we get some idea of what he's going to do this +time." Winstein eased himself off the corner of Elshawe's desk and +stood up. "By the way--" + +"Yeah?" + +"Play it straight when you go out there. You're a reporter, looking for +news; you haven't made any previous judgments." + +Elshawe's pipe had gone out. He fired it up again with his desk lighter. +"I don't want to be," he said between puffs, "too cagey. If he's got ... +any brains ... he'll know it's ... a phony act ... if I overdo it." He +snapped off the lighter and looked at his employer through a cloud of +blue-gray smoke. "I mean, after all, he's on the records as being a +crackpot. I'd be a pretty stupid reporter if I believed everything he +said. If I don't act a little skeptical, he'll think I'm either a +blockhead or a phony or both." + +"Maybe," Winstein said doubtfully. "Still, some of these crackpots fly +off the handle if you doubt their word in the least bit." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," Elshawe said. "He used to live here in New +York, didn't he?" + +"Still does," Winstein said. "He has a two-floor apartment on Central +Park West. He just uses that New Mexico ranch of his for relaxation." + +"He's not hurting for money, is he?" Elshawe asked at random. "Anyway, +what I'll do is look up some of the people he knows and get an idea of +what kind of a bird he is. Then, when I get out there, I'll know more +what kind of line to feed him." + +"That sounds good. But whatever you do, play it on the soft side. My +confidential informant tells me that the only reason we're getting this +inside info is because Malcom Porter is sore about the way our +competition treated him four years ago." + +"Just who is this confidential informant, anyway, Ole?" Elshawe asked +curiously. + +Winstein grinned widely. "It's supposed to be very confidential. I don't +want it to get any further than you." + +"Sure not. Since when am I a blabbermouth? Who is it?" + +"Malcom Porter." + + * * * * * + +Two days later, Terrence Elshawe was sitting in the front seat of a big +station wagon, watching the scenery go by and listening to the driver +talk as the machine tooled its way out of Silver City, New Mexico, and +headed up into the Mogollon Mountains. + +"Was a time, not too long back," the driver was saying, "when a man +couldn't get up into this part of the country 'thout a pack mule. Still +places y'can't, but the boss had t' have a road built up to the ranch +so's he could bring in all that heavy equipment. Reckon one of these +days the Mogollons 'll be so civilized and full a people that a fella +might as well live in New York." + +Elshawe, who hadn't seen another human being for fifteen minutes, felt +that the predicted overcrowding was still some time off. + +"'Course," the driver went on, "I reckon folks have t' live some place, +but I never could see why human bein's are so all-fired determined to +bunch theirselves up so thick together that they can't hardly move--like +a bunch of sheep in a snowstorm. It don't make sense to me. Does it to +you, Mr. Skinner?" + +That last was addressed to the other passenger, an elderly man who was +sitting in the seat behind Elshawe. + +"I guess it's pretty much a matter of taste, Bill," Mr. Skinner said in +a soft voice. + +"I reckon," Bill said, in a tone that implied that anyone whose tastes +were so bad that he wanted to live in the city was an object of pity who +probably needed psychiatric treatment. He was silent for a moment, in +obvious commiseration with his less fortunate fellows. + +Elshawe took the opportunity to try to get a word in. The chunky +Westerner had picked him up at the airport, along with Mr. Samuel +Skinner, who had come in on the same plane with Elshawe, and, after +introducing himself as Bill Rodriguez, he had kept up a steady stream of +chatter ever since. Elshawe didn't feel he should take a chance on +passing up the sudden silence. + +"By the way; has Mr. Porter applied to the Government for permission to +test his ... uh ... his ship, yet?" + +Bill Rodriguez didn't take his eyes off the winding road. "Well, now, I +don't rightly know, Mr. Elshawe. Y'see, I just work on the ranch up +there. I don't have a doggone thing to do with the lab'r'tory at +all--'cept to keep the fence in good shape so's the stock don't get into +the lab'r'tory area. If Mr. Porter wants me to know somethin', he tells +me, an' if he don't, why, I don't reckon it's any a my business." + +"I see," said Elshawe. _And that shuts_ me _up_, he thought to himself. +He took out his pipe and began to fill it in silence. + +"How's everything out in Los Angeles, Mr. Skinner?" Rodriguez asked the +passenger in back. "Haven't seen you in quite a spell." + +Elshawe listened to the conversation between the two with half an ear +and smoked his pipe wordlessly. + +He had spent the previous day getting all the information he could on +Malcom Porter, and the information hadn't been dull by any means. + +Porter had been born in New York in 1949, which made him just barely +thirty-three. His father, Vanneman Porter, had been an oddball in his +own way, too. The Porters of New York didn't quite date back to the time +of Peter Stuyvesant, but they had been around long enough to acquire the +feeling that the twenty-four dollars that had been paid for Manhattan +Island had come out of the family exchequer. Just as the Vanderbilts +looked upon the Rockefellers as newcomers, so the Porters looked on the +Vanderbilts. + +For generations, it had been tacitly conceded that a young Porter +gentleman had only three courses of action open to him when it came time +for him to choose his vocation in life. He could join the firm of +Porter & Sons on Wall Street, or he could join some other respectable +business or banking enterprise, or he could take up the Law. +(Corporation law, of course--_never_ criminal law.) For those few who +felt that the business world was not for them, there was a fourth +alternative--studying for the priesthood of the Episcopal Church. +Anything else was unheard of. + +So it had been somewhat of a shock to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Porter when +their only son, Vanneman, had announced that he intended to study +physics at M.I.T. But they gave their permission; they were quite +certain that the dear boy would "come to his senses" and join the firm +after he had been graduated. He was, after all, the only one to carry on +the family name and manage the family holdings. + +[Illustration] + +But Vanneman Porter not only stuck to his guns and went on to a Ph.D.; +he compounded his delinquency by marrying a pretty, sweet, but not +overly bright girl named Mary Kelley. + +Malcom Porter was their son. + + * * * * * + +When Malcom was ten years old, both his parents were killed in a smashup +on the New Jersey Turnpike, and the child went to live with his widowed +grandmother, Mrs. Hamilton Porter. + +Terry Elshawe had gathered that young Malcom Porter's life had not been +exactly idyllic from that point on. Grandmother Porter hadn't approved +of her son's marriage, and she seemed to have felt that she must do +everything in her power to help her grandson overcome the handicap of +having nonaristocratic blood in his veins. + +Elshawe wasn't sure in his own mind whether environment or heredity had +been the deciding factor in Malcom Porter's subsequent life, but he had +a hunch that the two had been acting synergistically. It was likely that +the radical change in his way of life after his tenth year had as much +to do with his behavior as the possibility that the undeniably brilliant +mental characteristics of the Porter family had been modified by the +genes of the pretty but scatter-brained wife of Vanneman Porter. + +Three times, only his grandmother's influence kept him from being +expelled from the exclusive prep school she had enrolled him in, and his +final grades were nothing to mention in polite society, much less boast +about. + +In her own way, the old lady was trying to do her best for him, but she +had found it difficult to understand her own son, and his deviations +from the Porter norm had been slight in comparison with those of his +son. When the time came for Malcom to enter college, Grandmother Porter +was at a total loss as to what to do. With his record, it was unlikely +that any law school would take him unless he showed tremendous +improvement in his pre-law courses. And unless that improvement was a +general one, not only as far as his studies were concerned, but in his +handling of his personal life, it would be commercial suicide to put him +in any position of trust with Porter & Sons. It wasn't that he was +dishonest; he simply couldn't be trusted to do anything properly. He had +a tendency to follow his own whims and ignore everybody else. + +The idea of his entering the clergy was never even considered. + +It came almost as a relief to the old woman when Malcom announced that +he was going to study physics, as his father had done. + +The relief didn't last long. By the time Malcom was in his sophomore +year, he was apparently convinced that his instructors were dunderheads +to the last man. That, Elshawe thought, was probably not unusual among +college students, but Malcom Porter made the mistake of telling them +about it. + +One of the professors with whom Elshawe had talked had said: "He acted +as though he owned the college. That, I think, was what was his trouble +in his studies; he wasn't really stupid, and he wasn't as lazy as some +said, but he didn't want to be bothered with anything that he didn't +enjoy. The experiments he liked, for instance, were the showy, +spectacular ones. He built himself a Tesla coil, and a table with hidden +AC electromagnets in it that would make a metal plate float in the air. +But when it came to nucleonics, he was bored. Anything less than a +thermonuclear bomb wasn't any fun." + +The trouble was that he called his instructors stupid and dull for being +interested in "commonplace stuff," and it infuriated him to be forced to +study such "junk." + +As a result, he managed to get himself booted out of college toward the +end of his junior year. And that was the end of his formal education. + +Six months after that, his grandmother died. Although she had married +into the Porter family, she was fiercely proud of the name; she had been +born a Van Courtland, so she knew what family pride was. And the +realization that Malcom was the last of the Porters--and a failure--was +more than she could bear. The coronary attack she suffered should have +been cured in a week, but the best medico-surgical techniques on Earth +can't help a woman who doesn't want to live. + +Her will showed exactly what she thought of Malcom Porter. The Porter +holdings were placed in trust. Malcom was to have the earnings, but he +had no voice whatever in control of the principal until he was fifty +years of age. + + * * * * * + +Instead of being angry, Malcom was perfectly happy. He had an income +that exceeded a million dollars before taxes, and didn't need to worry +about the dull details of making money. He formed a small corporation of +his own, Porter Research Associates, and financed it with his own money. +It ran deep in the red, but Porter didn't mind; Porter Research +Associates was a hobby, not a business, and running at a deficit saved +him plenty in taxes. + +By the time he was twenty-five, he was known as a crackpot. He had a +motley crew of technicians and scientists working for him--some with +Ph.D.'s, some with a trade-school education. The personnel turnover in +that little group was on a par with the turnover of patients in a +maternity ward, at least as far as genuine scientists were concerned. +Porter concocted theories and hypotheses out of cobwebs and became +furious with anyone who tried to tear them down. If evidence came up +that would tend to show that one of his pet theories was utter hogwash, +he'd come up with an _ad hoc_ explanation which showed that this +particular bit of evidence was an exception. He insisted that "the basis +of science lies in the experimental evidence, not in the pronouncements +of authorities," which meant that any recourse to the theories of +Einstein, Pauli, Dirac, Bohr, or Fermi was as silly as quoting +Aristotle, Plato, or St. Thomas Aquinas. The only authority he would +accept was Malcom Porter. + +Nobody who had had any training in science could work long with a man +like that, even if the pay had been high, which it wasn't. The only +people who could stick with him were the skilled workers--the welders, +tool-and-die men, electricians, and junior engineers, who didn't care +much about theories as long as they got the work done. They listened +respectfully to what Porter had to say and then built the gadgets he +told them to build. If the gadgets didn't work the way Porter expected +them to, Porter would fuss and fidget with them until he got tired of +them, then he would junk them and try something else. He never blamed a +technician who had followed orders. Since the salaries he paid were +proportional to the man's "ability and loyalty"--judged, of course, by +Porter's own standards--he soon had a group of technician-artisans who +knew that their personal security rested with Malcom Porter, and that +personal loyalty was more important than the ability to utilize the +scientific method. + +Not everything that Porter had done was a one-hundred-per cent failure. +He had managed to come up with a few basic improvements, patented them, +and licensed them out to various manufacturers. But these were purely an +accidental by-product. Malcom Porter was interested in "basic research" +and not much else, it seemed. + +He had written papers and books, but they had been uniformly rejected by +the scientific journals, and those he had had published himself were on +a par with the writings of Immanuel Velikovsky and George Adamski. + +And now he was going to shoot a rocket--or whatever it was--to the moon. +Well, Elshawe thought, if it went off as scheduled, it would at least be +worth watching. Elshawe was a rocket buff; he'd watched a dozen or more +moon shots in his life--everything from the automatic supply-carriers to +the three-man passenger rockets that added to the personnel of Moon Base +One--and he never tired of watching the bellowing monsters climb up +skywards on their white-hot pillars of flame. + +And if nothing happened, Elshawe decided, he'd at least get a laugh out +of the whole episode. + + * * * * * + +After nearly two hours of driving, Bill Rodriguez finally turned off the +main road onto an asphalt road that climbed steeply into the pine forest +that surrounded it. A sign said: _Double Horseshoe Ranch--Private +Road--No Trespassing_. + +Elshawe had always thought of a ranch as a huge spread of flat prairie +land full of cattle and gun-toting cowpokes on horseback; a mountainside +full of sheep just didn't fit into that picture. + +After a half mile or so, the station wagon came to a high metal-mesh +fence that blocked the road. On the big gate, another sign proclaimed +that the area beyond was private property and that trespassers would be +prosecuted. + +Bill Rodriguez stopped the car, got out, and walked over to the gate. He +pressed a button in one of the metal gateposts and said, "Ed? This's +Bill. I got Mr. Skinner and that New York reporter with me." + +After a slight pause, there was a metallic click, and the gate swung +open. Rodriguez came back to the car, got in, and drove on through the +gate. Elshawe twisted his head to watch the big gate swing shut behind +them. + +After another ten minutes, Rodriguez swung off the road onto another +side road, and ten minutes after that the station wagon went over a +small rise and headed down into a small valley. In the middle of it, +shining like bright aluminum in the sun, was a vessel. + +_Now I know Porter is nuts_, Elshawe thought wryly. + +Because the vessel, whatever it was, was parallel to the ground, looking +like the fuselage of a stratojet, minus wings and tail, sitting on its +landing gear. Nowhere was there any sign of a launching pad, with its +gantries and cranes and jet baffles. Nor was there any sign of a rocket +motor on the vessel itself. + +As the station wagon approached the cluster of buildings a hundred yards +this side of the machine, Elshawe realized with shock that the thing +_was_ a stripped-down stratojet--an old Grumman _Supernova_, _circa_ +1970. + +"Well, Elijah got there by sitting in an iron chair and throwing a +magnet out in front of himself," Elshawe said, "so what the hell." + +"What?" Rodriguez asked blankly. + +"Nothing; just thinking out loud. Sorry." + +Behind Elshawe, Mr. Skinner chuckled softly, but said nothing. + +When the station wagon pulled up next to one of the cluster of white +prefab buildings, Malcom Porter himself stepped out of the wide door and +walked toward them. + +Elshawe recognized the man from his pictures--tall, wide-shouldered, +dark-haired, and almost handsome, he didn't look much like a wild-eyed +crackpot. He greeted Rodriguez and Skinner rather peremptorily, but he +smiled broadly and held out his hand to Elshawe. + +"Mr. Elshawe? I'm Malcom Porter." His grip was firm and friendly. "I'm +glad to see you. Glad you could make it." + +"Glad to be here, Dr. Porter," Elshawe said in his best manner. "It's +quite a privilege." He knew that Porter liked to be called "Doctor"; all +his subordinates called him that. + +But, surprisingly, Porter said: "Not 'Doctor,' Mr. Elshawe; just +'Mister.' My boys like to call me 'Doctor,' but it's sort of a nickname. +I don't have a degree, and I don't claim one. I don't want the public +thinking I'm claiming to be something I'm not." + +"I understand, Mr. Porter." + +Bill Rodriguez's voice broke in. "Where do you want me to put all this +stuff, Doc?" He had unloaded Elshawe's baggage from the station wagon +and set it carefully on the ground. Skinner picked up his single +suitcase and looked at Porter inquiringly. + +"My usual room, Malcom?" + +"Yeah. Sure, Sam; sure." As Skinner walked off toward one of the other +buildings, Porter said: "Quite a load of baggage you have there, Mr. +Elshawe. Recording equipment?" + +"Most of it," the reporter admitted. "Recording TV cameras, 16mm movie +cameras, tape recorders, 35mm still cameras--the works. I wanted to get +good coverage, and if you've got any men that you won't be using during +the take-off, I'd like to borrow them to help me operate this stuff." + +"Certainly; certainly. Come on, Bill, let's get this stuff over to Mr. +Elshawe's suite." + + * * * * * + +The suite consisted of three rooms, all very nicely appointed for a +place as far out in the wilderness as this. When Elshawe got his +equipment stowed away, Porter invited him to come out and take a look at +his pride and joy. + +"The first real spaceship, Elshawe," he said energetically. "The first +real spaceship. The rocket is no more a spaceship than a rowboat is an +ocean-going vessel." He gestured toward the sleek, shining, metal ship. +"Of course, it's only a pilot model, you might say. I don't have +hundreds of millions of dollars to spend; I had to make do with what I +could afford. That's an old Grumman _Supernova_ stratojet. I got it +fairly cheap because I told 'em I didn't want the engines or the wings +or the tail assembly. + +"But she'll do the job, all right. Isn't she a beauty?" + +Elshawe had his small pocket recorder going; he might as well get all +this down. "Mr. Porter," he asked carefully, "just how does this vessel +propel itself? I understand that, at the trial, it was said that you +claimed it was an antigravity device, but that you denied it." + +"Those idiots!" Porter exploded angrily. "Nobody understood what I was +talking about because they wouldn't listen! Antigravity! _Pfui!_ When +they learned how to harness electricity, did they call it +anti-electricity? When they built the first atomic reactor, did they +call it anti-atomic energy? A rocket works against gravity, but they +don't call _that_ antigravity, do they? My device works _with_ gravity, +not against it." + +"What sort of device is it?" Elshawe asked. + +"I call it the Gravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer," Porter said +importantly. + +Elshawe was trying to frame his next question when Porter said: "I know +the name doesn't tell you much, but then, names never do, do they? You +know what a transformer does, but what does the name by itself convey? +Nothing, unless you know what it does in the first place. A cyclotron +cycles something, but what? A broadcaster casts something abroad--what? +And how?" + +"I see. And the 'how' and 'what' is your secret, eh?" + +"Partly. I can give you a little information, though. Suppose there were +only one planet in all space, and you were standing on its surface. +Could you tell if the planet were spinning or not? And, if so, how fast? +Sure you could; you could measure the so-called centrifugal force. The +same thing goes for a proton or electron or neutron or even a neutrino. +But, if it _is_ spinning, what is the spin relative to? To the particle +itself? That's obvious nonsense. Therefore, what is commonly called +'inertia' is as much a property of so-called 'empty space' as it is a +property of matter. My device simply utilizes spatial inertia by +polarizing it against the matter inertia of the ship, that's all." + +"Hm-m-m," said Elshawe. As far as his own knowledge of science went, +that statement made no sense whatever. But the man's manner was +persuasive. Talking to him, Elshawe began to have the feeling that +Porter not only knew what he was talking about, but could actually do +what he said he was going to do. + +"What's that?" Porter asked sharply, looking up into the sky. + +Elshawe followed his gaze. "That" was a Cadillac aircar coming over a +ridge in the distance, its fans making an ever-louder throaty hum as it +approached. It settled down to an altitude of three feet as it neared, +and floated toward them on its cushion of air. On its side, Elshawe +could see the words, UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, and beneath that, in +smaller letters, _Civil Aeronautics Authority_. + +"Now what?" Porter muttered softly. "I haven't notified anyone of my +intentions yet--not officially." + +"Sometimes those boys don't wait for official notification," Elshawe +said. + +Porter glanced at him, his eyes narrowed. "You didn't say anything, did +you?" + +"Look, Mr. Porter, I don't play that way," Elshawe said tightly. "As far +as I'm concerned, this is your show; I'm just here to get the story. You +did us a favor by giving us advance notice; why should we louse up your +show for you?" + +"Sorry," Porter said brusquely. "Well, let's make a good show of it." + +The CAA aircar slowed to a halt, its fans died, and it settled to its +wheels. + + * * * * * + +Two neatly dressed, middle-aged men climbed out. Both were carrying +briefcases. Porter walked briskly toward them, a warm smile on his face; +Elshawe tagged along behind. The CAA men returned Porter's smile with +smiles that could only be called polite and businesslike. + +Porter performed the introductions, and the two men identified +themselves as Mr. Granby and Mr. Feldstein, of the Civil Aeronautics +Authority. + +"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Porter asked. + +Granby, who was somewhat shorter, fatter, and balder than his partner, +opened his briefcase. "We're just here on a routine check, Mr. Porter. +If you can give us a little information...?" He let the half-question +hang in the air as he took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. + +"Anything I can do to help," Porter said. + +Granby, looking at the papers, said: "In 1979, I believe you purchased a +Grumman _Supernova_ jet powered aircraft from Trans-American Airlines? +Is that correct?" + +"That is correct," Porter agreed. + +Granby handed one of the papers to Porter. "That is a copy of the +registration certificate. Is the registration number the same as it is +on your copy?" + +[Illustration] + +"I believe so," Porter said, looking at the number. "Yes, I'm sure it +is." + +Granby nodded briskly. "According to our records, the machine was sold +as scrap. That is to say, it was not in an airworthy condition. It was, +in fact, sold without the engines. Is that correct?" + +"Correct." + +"May I ask if you still own the machine in question?" + +Porter gave the man a look that accused Granby of being stupid or blind +or both. He pointed to the hulking fuselage of the giant aircraft. +"There it is." + +Granby and Feldstein both turned to look at it as though they had never +noticed it before. "Ah, yes," Granby said, turning back. "Well, that's +about all there is to it." He looked at his partner. "It's obvious that +there's no violation here, eh, Feldstein?" + +"Quite," said Feldstein in a staccato voice. + +"Violation?" Porter asked. "What violation?" + +"Well, nothing, really," Granby said, deprecatingly. "Just routine, as I +said. People have been known to buy aircraft as scrap and then repair +them and re-outfit them." + +"Is that illegal?" Porter asked. + +"No, no," said Granby hastily. "Of course not. But any ship so +re-outfitted and repaired must pass CAA inspection before it can leave +the ground, you understand. So we keep an eye on such transactions to +make sure that the law isn't violated." + +"After three years?" Porter asked blandly. + +"Well ... ah ... well ... you know how it is," Granby said nervously. +"These things take time. Sometimes ... due to ... clerical error, we +overlook a case now and then." He glanced at his partner, then quickly +looked back at Porter. + +"As a matter of fact, Mr. Porter," Feldstein said in a flat, cold voice, +"in view of your record, we felt that the investigation at this time was +advisable. You bought a scrap missile and used it illegally. You can +hardly blame us for looking into this matter." + +"No," said Porter. He had transferred his level gaze to the taller of +the two men, since it had suddenly become evident that Feldstein, not +Granby, was the stronger of the two. + +"However," Feldstein went on, "I'm glad to see that we have no cause for +alarm. You're obviously not fitting that up as an aircraft. By the +way--just out of curiosity--what _are_ you doing with it?" He turned +around to look at the big fuselage again. + +Porter sighed. "I had intended to hold off on this for a few days, but I +might as well let the cat out now. I intend to take off in that ship +this week end." + + * * * * * + +Granby's eyes opened wide, and Feldstein spun around as though someone +had jabbed him with a needle. "_What?_" + +Porter simply repeated what he had said. "I had intended to make +application to the Space Force for permission to test it," he added. + +Feldstein looked at him blankly for a moment. + +Then: "The _Space_ Force? Mr. Porter, civilian aircraft come under the +jurisdiction of the CAA." + +"How's he going to fly it?" Granby asked. "No engines, no wings, no +control surfaces. It's silly." + +"Rocket motors in the rear, of course," said Feldstein. "He's converted +the thing into a rocket." + +"But the tail is closed," Granby objected. "There's no rocket orifice." + +"Dummy cover, I imagine," Feldstein said. "Right, Mr. Porter?" + +"Wrong," said Porter angrily. "The motive power is supplied by a +mechanism of my own devising! It has nothing to do with rockets! It's as +superior to rocket power as the electric motor is to the steam engine!" + +Feldstein and Granby glanced at each other, and an almost identical +expression of superior smugness grew over their features. Feldstein +looked back at Porter and said, "Mr. Porter, I assure you that it +doesn't matter what you're using to lift that thing. You could be using +dynamite for all I care. The law says that it can't leave the ground +unless it's airworthy. Without wings or control surfaces, it is +obviously not airworthy. If it is not a rocket device, then it comes +under the jurisdiction of the Civil Aeronautics Authority, and if you +try to take off without our permission, you'll go to jail. + +"If it _is_ a rocket device, then it will be up to the Space Force to +inspect it before take-off to make sure it is not dangerous. + +"I might remind you, Mr. Porter, that you are on parole. You still have +three years to serve on your last conviction. I wouldn't play around +with rockets any more if I were you." + +Porter blew up. "Listen, you! I'm not going to be pushed around by you +or anyone else! I know better than you do what Alcatraz is like, and I'm +not going back there if I can help it. This country is still +Constitutionally a democracy, not a bureaucracy, and I'm going to see to +it that I get to exercise my rights! + +"I've invented something that's as radically new as ... as ... as the +Law of Gravity was in the Seventeenth Century! And I'm going to get +recognition for it, understand me?" He gestured furiously toward the +fuselage of the old _Supernova_. "That ship is not only airworthy, but +_space_worthy! And it's a thousand times safer and a thousand times +better than any rocket will ever be! + +"For your information, Mister Smug-Face, I've already flown her!" + +Porter stopped, took a deep breath, compressed his lips, and then said, +in a lower, somewhat calmer tone, "Know what she'll do? That baby will +hang in the air just like your aircar, there--and without benefit of +those outmoded, power-wasting blower fans, too. + +"Now, understand me, Mr. Feldstein: I'm not going to break any laws +unless I have to. You and all your bureaucrat friends will have a chance +to give me an O.K. on this test. But I warn you, brother--_I'm going to +take that ship up!_" + + * * * * * + +Feldstein's jaw muscles had tightened at Porter's tone when he began, +but he had relaxed by the time the millionaire had finished, and was +even managing to look smugly tolerant. Elshawe had thumbed the button on +his minirecorder when the conversation had begun, and he was chuckling +mentally at the thought of what was going down on the thin, +magnetite-impregnated, plastic thread that was hissing past the +recording head. + +Feldstein said: "Mr. Porter, we came here to remind you of the law, +nothing more. If you intend to abide by the law, fine and dandy. If not, +you'll go back to prison. + +"That ship is not airworthy, and--" + +"How do you know it isn't?" Porter roared. + +"By inspection, Mr. Porter; by inspection." Feldstein looked +exasperated. "We have certain standards to go by, and an aircraft +without wings or control surfaces simply doesn't come up to those +standards, that's all. Even a rocket has to have stabilizing fins." He +paused and zipped open his briefcase. + +"In view of your attitude," he said, pulling out a paper, "I'm afraid I +shall have to take official steps. This is to notify you that the +aircraft in question has been inspected and found to be not airworthy. +Since--" + +"Wait a minute!" Porter snapped. "Who are you to say so? How would you +know?" + +"I happen to be an officer of the CAA," said Feldstein, obviously trying +to control his temper. "I also happen to be a graduate aeronautical +engineer. If you wish, I will give the ... the ... aircraft a thorough +inspection, inside and out, and--" + +"Oh, no!" said Porter. His voice and his manner had suddenly become very +gentle. "I don't think that would do much good, do you?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you'd condemn the ship, no matter what you found inside. +You couldn't O.K. a ship without airfoils, could you?" + +"Of course not," said Feldstein, "that's obvious, in the face of--" + +"All right, then give me the notification and forget the rest of the +inspection." Porter held out his hand. + +Feldstein hesitated. "Well, now, without a complete inspection--" + +Again Porter interrupted. "You're not going to get a complete +inspection, Buster," he said with a wolfish grin. "Either serve that +paper or get off my back." + +Feldstein slammed the paper into Porter's hand. "That's your official +notification! If necessary, Mr. Porter, we will be back with a Federal +marshal! Good day, Mr. Porter. Let's go, Granby." + +The two of them marched back to their aircar and climbed inside. The car +lifted with a roar of blowers and headed back over the mountains toward +Albuquerque. + +But long before they were out of sight over the ridge, Malcom Porter had +turned on his heel and started back toward the cluster of buildings. He +was swearing vilely in a rumbling monotone, and had apparently forgotten +all about Elshawe. + +The reporter followed in silence for a dozen paces, then he asked: +"What's your next step, Mr. Porter?" + +Porter came to an abrupt stop, turned, and looked at Elshawe. "I'm going +to phone General Fitzsimmons in Washington! I'm--" He stopped, scowling. +"No, I guess I'd better phone my lawyer first. I'll find out what they +can do and what they can't." Then he turned again and strode rapidly +toward the nearest of the buildings. + + * * * * * + +Seventy-two hours later, Terry Elshawe was in Silver City, talking to +his boss over a long-distance line. + +"... And that's the way it lines up, Ole. The CAA won't clear his ship +for take-off, and the Space Force won't either. And if he tries it +without the O.K. of both of them, he'll be right back in Alcatraz." + +"He hasn't violated his parole yet, though?" Winstein's voice came +distantly. + +"No." Elshawe cursed the fact that he couldn't get a vision connection +with New York. "But, the way he's acting, he's likely to. He's furious." + +"Why wouldn't he let the Space Force officers look over his ship?" +Winstein asked. "I still don't see how that would have hurt him if he's +really got something." + +"It's on the recording I sent you," Elshawe said. + +"I haven't played it yet," Winstein said. "Brief me." + +"He wouldn't let the Space Force men look at his engine or whatever it +is because he doesn't trust them," Elshawe said. "He claims to have this +new drive, but he doesn't want anyone to go nosing around it. The Space +Force colonel ... what's his name? ... Manetti, that's it. Manetti asked +Porter why, if he had a new invention, he hadn't patented it. Porter +said that he wasn't going to patent it because that would make it +available to every Tom, Dick, and Harry--his very words--who wanted to +build it. Porter insists that, since it's impossible to patent the +discovery of a new natural law, he isn't going to give away his genius +for nothing. He said that Enrico Fermi was the prime example of what +happened when the Government got hold of something like that when the +individual couldn't argue." + +"Fermi?" Winstein asked puzzledly. "Wasn't he a physicist or something, +back in the Forties?" + +"Right. He's the boy who figured out how to make the atomic bomb +practical. But the United States Government latched onto it, and it took +him years to get any compensation. He never did get the money that he +was entitled to. + +"Porter says he wants to make sure that the same thing doesn't happen to +him. He wants to prove that he's got something and then let the +Government pay him what it's worth and give him the recognition he +deserves. He says he has discovered a new natural law and devised a +machine that utilizes that law. He isn't going to let go of his +invention until he gets credit for everything." + +There was a long silence from the other end. After a minute, Elshawe +said: "Ole? You there?" + +"Oh. Yeah ... sure. Just thinking. Terry, what do you think of this +whole thing? Does Porter have something?" + +"Damned if I know. If I were in New York, I'd say he was a complete nut, +but when I talk to him, I'm halfway convinced that he knows what he's +talking about." + +There was another long pause. This time, Elshawe waited. Finally, Oler +Winstein said: "You think Porter's likely to do something drastic?" + +"Looks like it. The CAA has already forbidden him to lift that ship. The +Space Force flatly told him that he couldn't take off without +permission, and they said he wouldn't get permission unless he let them +look over his gizmo ... whatever it is." + +"And he refused?" + +"Well, he did let Colonel Manetti look it over, but the colonel said +that, whatever the drive principle was, it wouldn't operate a ship. He +said the engines didn't make any sense. What it boils down to is that +the CAA thinks Porter has rockets in the ship, and the Space Force +does, too. So they've both forbidden him to take off." + +"_Are_ there any rocket motors in the ship?" Winstein asked. + +"Not as far as I can see," Elshawe said. "He's got two big +atomic-powered DC generators aboard--says they have to be DC to avoid +electromagnetic effects. But the drive engines don't make any more sense +to me than they do to Colonel Manetti." + +Another pause. Then: "O.K., Terry; you stick with it. If Porter tries to +buck the Government, we've got a hell of a story if his gadget works the +way he says it does. If it doesn't--which is more likely--then we can +still get a story when they haul him back to the Bastille." + +"Check-check. I'll call you if anything happens." + + * * * * * + +He hung up and stepped out of the phone booth into the lobby of the +Murray Hotel. Across the lobby, a glowing sign said _cocktail lounge_ in +lower-case script. + +He decided that a tall cool one wouldn't hurt him any on a day like this +and ambled over, fumbling in his pockets for pipe, tobacco pouch, and +other paraphernalia as he went. He pushed open the door, spotted a stool +at the bar of the dimly-lit room, went over to it and sat down. + +He ordered his drink and had no sooner finished than the man to his left +said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Elshawe." + +The reporter turned his head toward his neighbor. "Oh, hello, Mr. +Skinner. I didn't know you'd come to town." + +"I came in somewhat earlier. Couple, three hours ago." His voice had the +careful, measured steadiness of a man who has had a little too much to +drink and is determined not to show it. That surprised Elshawe a little; +Skinner had struck him as a middle-aged accountant or maybe a high +school teacher--the mild kind of man who doesn't drink at all, much less +take a few too many. + +"I'm going to hire a 'copter and fly back," Elshawe said. "You're +welcome if you want to come along." + +Skinner shook his head solemnly. "No. Thank you. I'm going back to Los +Angeles this afternoon. I'm just killing time, waiting for the local +plane to El Paso." + +"Oh? Well, I hope you have a good trip." Elshawe had been under the +impression that Skinner had come to New Mexico solely to see the test of +Porter's ship. He had wondered before how the man fitted into the +picture, and now he was wondering why Skinner was leaving. He decided he +might as well try to find out. "I guess you're disappointed because the +test has been called off," he said casually. + +"Called off? Hah. No such thing," Skinner said. "Not by a long shot. Not +Porter. He'll take the thing up, and if the Army doesn't shoot him down, +the CAA will see to it that he's taken back to prison. But that won't +stop him. Malcom Porter is determined to go down in history as a great +scientist, and nothing is going to stop him if he can help it." + +"You think his spaceship will work, then?" + +"Work? Sure it'll work. It worked in '79; it'll work now. The way that +drive is built, it can't help but work. I just don't want to stick +around and watch him get in trouble again, that's all." + +Elshawe frowned. All the time that Porter had been in prison, his +technicians had been getting together the stuff to build the so-called +"spaceship," but none of them knew how it was put together or how it +worked. Only Porter knew that, and he'd put it together after he'd been +released on parole. + +But if that was so, how come Skinner, who didn't even work for Porter, +was so knowledgeable about the drive? Or was that liquor talking? + +"Did you help him build it?" the reporter asked smoothly. + +"_Help_ him build it? Why, I--" Then Skinner stopped abruptly. "Why, +no," he said after a moment. "No. I don't know anything about it, +really. I just know that it worked in '79, that's all." He finished his +drink and got off his stool. "Well, I've got to be going. Nice talking +to you. Hope I see you again sometime." + +"Sure. So long, Mr. Skinner." He watched the man leave the bar. + +Then he finished his own drink and went back into the lobby and got a +phone. Ten minutes later, a friend of his who was a detective on the Los +Angeles police force had promised to check into Mr. Samuel Skinner. +Elshawe particularly wanted to know what he had been doing in the past +three years and very especially what he had been doing in the past year. +The cop said he'd find out. There was probably nothing to it, Elshawe +reflected, but a reporter who doesn't follow up accidentally dropped +hints isn't much of a reporter. + +He came out of the phone booth, fired up his pipe again, and strolled +back to the bar for one more drink before he went back to Porter's +ranch. + + * * * * * + +Malcom Porter took one of the darts from the half dozen he held in his +left hand and hurled it viciously at the target board hung on the far +wall of the room. + +_Thunk!_ + +"Four ring at six o'clock," he said in a tight voice. + +_Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!_ + +The other five darts followed in rapid succession. As he threw each one, +Porter snapped out a word. "They ... can't ... stop ... Malcom ... +Porter!" He glared at the board "Two bull's-eyes; three fours, and a +three. Twenty-five points. You owe me a quarter, Elshawe." + +The reporter handed him a coin. "Two bits it is. What can you do, +Porter? They've got you sewed up tight. If you try to take off, they'll +cart you right back to The Rock--if the Army doesn't shoot you down +first. Do you want to spend the next ten years engrossed in the scenic +beauties of San Francisco Bay?" + +"No. And I won't, either." + +"Not if the Army gets you. I can see the epitaph now: + + _Malcom Porter, with vexation, + Thought he could defy the nation. + He shot for space with great elation-- + Now he's dust and radiation._ + +Beneath it, they'll engrave a spaceship argent with A-bombs rampant on a +field sable." + +Porter didn't take offense. He grinned. "What are you griping about? It +would make a great story." + +"Sure it would," Elshawe agreed. "But not for me. I don't write the +obituary column." + +"You know what I like about you, Elshawe?" + +"Sure. I lose dart games to you." + +"That, yes. But you really sound worried. That means two things. One: +You like me. Two: You believe that my ship actually will take off. +That's more than any of those other reporters who have been prowling +around and phoning in do." + +Elshawe shrugged silently and puffed at his pipe. Malcom Porter's ego +was showing through. He was wrong on two counts. Elshawe didn't like +him; the man's arrogance and his inflated opinion of himself as a +scientific genius didn't sit well with the reporter. And Elshawe didn't +really believe there was anything but a rocket motor in that hull +outside. A new, more powerful kind of rocket perhaps--otherwise Porter +wouldn't be trying to take a one-stage rocket to the Moon. But a rocket, +nonetheless. + +"I don't want to go back to prison," Porter continued, "but I'll risk +that if I have to. But I won't risk death just yet. Don't worry; the +Army won't know I'm even gone until I'm halfway to the Moon." + +"Foo!" said Elshawe. "Every radar base from Albuquerque to the Mexican +border has an antenna focused on the air above this ranch. The minute +you get above those mountains, they'll have a fix on you, and a minute +after that, they'll have you bracketed with Cobras. + +"Why don't you let the Government inspectors look it over and give you +an O.K.? What makes you think they're all out to steal your invention?" + +"Oh, they won't _steal_ it," Porter said bitterly. "Heaven's-to-Betsy +_no_! But this invention of mine will mean that the United States of +America will be in complete control of the planets and the space +between. When the Government wants a piece of property, they try to buy +it at their price; if they can't do that, they condemn it and pay the +owner what they think it's worth--not what the owner thinks it's worth. +The same thing applies here; they'd give me what they thought I ought to +have--in ten years or so. Look what happened to Fermi. + +"No, Elshawe; when the Government comes begging to me for this +invention, they can have it--on _my_ terms." + +"Going to keep it a secret, eh? You can't keep a thing like that secret. +Look what happened with atomic energy after World War Two. We kept it a +secret from the Russians, didn't we? Fine lot of good that did us. As +soon as they knew it was possible, they went to work on it. Nature +answers any questions you ask her if you ask her the right way. As soon +as the Government sees that your spaceship works, they'll put some of +their bright physicists to work on it, and you'll be in the same +position as you would have been if you'd showed it to them in the first +place. Why risk your neck?" + +Porter shook his head. "The analogy isn't valid. Suppose someone had +invented the A-bomb in 1810. It would have been a perfectly safe secret +because there wasn't a scientist on Earth who included such a thing as +atomic energy in his philosophy. And, believe me, this drive of mine is +just as far ahead of contemporary scientific philosophy as atomic energy +was ahead of Napoleon's scientists. + +"Suppose I told you that the fuel my ship uses is a gas lighter than +hydrogen. It isn't, but suppose I told you so. Do you think any +scientist today could figure out how it worked? No. They _know_ that +there's no such thing as a gas with a lighter atomic weight than +hydrogen. They know it so well that they wouldn't even bother to +consider the idea. + +"My invention is so far ahead of present-day scientific thought that no +scientists except myself could have even considered the idea." + +"O.K.; O.K.," Elshawe said. "So you're going to get yourself shot down +to prove your point." + +Porter grinned lopsidedly. "Not at all. You're still thinking in terms +of a rocket. Sure--if I used a rocket, they'd knock me down fast, just +as soon as I lifted above the mountains. But I don't have to do that. +All I have to do is get a few feet of altitude and hug the ground all +the way to the Pacific coast. Once I get out in the middle of the +Pacific, I can take off straight up without being bothered at all." + +"All right. If your machine will do it," the reporter said, trying to +hide his skepticism. + +"You still think I've got some kind of rocket, don't you?" Porter asked +accusingly. He paused a moment, then, as if making a sudden decision, he +said: "Look, Elshawe, I trust you. I'm going to show you the inside of +that ship. I won't show you my engines, but I _will_ prove to you that +there are no rocket motors in her. That way, when you write up the +story, you'll be able to say that you have first-hand knowledge of that +fact. O.K.?" + +"It's up to you," the reporter said. "I'd like to see it." + +"Come along," said Malcom Porter. + + * * * * * + +Elshawe followed Porter out to the field, feeling rather grateful that +he was getting something to work on. They walked across the field, past +the two gun-toting men in Levis that Porter had guarding the ship. +Overhead, the stars were shining brightly through the thin mountain air. +Elshawe glanced at his wrist watch. It was a little after ten p.m. + +He helped Porter wheel the ramp up to the door of the ship and then +followed him up the steps. Porter unlocked the door and went inside. The +Grumman had been built to cruise in the high stratosphere, so it was as +air-tight as a submarine. + +Porter switched on the lights. "Go on in." + +The reporter stepped into the cabin of the ship and looked around. It +had been rebuilt, all right; it didn't look anything like the inside of +a normal stratojet. + +"Elshawe." + +"Yeah?" The reporter turned to look at Porter, who was standing a little +behind him. He didn't even see the fist that arced upward and smashed +into his jaw. All he saw was a blaze of light, followed by darkness. + +The next thing he knew, something was stinging in his nostrils. He +jerked his head aside, coughing. The smell came again. Ammonia. + +"Wake up, Elshawe," Porter was saying. "Have another whiff of these +smelling salts and you'll feel better." + +Elshawe opened his eyes and looked at the bigger man. "I'm awake. Take +that stuff away. What's the idea of slugging me?" + +"I was afraid you might not come willingly," Porter said apologetically. +"I needed a witness, and I figured you'd do better than anyone else." + +Elshawe tried to move and found that he was tied to the seat and +strapped in with a safety belt. "What's this for?" he asked angrily. His +jaw still hurt. + +"I'll take that stuff off in a few minutes. I know I can trust you, but +I want you to remember that I'm the only one who can pilot this ship. If +you try anything funny, neither one of us will get back alive. I'll let +you go as soon as we get up to three hundred miles." + +Elshawe stared at him. "Where are we?" + +"Heading out toward mid-Pacific. I headed south, to Mexico, first. We're +over open water now, headed toward Baja California, so I put on the +autopilot. As soon as we get out over the ocean, we can really make +time. You can watch the sun come up in the west." + +"And then?" Elshawe felt dazed. + +"And then we head straight up. For empty space." + +Elshawe closed his eyes again. He didn't even want to think about it. + + * * * * * + +"... As you no doubt heard," Terrence Elshawe dictated into the phone, +"Malcom Porter made good his threat to take a spaceship of his own +devising to the Moon. Ham radios all over North America picked up his +speech, which was made by spreading the beam from an eighty-foot +diameter parabolic reflector and aiming it at Earth from a hundred +thousand miles out. It was a collapsible reflector, made of thin foil, +like the ones used on space stations. Paragraph. + +"He announced that the trip was made with the co-operation of the United +States Space Force, and that it represented a major breakthrough in the +conquest of space. He--" + +"Just a sec," Winstein's voice broke in. "Is that the truth? Was he +really working with the Space Force?" + +"Hell, no," said Elshawe. "But they'll have to claim he was now. Let me +go on." + +"Shoot." + +"... He also beamed a message to the men on Moon Base One, telling them +that from now on they would be able to commute back and forth from Luna +to Earth, just as simply as flying from New York to Detroit. Paragraph. + +"What followed was even more astounding. At tremendous acceleration, +Malcom Porter and Terrence Elshawe, your reporter, headed for Mars. +Inside Porter's ship, there is no feeling of acceleration except for a +steady, one-gee pull which makes the passenger feel as though he is on +an ordinary airplane, even though the spaceship may be accelerating at +more than a hundred gravities. Paragraph. + +"Porter's ship circled Mars, taking photographs of the Red Planet--the +first close-ups of Mars to be seen by the human race. Then, at the same +tremendous rate of speed, Porter's ship returned to Earth. The entire +trip took less than thirty-six hours. According to Porter, improved +ships should be able to cut that time down considerably. Paragraph." + +[Illustration] + +"Have you got those pics?" Winstein cut in. + +"Sure. Porter gave me an exclusive in return for socking me. It was +worth it. Remember back in the Twenties, when the newspapermen talked +about a scoop? Well, we've got the biggest scoop of the century." + +"Maybe," said Winstein. "The Government hasn't made any announcement +yet. Where's Porter?" + +"Under arrest, where'd you think? After announcing that he would land on +his New Mexico ranch, he did just that. As soon as he stepped out, a +couple of dozen Government agents grabbed him. Violation of parole--he +left the state without notifying his parole officer. But they couldn't +touch me, and they knew it. + +"Here's another bit of news for your personal information. A bomb went +off inside the ship after it landed and blew the drive to smithereens. +The only information is inside Porter's head. He's got the Government +where the short hair grows." + +"Looks like it. See here, Terry; you get all the information you can and +be back here by Saturday. You're going to go on the Weekend Report." + +"Me? I'm no actor. Let Maxon handle it." + +"No. This is hot. You're an eye-witness. Maxon will interview you. +Understand?" + +"O.K.; you're the boss, Ole. Anything else?" + +"Not right now, but if anything more comes up, call in." + +"Right. 'Bye." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, cocking his feet +up on the desk. It was Malcom Porter's desk and Malcom Porter's chair. +He was sitting in the Big Man's office, just as though he owned it. His +jaw still hurt a little, but he loved every ache of it. It was hard to +remember that he had ever been angry with Porter. + +Just before they had landed, Porter had said: "They'll arrest me, of +course. I knew that when I left. But I think I can get out of it. There +will be various kinds of Government agents all over the place, but they +won't find anything. I've burned all my notebooks. + +"I'll instruct my attorney that you're to have free run of the place so +that you can call in your story." + + * * * * * + +The phone rang. Elshawe grabbed up the receiver and said: "Malcom +Porter's residence." He wished that they had visiphones out in the +country; he missed seeing the face of the person he was talking to. + +"Let me talk to Mr. Terrence Elshawe, please," said the voice at the +other end. "This is Detective Lieutenant Martin of the Los Angeles +Police Department." + +"This is me, Marty." + +"Good! Boy, have I had trouble getting to you! I had to make it an +official call before the phone company would put the call through. How +does it feel to be notorious?" + +"Great. What's new?" + +"I got the dope on that Skinner fellow. I suppose you still want it? Or +has success gone to your head?" + +Elshawe had almost forgotten about Skinner. "Shoot," he said. + +The police officer rattled off Samuel Skinner's vital statistics--age, +sex, date and place of birth, and so on. Then: "He lived in New York +until 1977. Taught science for fifteen years at a prep school there. +He--" + +"Wait a second," Elshawe interrupted. "When was he born? Repeat that." + +"March fourth, nineteen-thirty." + +"Fifty-three," Elshawe said, musingly. "Older than he looks. O.K.; go +on." + +"He retired in '77 and came to L.A. to live. He--" + +"Retired at the age of forty-seven?" Elshawe asked incredulously. + +"That's right. Not on a teacher's pension, though. He's got some kind of +annuity from a New York life insurance company. Pays pretty good, too. +He gets a check for two thousand dollars on the third of every month. I +checked with his bank on that. Nice, huh?" + +"Very nice. Go on." + +"He lives comfortably. No police record. Quiet type. One servant, a +Chinese, lives with him. Sort of combination of valet and secretary. + +"As far as we can tell, he has made four trips in the past three years. +One in June of '79, one in June of '80, one in June of '81, and this +year he made the fourth one. In '79, he went to Silver City, New Mexico. +In '80 and '81, he went to Hawaii. This year, he went to Silver City +again. Mean anything to you?" + +"Not yet," Elshawe said. "Are you paying for this call, or is the City +of Los Angeles footing the bill?" + +"Neither. You are." + +"Then shut up and let me think for a minute." After less than a minute, +he said: "Martin, I want some more data on that guy. I'm willing to pay +for it. Should I hire a private detective?" + +"That's up to you. I can't take any money for it, naturally--but I'm +willing to nose around a little more for you if I can. On the other +hand, I can't put full time in on it. There's a reliable detective +agency here in L.A.-- Drake's the guy's name. Want me to get in touch +with him?" + +"I'd appreciate it. Don't tell him who wants the information or that it +has any connection with Porter. Get--" + +"Hold it, Terry ... just a second. You know that if I uncover any +indication of a crime, all bets are off. The information goes to my +superiors, not to you." + +"I know. But I don't think there's any crime involved. You work it from +your end and send me the bills. O.K.?" + +"Fair enough. What more do you want?" + +Elshawe told him. + +When the phone call had been completed, Elshawe sat back and made clouds +of pipe smoke, which he stared at contemplatively. Then he made two +calls to New York--one to his boss and another to a private detective +agency he knew he could trust. + + * * * * * + +The Malcom Porter case quickly became a _cause célèbre_. Somebody +goofed. Handled properly, the whole affair might have been hushed up; +the Government would have gotten what it wanted, Porter would have +gotten what _he_ wanted, and everyone would have saved face. But some +bureaucrat couldn't see beyond the outer surface of his spectacle +lenses, and some other bureaucrat failed to stop the thing in time. + +"Gall, gall, and bitter, bitter wormwood," said Oler Winstein, perching +himself on the edge of Terry Elshawe's desk. + +"You don't Gallic, bitter, wormy, or wooden. What's up?" + +"Got a call from Senator Tallifero. He wants to know if you'll consent +to appear before the Joint Congressional Committee for Investigating +Military Affairs. I get the feeling that if you say 'no,' they'll send a +formal invitation--something on the order of a subpoena." + +Elshawe sighed. "Oh, well. It's news, anyway. When do they want me to be +in Washington?" + +"Tomorrow. Meanwhile, Porter, of course, is under arrest and in close +confinement. Confusion six ways from Sunday." He shook his head. "I +don't understand why they just didn't pat him on the back, say they'd +been working on this thing all along, and cover it up fast." + +"Too many people involved," Elshawe said, putting his cold pipe in the +huge ashtray on his desk. "The Civil Aeronautics crowd must have had a +spotter up in those mountains; they had a warrant out for his arrest +within an hour after we took off. They also notified the parole board, +who put out an all-points bulletin immediately. The Army and the Air +Force were furious because he'd evaded their radar net. Porter stepped +on so many toes so hard that it was inevitable that one or more would +yell before they realized it would be better to keep their mouths shut." + +"Well, you get up there and tell your story, and I dare say he'll come +out of it." + +"Sure he will. They know he's got something, and they know they have to +have it. But he's going to go through hell before they give it to him." + +Winstein slid off the desk and stood up. "I hope so. He deserves it. By +the way, it's too bad you couldn't get a story out of that Sam Skinner +character." + +"Yeah. But there's nothing to it. After all, even the FBI tried to find +out if there was anyone at all besides Porter who might know anything +about it. No luck. Not even the technicians who worked with him knew +anything useful. Skinner didn't know anything at all." He told the lie +with a perfectly straight face. He didn't like lying to Winstein, but +there was no other way. He hoped he wouldn't have to lie to the +Congressional Committee; perjury was not something he liked doing. The +trouble was, if he told the truth, he'd be worse off than if he lied. + +He took the plane that night for Washington, and spent the next three +days answering questions while he tried to keep his nerves under +control. Not once did they even approach the area he wanted them to +avoid. + +On the plane back, he relaxed, closed his eyes, and, for the first time +in days, allowed himself to think about Mr. Samuel Skinner. + + * * * * * + +The reports from the two detective agencies on the East and West Coasts +hadn't made much sense separately, but together they added up to enough +to have made it worth Elshawe's time to go to Los Angeles and tackle +Samuel Skinner personally. He had called Skinner and made an +appointment; Skinner had invited him out to his home. + +It was a fairly big house, not too new, and it sat in the middle of a +lot that was bigger than normal for land-hungry Los Angeles. + +Elshawe ran through the scene mentally. He could see Skinner's mild face +and hear his voice saying: "Come in, Mr. Elshawe." + +They went into the living room, and Skinner waved him toward a chair. +"Sit down. Want some coffee?" + +"Thanks; I'd appreciate it." While Skinner made coffee, the reporter +looked around the room. It wasn't overly showy, but it showed a sort of +subdued wealth. It was obvious that Mr. Skinner wasn't lacking in +comforts. + +Skinner brought in the coffee and then sat down, facing Elshawe, in +another chair. "Now," he said bluntly, "what was that remark you made on +the phone about showing up Malcom Porter as a phony? I understood that +you actually went to Mars on his ship. Don't you believe the evidence of +your own senses?" + +"I don't mean that kind of phony," Elshawe said. "And you know it. I'll +come to the point. I know that Malcom Porter didn't invent the +Gravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer. _You_ did." + +Skinner's eyes widened. "Where did you get that information?" + +"I can't tell you my sources, Mr. Skinner. Not yet, anyhow. But I have +enough information to tell me that you're the man. It wouldn't hold up +in court, but, with the additional information you can give me, I think +it will." + +Skinner looked baffled, as if not knowing what to say next. + +"Mr. Skinner," Elshawe went on, "a research reporter has to have a +little of the crusader in him, and maybe I've got more than most. You've +discovered one of the greatest things in history--or invented it, +whatever you want to call it. You deserve to go down in history along +with Newton, Watt, Roentgen, Edison, Einstein, Fermi, and all the rest. + +"But somehow Malcom Porter stole your invention and he intends to take +full credit for it. Oh, I know he's paid you plenty of money not to make +any fuss, and he probably thinks you couldn't prove anything, anyway. +But you don't have to be satisfied with his conscience money any more. +With the backing of Magnum Telenews, you can blow Mister Glory-hound +Porter's phony setup wide open and take the credit you deserve." + +Skinner didn't look at all the way Elshawe had expected. Instead, he +frowned a little and said: "I'm glad you came, Mr. Elshawe. I didn't +realize that there was enough evidence to connect me with his project." +But he didn't look exactly overjoyed. + +"Well," Elshawe said tentatively, "if you'll just answer a few +questions--" + +"Just a minute, Mr. Elshawe. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions +first?" + +"Go ahead." + +Skinner leaned forward earnestly. "Mr. Elshawe, who deserves credit for +an invention? Who deserves the money?" + +"Why ... why, the inventor, of course." + +"The inventor? Or the man who gives it to humanity?" + +"I ... don't quite follow you." + +He leaned back in his chair again. "Mr. Elshawe, when I invented the +Polarizer, I hadn't the remotest idea of what I'd invented. I taught +general science in the high school Malcom Porter went to, and I had a +lab in my basement. Porter was a pretty bright boy, and he liked to come +around to my lab and watch me putter around. I had made this gadget--it +was a toy for children as far as I was concerned. I didn't have any idea +of its worth. It was just a little gadget that hopped up into the air +and floated down again. Cute, but worthless, except as a novelty. And it +was too expensive to build it as a novelty. So I forgot about it. + +"Years later, Porter came around to me and offered to buy it. I dug it +out of the junk that was in my little workshop and sold it to him. + +"A couple of years after that, he came back. He said that he'd invented +something. After beating all around the bush, he finally admitted that +his invention was a development of my little toy. He offered me a +million dollars if I'd keep my mouth shut and forget all about the +thing." + +"And you accepted?" Elshawe asked incredulously. + +"Certainly! I made him buy me a tax-paid annuity that pays me more than +enough to get by on. I don't want wealth, Mr. Elshawe--just comfort. And +that's why I gave it to him." + + * * * * * + +"I don't follow you." + +"Let me tell you about Malcom Porter. He is one of that vast horde of +people who want to be _someone_. They want to be respected and looked up +to. But they either can't, or won't, take the time to learn the basics +of the field they want to excel in. The beautiful girl who wants to be +an actress without bothering to learn to act; the young man who wants to +be a judge without going through law school, or be a general without +studying military tactics; and Malcom Porter, the boy who wanted to be +a great scientist--but didn't want to take the trouble to learn +science." + +Elshawe nodded. He was thinking of the "artists" who splatter up clean +canvas and call it "artistic self-expression." And the clodheads who +write disconnected, meaningless prose and claim that it's free verse. +The muddleminds who forget that Picasso learned to paint within the +strict limits of classical art before he tried new methods, and that +James Joyce learned to handle the English language well before he wrote +"Finnegan's Wake." + +"On the other hand," Skinner continued, "I am ... well, rather a shy +man. As soon as Malcom told me what the device would do when it was +properly powered, I knew that there would be trouble. I am not a +fighter, Mr. Elshawe. I have no desire to spend time in prison or be +vilified in the news or called a crackpot by orthodox scientists. + +"I don't want to fight Malcom's claim, Mr. Elshawe. Don't you see, he +_deserves_ the credit! In the first place, he recognized it for what it +was. If he hadn't, Heaven only knows how long it would have been before +someone rediscovered it. In the second place, he has fought and fought +hard to give it to humanity. He has suffered in prison and spent +millions of dollars to get the Polarizer into the hands of the United +States Government. He has, in fact, worked harder and suffered more than +if he'd taken the time and trouble to get a proper education. And it got +him what he wanted; I doubt that he would have made a very good +scientist, anyway. + +"Porter deserves every bit of credit for the Polarizer. I am perfectly +happy with the way things are working out." + +Elshawe said: "But what if the FBI gets hold of the evidence I have?" + +"That's why I have told you the truth, Mr. Elshawe," Skinner said +earnestly. "I want you to destroy that evidence. I would deny flatly +that I had anything to do with the Polarizer, in any case. And that +would put an end to any inquiry because no one would believe that I +would deny inventing something like that. But I would just as soon that +the question never came up. I would rather that there be no whisper +whatever of anything like that." + +He paused for a moment, then, very carefully, he said: "Mr. Elshawe, you +have intimated that the inventor of the Polarizer deserves some kind of +reward. I assure you that the greatest reward you could give me would be +to help me destroy all traces of any connection with the device. Will +you do that, Mr. Elshawe?" + +Elshawe just sat silently in the chair for long minutes, thinking. +Skinner didn't interrupt; he simply waited patiently. + +After about ten minutes, Elshawe put his pipe carefully on a nearby +table and reached down to pick up his briefcase. He handed it to +Skinner. + +"Here. It contains all the evidence I have. Including, I might say, the +recording of our conversation here. Just take the tape out of the +minirecorder. A man like you deserves whatever reward he wants. Take it, +Mr. Skinner." + +"Thanks," said Skinner softly, taking the briefcase. + + * * * * * + +And, on the plane winging back to New York from the Congressional +investigation, Mr. Terrence Elshawe sighed softly. He was glad none of +the senators had asked anything about Skinner, because he knew he would +certainly have had to tell the truth. + +And he knew, just as certainly, that he would have been in a great deal +more hot water than Porter had been. Because Malcom Porter was going to +become American Hero Number One, and Terry Elshawe would have ended up +as the lying little sneak who had tried to destroy the reputation of the +great Malcom Porter. + +Which, all things considered, would have been a hell of a note. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ September + 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of By Proxy, by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + +***** This file should be named 24707-8.txt or 24707-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/0/24707/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: By Proxy + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Illustrator: H. R. van Dongen + +Release Date: February 27, 2008 [EBook #24707] +[Last updated: May 14, 2015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="titl"> +<div class="bk1"> +<h1>BY<br /> +PROXY</h1> + +<h2>By DAVID GORDON</h2> + +<div class="tease">It's been said that the act of +creation is a solitary thing—that +teams never create; only individuals. +But sometimes a team may be needed +to make creation effective....</div> + +<p class="illo">Illustrated by Van Dongen</p> +</div></div> + +<p><img src="images/002.png" width="45" height="45" alt="M" title="M" /><span class="dcap">r.</span> Terrence Elshawe did +not conform to the +mental picture that +pops into the average +person's mind when he +hears the words "news reporter." +Automatically, one thinks of the +general run of earnest, handsome, +firm-jawed, level-eyed, smooth-voiced +gentlemen one sees on one's TV +screen. No matter which news service +one subscribes to, the reporters +are all pretty much of a type. And +Terrence Elshawe simply wasn't the +type.</p> + +<p>The confusion arises because +thirty-odd years of television has resulted +in specialization. If you run +up much Magnum Telenews time on +your meter, you're familiar with the +cultured voice and rugged good looks +of Brett Maxon, "your Magnum reporter," +but Maxon is a reporter +only in the very literal sense of the +word. He's an actor, whose sole job +is to make Magnum news sound more +interesting than some other telenews +service, even though he's giving you +exactly the same facts. But he +doesn't go out and dig up those +stories.</p> + +<p>The actual leg work of getting the +news into Maxon's hands so that he +can report it to you is done by research +reporters—men like Terrence +Elshawe.</p> + +<p>Elshawe was a small, lean man +with a large, round head on which +grew close-cropped, light brown +hair. His mouth was wide and full-lipped, +and had a distinct tendency +to grin impishly, even when he was +trying to look serious. His eyes were +large, blue, and innocent; only when +the light hit them at just the right +angle was it possible to detect the +contact lenses which corrected an +acute myopia.</p> + +<p>When he was deep in thought, he +had a habit of relaxing in his desk +chair with his head back and his eyes +closed. His left arm would be across +his chest, his left hand cupping his +right elbow, while the right hand +held the bowl of a large-bowled +briar which Elshawe puffed methodically +during his ruminations. He was +in exactly that position when Oler +Winstein put his head in the door +of Elshawe's office.</p> + +<p>"Busy?" Winstein asked conversationally.</p> + +<p>In some offices, if the boss comes +in and finds an employee in a pose +like that, there would be a flurry of +sudden action on the part of the +employee as he tried frantically to +look as though he had only paused +for a moment from his busy work. +Elshawe's only reaction was to open +his eyes. He wasn't the kind of man +who would put on a phony act like +that, even if his boss fired him on +the spot.</p> + +<p>"Not particularly," he said, in his +slow, easy drawl. "What's up?"</p> + +<p>Winstein came on into the office. +"I've got something that might make +a good spot. See what you think."</p> + +<p>If Elshawe didn't conform to the +stereotype of a reporter, so much less +did Oler Winstein conform to the +stereotype of a top-flight TV magnate. +He was no taller than Elshawe's +five-seven, and was only slightly +heavier. He wore his hair in a crew +cut, and his boyish face made him +look more like a graduate student at +a university than the man who had +put Magnum Telenews together +with his own hands. He had an office, +but he couldn't be found in it +more than half the time; the rest of +the time, he was prowling around +the Magnum Building, wandering +into studios and offices and workshops. +He wasn't checking up on his +employees, and never gave the impression +that he was. He didn't throw +his weight around and he didn't +snoop. If he hired a man for a job, +he expected the job to be done, that +was all. If it was, the man could +sleep at his desk or play solitaire or +drink beer for all Winstein cared; if +the work wasn't done, it didn't matter +if the culprit looked as busy as an +anteater at a picnic—he got one +warning and then the sack. The only +reason for Winstein's prowling +around was the way his mind worked; +it was forever bubbling with +ideas, and he wanted to bounce those +ideas off other people to see if anything +new and worthwhile would +come of them.</p> + +<p>He didn't look particularly excited, +but, then, he rarely did. Even the +most objective of employees is likely +to become biased one way or another +if he thinks his boss is particularly +enthusiastic about an idea. +Winstein didn't want yes-men +around him; he wanted men who +could and would think. And he had +a theory that, while the tenseness of +an emergency could and did produce +some very high-powered thinking indeed, +an atmosphere of that kind +wasn't a good thing for day-in-and-day-out +work. He saved that kind +of pressure for the times that he +needed it, so that it was effective because +of its contrast with normal +procedure.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Elshawe took his heavy briar out +of his mouth as Winstein sat down +on the corner of the desk. "You have +a gleam in your eye, Ole," he said +accusingly.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," Winstein said noncommittally. +"We might be able to work +something out of it. Remember a +guy by the name of Malcom Porter?"</p> + +<p>Elshawe lowered his brows in a +thoughtful frown. "Name's familiar. +Wait a second. Wasn't he the guy +that was sent to prison back in 1979 +for sending up an unauthorized +rocket?"</p> + +<p>Winstein nodded. "That's him. +Served two years of a five-year sentence, +got out on parole about a year +ago. I just got word from a confidential +source that he's going to try +to send up another one."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know things were so +pleasant at Alcatraz," Elshawe said. +"He seems to be trying awfully hard +to get back in."</p> + +<p>"Not according to what my informant +says. This time, he's going +to ask for permission. And this time, +he's going to have a piloted craft, +not a self-guided missile, like he did +in '79."</p> + +<p>"Ho<i>ho</i>. Well, there might be a +story in it, but I can't see that it +would be much of one. It isn't as +if a rocket shoot were something +unusual. The only thing unusual +about it is that it's a private enterprise +shoot instead of a Government +one."</p> + +<p>Winstein said: "Might be more +to it than that. Do you remember +the trial in '79?"</p> + +<p>"Vaguely. As I remember it, he +claimed he didn't send up a rocket, +but the evidence showed overwhelmingly +that he had. The jury wasn't +out more than a few minutes, as I +remember."</p> + +<p>"There was a little more to it +than that," Winstein said.</p> + +<p>"I was in South Africa at the +time," Elshawe said. "Covering the +civil war down there, remember?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. You're excused," +Winstein said, grinning. "The thing +was that Malcom Porter didn't claim +he hadn't sent the thing up. What +he did claim was that it wasn't a +rocket. He claimed that he had a new +kind of drive in it—something that +didn't use rockets.</p> + +<p>"The Army picked the thing up +on their radar screens, going straight +up at high acceleration. They bracketed +it with Cobra pursuit rockets +and blew it out of the sky when it +didn't respond to identification signals. +They could trace the thing +back to its launching pad, of course, +and they nabbed Malcom Porter.</p> + +<p>"Porter was furious. Wanted to +slap a suit against the Government +for wanton destruction of private +property. His claim was that the law +forbids unauthorized rocket tests all +right, but his missile wasn't illegal +because it wasn't a rocket."</p> + +<p>"What did he claim it was?" Elshawe +asked.</p> + +<p>"He said it was a secret device of +his own invention. Antigravity, or +something like that."</p> + +<p>"Did he try to prove it?"</p> + +<p>"No. The Court agreed that, according +to the way the law is worded, +only 'rocket-propelled missiles' +come under the ban. The judge said +that if Malcom Porter could prove +that the missile wasn't rocket-propelled, +he'd dismiss the case. But +Porter wanted to prove it by building +another missile. He wouldn't give the +court his plans or specifications for +the drive he claimed he'd invented, +or say anything about it except that +it operated—and I quote—'on a new +principle of physics'—unquote. Said +he wouldn't tell them anything because +the Government was simply +using this as an excuse to take his +invention away from him."</p> + +<p>Elshawe chuckled. "That's as +flimsy a defense as I've heard."</p> + +<p>"Don't laugh," said Winstein. "It +almost worked."</p> + +<p>"What? How?"</p> + +<p>"It threw the burden of proof on +the Government. They thought they +had him when he admitted that he'd +shot the thing off, but when he denied +that it was a rocket, then, in +order to prove that he'd committed +a crime, they had to prove that it <i>was</i> +a rocket. It wasn't up to Porter to +prove that it <i>wasn't</i>."</p> + +<p>"Hey," Elshawe said in admiration, +"that's pretty neat. I'm almost sorry +it didn't work."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Yeah. Trouble was that the Army +had blown up the evidence. They +knew it was a rocket, but they had +to prove it. They had recordings of +the radar picture, of course, and +they used that to show the shape +and acceleration of the missile. They +proved that he'd bought an old obsolete +Odin rocket from one of the +small colleges in the Midwest—one +that the Army had sold them as a +demonstration model for their rocket +engineering classes. They proved that +he had a small liquid air plant out +there at his place in New Mexico. +In other words, they proved that he +had the equipment to rebuild the +rocket and the fuel to run it.</p> + +<p>"Then they got a battery of high-powered +physicists up on the stands +to prove that nothing else but a +rocket could have driven the thing +that way.</p> + +<p>"Porter's attorney hammered at +them in cross-examination, trying to +get one of them to admit that it was +possible that Porter had discovered +a new principle of physics that could +fly a missile without rockets, but the +Attorney General's prosecutor had +coached them pretty well. They all +said that unless there was evidence +to the contrary, they could not admit +that there was such a principle.</p> + +<p>"When the prosecutor presented +his case to the jury, he really had +himself a ball. I'll give you a transcript +of the trial later; you'll have +to read it for yourself to get the real +flavor of it. The gist of it was that +things had come to a pretty pass if +a man could claim a scientific principle +known only to himself as a +defense against a crime.</p> + +<p>"He gave one analogy I liked. He +said, suppose that a man is found +speeding in a car. The cops find him +all alone, behind the wheel, when +they chase him down. Then, in court, +he admits that he was alone, and +that the car was speeding, but he +insists that the car was steering itself, +and that he wasn't in control +of the vehicle at all. And what was +steering the car? Why, a new scientific +principle, of course."</p> + +<p>Elshawe burst out laughing. +"Wow! No wonder the jury didn't +stay out long! I'm going to have to +dig the recordings of the newscasts +out of the files; I missed a real +comedy while I was in Africa."</p> + +<p>Winstein nodded. "We got pretty +good coverage on it, but our worthy +competitor, whose name I will not +have mentioned within these sacred +halls, got Beebee Vayne to run a +commentary on it, and we got beat +out on the meters."</p> + +<p>"Vayne?" Elshawe was still grinning. +"That's a new twist—getting a +comedian to do a news report."</p> + +<p>"I'll have to admit that my worthy +competitor, whose name et cetera, +does get an idea once in a while. But +I don't want him beating us out +again. We're in on the ground floor +this time, and I want to hog the +whole thing if I can."</p> + +<p>"Sounds like a great idea, if we +can swing it," Elshawe agreed. "Do +you have a new gimmick? You're not +going to get a comedian to do it, are +you?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid! Even if it had +been my own idea three years ago, +I wouldn't repeat it, and I certainly +won't have it said that I copy my +competitors. No, what I want you +to do is go out there and find out +what's going on. Get a full background +on it. We'll figure out the +presentation angle when we get some +idea of what he's going to do this +time." Winstein eased himself off the +corner of Elshawe's desk and stood +up. "By the way—"</p> + +<p>"Yeah?"</p> + +<p>"Play it straight when you go out +there. You're a reporter, looking for +news; you haven't made any previous +judgments."</p> + +<p>Elshawe's pipe had gone out. He +fired it up again with his desk lighter. +"I don't want to be," he said +between puffs, "too cagey. If he's +got ... any brains ... he'll know +it's ... a phony act ... if I overdo +it." He snapped off the lighter and +looked at his employer through a +cloud of blue-gray smoke. "I mean, +after all, he's on the records as being +a crackpot. I'd be a pretty +stupid reporter if I believed everything +he said. If I don't act a little +skeptical, he'll think I'm either a +blockhead or a phony or both."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," Winstein said doubtfully. +"Still, some of these crackpots fly +off the handle if you doubt their +word in the least bit."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'll do," Elshawe +said. "He used to live here +in New York, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Still does," Winstein said. "He +has a two-floor apartment on Central +Park West. He just uses that New +Mexico ranch of his for relaxation."</p> + +<p>"He's not hurting for money, is +he?" Elshawe asked at random. +"Anyway, what I'll do is look up +some of the people he knows and +get an idea of what kind of a bird +he is. Then, when I get out there, +I'll know more what kind of line to +feed him."</p> + +<p>"That sounds good. But whatever +you do, play it on the soft side. My +confidential informant tells me that +the only reason we're getting this inside +info is because Malcom Porter +is sore about the way our competition +treated him four years ago."</p> + +<p>"Just who is this confidential informant, +anyway, Ole?" Elshawe asked +curiously.</p> + +<p>Winstein grinned widely. "It's +supposed to be very confidential. I +don't want it to get any further than +you."</p> + +<p>"Sure not. Since when am I a +blabbermouth? Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Malcom Porter."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Two days later, Terrence Elshawe +was sitting in the front seat of a big +station wagon, watching the scenery +go by and listening to the driver +talk as the machine tooled its way +out of Silver City, New Mexico, and +headed up into the Mogollon Mountains.</p> + +<p>"Was a time, not too long back," +the driver was saying, "when a man +couldn't get up into this part of the +country 'thout a pack mule. Still +places y'can't, but the boss had t' +have a road built up to the ranch +so's he could bring in all that heavy +equipment. Reckon one of these days +the Mogollons 'll be so civilized and +full a people that a fella might as +well live in New York."</p> + +<p>Elshawe, who hadn't seen another +human being for fifteen minutes, felt +that the predicted overcrowding was +still some time off.</p> + +<p>"'Course," the driver went on, "I +reckon folks have t' live some place, +but I never could see why human +bein's are so all-fired determined to +bunch theirselves up so thick together +that they can't hardly move—like +a bunch of sheep in a snowstorm. +It don't make sense to me. +Does it to you, Mr. Skinner?"</p> + +<p>That last was addressed to the +other passenger, an elderly man who +was sitting in the seat behind Elshawe.</p> + +<p>"I guess it's pretty much a matter +of taste, Bill," Mr. Skinner said in a +soft voice.</p> + +<p>"I reckon," Bill said, in a tone +that implied that anyone whose +tastes were so bad that he wanted to +live in the city was an object of pity +who probably needed psychiatric +treatment. He was silent for a moment, +in obvious commiseration with +his less fortunate fellows.</p> + +<p>Elshawe took the opportunity to +try to get a word in. The chunky +Westerner had picked him up at the +airport, along with Mr. Samuel Skinner, +who had come in on the same +plane with Elshawe, and, after introducing +himself as Bill Rodriguez, he +had kept up a steady stream of chatter +ever since. Elshawe didn't feel he +should take a chance on passing up +the sudden silence.</p> + +<p>"By the way; has Mr. Porter applied +to the Government for permission +to test his ... uh ... his ship, +yet?"</p> + +<p>Bill Rodriguez didn't take his eyes +off the winding road. "Well, now, I +don't rightly know, Mr. Elshawe. +Y'see, I just work on the ranch up +there. I don't have a doggone thing +to do with the lab'r'tory at all—'cept +to keep the fence in good shape so's +the stock don't get into the lab'r'tory +area. If Mr. Porter wants me to +know somethin', he tells me, an' if +he don't, why, I don't reckon it's +any a my business."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Elshawe. <i>And that +shuts</i> me <i>up</i>, he thought to himself. +He took out his pipe and began to +fill it in silence.</p> + +<p>"How's everything out in Los +Angeles, Mr. Skinner?" Rodriguez +asked the passenger in back. "Haven't +seen you in quite a spell."</p> + +<p>Elshawe listened to the conversation +between the two with half an +ear and smoked his pipe wordlessly.</p> + +<p>He had spent the previous day +getting all the information he could +on Malcom Porter, and the information +hadn't been dull by any means.</p> + +<p>Porter had been born in New York +in 1949, which made him just barely +thirty-three. His father, Vanneman +Porter, had been an oddball in his +own way, too. The Porters of New +York didn't quite date back to the +time of Peter Stuyvesant, but they +had been around long enough to acquire +the feeling that the twenty-four +dollars that had been paid for Manhattan +Island had come out of the +family exchequer. Just as the Vanderbilts +looked upon the Rockefellers +as newcomers, so the Porters looked +on the Vanderbilts.</p> + +<p>For generations, it had been tacitly +conceded that a young Porter gentleman +had only three courses of +action open to him when it came +time for him to choose his vocation +in life. He could join the firm of +Porter & Sons on Wall Street, or he +could join some other respectable +business or banking enterprise, or he +could take up the Law. (Corporation +law, of course—<i>never</i> criminal law.) +For those few who felt that the business +world was not for them, there +was a fourth alternative—studying +for the priesthood of the Episcopal +Church. Anything else was unheard +of.</p> + +<p>So it had been somewhat of a +shock to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Porter +when their only son, Vanneman, +had announced that he intended to +study physics at M.I.T. But they +gave their permission; they were +quite certain that the dear boy would +"come to his senses" and join the +firm after he had been graduated. +He was, after all, the only one to +carry on the family name and manage +the family holdings.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/003.png" width="600" height="361" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But Vanneman Porter not only +stuck to his guns and went on to a +Ph.D.; he compounded his delinquency +by marrying a pretty, sweet, +but not overly bright girl named +Mary Kelley.</p> + +<p>Malcom Porter was their son.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When Malcom was ten years old, +both his parents were killed in a +smashup on the New Jersey Turnpike, +and the child went to live with +his widowed grandmother, Mrs. +Hamilton Porter.</p> + +<p>Terry Elshawe had gathered that +young Malcom Porter's life had not +been exactly idyllic from that point +on. Grandmother Porter hadn't approved +of her son's marriage, and +she seemed to have felt that she +must do everything in her power to +help her grandson overcome the +handicap of having nonaristocratic +blood in his veins.</p> + +<p>Elshawe wasn't sure in his own +mind whether environment or heredity +had been the deciding factor in +Malcom Porter's subsequent life, but +he had a hunch that the two had +been acting synergistically. It was +likely that the radical change in his +way of life after his tenth year had +as much to do with his behavior as +the possibility that the undeniably +brilliant mental characteristics of the +Porter family had been modified by +the genes of the pretty but scatter-brained +wife of Vanneman Porter.</p> + +<p>Three times, only his grandmother's +influence kept him from being +expelled from the exclusive prep +school she had enrolled him in, and +his final grades were nothing to +mention in polite society, much less +boast about.</p> + +<p>In her own way, the old lady was +trying to do her best for him, but +she had found it difficult to understand +her own son, and his deviations +from the Porter norm had been +slight in comparison with those of +his son. When the time came for +Malcom to enter college, Grandmother +Porter was at a total loss as to +what to do. With his record, it was +unlikely that any law school would +take him unless he showed tremendous +improvement in his pre-law +courses. And unless that improvement +was a general one, not only as far +as his studies were concerned, but +in his handling of his personal life, +it would be commercial suicide to +put him in any position of trust with +Porter & Sons. It wasn't that he was +dishonest; he simply couldn't be +trusted to do anything properly. He +had a tendency to follow his own +whims and ignore everybody else.</p> + +<p>The idea of his entering the +clergy was never even considered.</p> + +<p>It came almost as a relief to the +old woman when Malcom announced +that he was going to study physics, +as his father had done.</p> + +<p>The relief didn't last long. By the +time Malcom was in his sophomore +year, he was apparently convinced +that his instructors were dunderheads +to the last man. That, Elshawe +thought, was probably not unusual +among college students, but Malcom +Porter made the mistake of telling +them about it.</p> + +<p>One of the professors with whom +Elshawe had talked had said: "He +acted as though he owned the college. +That, I think, was what was +his trouble in his studies; he wasn't +really stupid, and he wasn't as lazy +as some said, but he didn't want to +be bothered with anything that he +didn't enjoy. The experiments he +liked, for instance, were the showy, +spectacular ones. He built himself a +Tesla coil, and a table with hidden +AC electromagnets in it that would +make a metal plate float in the air. +But when it came to nucleonics, he +was bored. Anything less than a +thermonuclear bomb wasn't any +fun."</p> + +<p>The trouble was that he called his +instructors stupid and dull for being +interested in "commonplace +stuff," and it infuriated him to be +forced to study such "junk."</p> + +<p>As a result, he managed to get +himself booted out of college toward +the end of his junior year. And that +was the end of his formal education.</p> + +<p>Six months after that, his grandmother +died. Although she had married +into the Porter family, she was +fiercely proud of the name; she had +been born a Van Courtland, so she +knew what family pride was. And +the realization that Malcom was the +last of the Porters—and a failure—was +more than she could bear. The +coronary attack she suffered should +have been cured in a week, but the +best medico-surgical techniques on +Earth can't help a woman who +doesn't want to live.</p> + +<p>Her will showed exactly what she +thought of Malcom Porter. The Porter +holdings were placed in trust. +Malcom was to have the earnings, +but he had no voice whatever in control +of the principal until he was +fifty years of age.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Instead of being angry, Malcom +was perfectly happy. He had an income +that exceeded a million dollars +before taxes, and didn't need to +worry about the dull details of making +money. He formed a small corporation +of his own, Porter Research +Associates, and financed it with his +own money. It ran deep in the red, +but Porter didn't mind; Porter Research +Associates was a hobby, not +a business, and running at a deficit +saved him plenty in taxes.</p> + +<p>By the time he was twenty-five, he +was known as a crackpot. He had a +motley crew of technicians and scientists +working for him—some with +Ph.D.'s, some with a trade-school +education. The personnel turnover in +that little group was on a par with +the turnover of patients in a maternity +ward, at least as far as genuine +scientists were concerned. Porter +concocted theories and hypotheses out +of cobwebs and became furious with +anyone who tried to tear them down. +If evidence came up that would tend +to show that one of his pet theories +was utter hogwash, he'd come up +with an <i>ad hoc</i> explanation which +showed that this particular bit of +evidence was an exception. He insisted +that "the basis of science lies +in the experimental evidence, not in +the pronouncements of authorities," +which meant that any recourse to +the theories of Einstein, Pauli, Dirac, +Bohr, or Fermi was as silly as quoting +Aristotle, Plato, or St. Thomas +Aquinas. The only authority he would +accept was Malcom Porter.</p> + +<p>Nobody who had had any training +in science could work long with a +man like that, even if the pay had +been high, which it wasn't. The only +people who could stick with him +were the skilled workers—the welders, +tool-and-die men, electricians, +and junior engineers, who didn't care +much about theories as long as they +got the work done. They listened +respectfully to what Porter had to +say and then built the gadgets he told +them to build. If the gadgets didn't +work the way Porter expected them +to, Porter would fuss and fidget with +them until he got tired of them, then +he would junk them and try something +else. He never blamed a technician +who had followed orders. +Since the salaries he paid were proportional +to the man's "ability and +loyalty"—judged, of course, by Porter's +own standards—he soon had a +group of technician-artisans who +knew that their personal security +rested with Malcom Porter, and that +personal loyalty was more important +than the ability to utilize the scientific +method.</p> + +<p>Not everything that Porter had +done was a one-hundred-per cent +failure. He had managed to come up +with a few basic improvements, patented +them, and licensed them out +to various manufacturers. But these +were purely an accidental by-product. +Malcom Porter was interested +in "basic research" and not much +else, it seemed.</p> + +<p>He had written papers and books, +but they had been uniformly rejected +by the scientific journals, and those +he had had published himself were +on a par with the writings of Immanuel +Velikovsky and George +Adamski.</p> + +<p>And now he was going to shoot a +rocket—or whatever it was—to the +moon. Well, Elshawe thought, if it +went off as scheduled, it would at +least be worth watching. Elshawe +was a rocket buff; he'd watched a +dozen or more moon shots in his life—everything +from the automatic +supply-carriers to the three-man passenger +rockets that added to the personnel +of Moon Base One—and he +never tired of watching the bellowing +monsters climb up skywards on +their white-hot pillars of flame.</p> + +<p>And if nothing happened, Elshawe +decided, he'd at least get a laugh +out of the whole episode.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>After nearly two hours of driving, +Bill Rodriguez finally turned off the +main road onto an asphalt road that +climbed steeply into the pine forest +that surrounded it. A sign said: +<i>Double Horseshoe Ranch—Private +Road—No Trespassing</i>.</p> + +<p>Elshawe had always thought of a +ranch as a huge spread of flat +prairie land full of cattle and gun-toting +cowpokes on horseback; a +mountainside full of sheep just +didn't fit into that picture.</p> + +<p>After a half mile or so, the station +wagon came to a high metal-mesh +fence that blocked the road. On the +big gate, another sign proclaimed +that the area beyond was private +property and that trespassers would +be prosecuted.</p> + +<p>Bill Rodriguez stopped the car, +got out, and walked over to the gate. +He pressed a button in one of the +metal gateposts and said, "Ed? +This's Bill. I got Mr. Skinner and +that New York reporter with me."</p> + +<p>After a slight pause, there was a +metallic click, and the gate swung +open. Rodriguez came back to the +car, got in, and drove on through +the gate. Elshawe twisted his head +to watch the big gate swing shut behind +them.</p> + +<p>After another ten minutes, Rodriguez +swung off the road onto another +side road, and ten minutes after +that the station wagon went over a +small rise and headed down into a +small valley. In the middle of it, +shining like bright aluminum in the +sun, was a vessel.</p> + +<p><i>Now I know Porter is nuts</i>, Elshawe +thought wryly.</p> + +<p>Because the vessel, whatever it +was, was parallel to the ground, +looking like the fuselage of a stratojet, +minus wings and tail, sitting on +its landing gear. Nowhere was there +any sign of a launching pad, with +its gantries and cranes and jet baffles. +Nor was there any sign of a rocket +motor on the vessel itself.</p> + +<p>As the station wagon approached +the cluster of buildings a hundred +yards this side of the machine, Elshawe +realized with shock that the +thing <i>was</i> a stripped-down stratojet—an +old Grumman <i>Supernova</i>, <i>circa</i> +1970.</p> + +<p>"Well, Elijah got there by sitting +in an iron chair and throwing a magnet +out in front of himself," Elshawe +said, "so what the hell."</p> + +<p>"What?" Rodriguez asked blankly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing; just thinking out loud. +Sorry."</p> + +<p>Behind Elshawe, Mr. Skinner +chuckled softly, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>When the station wagon pulled up +next to one of the cluster of white +prefab buildings, Malcom Porter +himself stepped out of the wide door +and walked toward them.</p> + +<p>Elshawe recognized the man from +his pictures—tall, wide-shouldered, +dark-haired, and almost handsome, +he didn't look much like a wild-eyed +crackpot. He greeted Rodriguez and +Skinner rather peremptorily, but he +smiled broadly and held out his hand +to Elshawe.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Elshawe? I'm Malcom Porter." +His grip was firm and friendly. +"I'm glad to see you. Glad you could +make it."</p> + +<p>"Glad to be here, Dr. Porter," Elshawe +said in his best manner. "It's +quite a privilege." He knew that +Porter liked to be called "Doctor"; +all his subordinates called him that.</p> + +<p>But, surprisingly, Porter said: +"Not 'Doctor,' Mr. Elshawe; just +'Mister.' My boys like to call me +'Doctor,' but it's sort of a nickname. +I don't have a degree, and I don't +claim one. I don't want the public +thinking I'm claiming to be something +I'm not."</p> + +<p>"I understand, Mr. Porter."</p> + +<p>Bill Rodriguez's voice broke in. +"Where do you want me to put all +this stuff, Doc?" He had unloaded +Elshawe's baggage from the station +wagon and set it carefully on the +ground. Skinner picked up his single +suitcase and looked at Porter inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"My usual room, Malcom?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Sure, Sam; sure." As Skinner +walked off toward one of the +other buildings, Porter said: "Quite +a load of baggage you have there, +Mr. Elshawe. Recording equipment?"</p> + +<p>"Most of it," the reporter admitted. +"Recording TV cameras, 16mm +movie cameras, tape recorders, 35mm +still cameras—the works. I wanted +to get good coverage, and if you've +got any men that you won't be using +during the take-off, I'd like to borrow +them to help me operate this stuff."</p> + +<p>"Certainly; certainly. Come on, +Bill, let's get this stuff over to Mr. +Elshawe's suite."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The suite consisted of three +rooms, all very nicely appointed for +a place as far out in the wilderness +as this. When Elshawe got his equipment +stowed away, Porter invited him +to come out and take a look at his +pride and joy.</p> + +<p>"The first real spaceship, Elshawe," +he said energetically. "The first real +spaceship. The rocket is no more a +spaceship than a rowboat is an ocean-going +vessel." He gestured toward +the sleek, shining, metal ship. "Of +course, it's only a pilot model, you +might say. I don't have hundreds of +millions of dollars to spend; I had +to make do with what I could afford. +That's an old Grumman <i>Supernova</i> +stratojet. I got it fairly cheap because +I told 'em I didn't want the engines +or the wings or the tail assembly.</p> + +<p>"But she'll do the job, all right. +Isn't she a beauty?"</p> + +<p>Elshawe had his small pocket recorder +going; he might as well get +all this down. "Mr. Porter," he asked +carefully, "just how does this +vessel propel itself? I understand +that, at the trial, it was said that you +claimed it was an antigravity device, +but that you denied it."</p> + +<p>"Those idiots!" Porter exploded +angrily. "Nobody understood what I +was talking about because they +wouldn't listen! Antigravity! <i>Pfui!</i> +When they learned how to harness +electricity, did they call it anti-electricity? +When they built the first +atomic reactor, did they call it anti-atomic +energy? A rocket works +against gravity, but they don't call +<i>that</i> antigravity, do they? My device +works <i>with</i> gravity, not against +it."</p> + +<p>"What sort of device is it?" Elshawe +asked.</p> + +<p>"I call it the Gravito-Inertial Differential +Polarizer," Porter said importantly.</p> + +<p>Elshawe was trying to frame his +next question when Porter said: "I +know the name doesn't tell you +much, but then, names never do, do +they? You know what a transformer +does, but what does the name by +itself convey? Nothing, unless you +know what it does in the first place. +A cyclotron cycles something, but +what? A broadcaster casts something +abroad—what? And how?"</p> + +<p>"I see. And the 'how' and 'what' +is your secret, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Partly. I can give you a little information, +though. Suppose there +were only one planet in all space, +and you were standing on its surface. +Could you tell if the planet were +spinning or not? And, if so, how +fast? Sure you could; you could +measure the so-called centrifugal +force. The same thing goes for a +proton or electron or neutron or even +a neutrino. But, if it <i>is</i> spinning, +what is the spin relative to? To the +particle itself? That's obvious nonsense. +Therefore, what is commonly +called 'inertia' is as much a property +of so-called 'empty space' as it is a +property of matter. My device simply +utilizes spatial inertia by polarizing it +against the matter inertia of the ship, +that's all."</p> + +<p>"Hm-m-m," said Elshawe. As far +as his own knowledge of science +went, that statement made no sense +whatever. But the man's manner was +persuasive. Talking to him, Elshawe +began to have the feeling that Porter +not only knew what he was talking +about, but could actually do what he +said he was going to do.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" Porter asked +sharply, looking up into the sky.</p> + +<p>Elshawe followed his gaze. "That" +was a Cadillac aircar coming over a +ridge in the distance, its fans making +an ever-louder throaty hum as it approached. +It settled down to an altitude +of three feet as it neared, and +floated toward them on its cushion +of air. On its side, Elshawe could see +the words, UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, +and beneath that, in +smaller letters, <i>Civil Aeronautics Authority</i>.</p> + +<p>"Now what?" Porter muttered +softly. "I haven't notified anyone of +my intentions yet—not officially."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes those boys don't wait +for official notification," Elshawe said.</p> + +<p>Porter glanced at him, his eyes +narrowed. "You didn't say anything, +did you?"</p> + +<p>"Look, Mr. Porter, I don't play +that way," Elshawe said tightly. "As +far as I'm concerned, this is your +show; I'm just here to get the story. +You did us a favor by giving us advance +notice; why should we louse +up your show for you?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry," Porter said brusquely. +"Well, let's make a good show of +it."</p> + +<p>The CAA aircar slowed to a halt, +its fans died, and it settled to its +wheels.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Two neatly dressed, middle-aged +men climbed out. Both were carrying +briefcases. Porter walked briskly toward +them, a warm smile on his face; +Elshawe tagged along behind. The +CAA men returned Porter's smile +with smiles that could only be called +polite and businesslike.</p> + +<p>Porter performed the introductions, +and the two men identified themselves +as Mr. Granby and Mr. Feldstein, +of the Civil Aeronautics Authority.</p> + +<p>"Can I help you, gentlemen?" +Porter asked.</p> + +<p>Granby, who was somewhat shorter, +fatter, and balder than his partner, +opened his briefcase. "We're +just here on a routine check, Mr. +Porter. If you can give us a little +information...?" He let the half-question +hang in the air as he took +a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.</p> + +<p>"Anything I can do to help," Porter +said.</p> + +<p>Granby, looking at the papers, +said: "In 1979, I believe you purchased +a Grumman <i>Supernova</i> jet +powered aircraft from Trans-American +Airlines? Is that correct?"</p> + +<p>"That is correct," Porter agreed.</p> + +<p>Granby handed one of the papers +to Porter. "That is a copy of the +registration certificate. Is the registration +number the same as it is on your +copy?"</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/004.png" width="159" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"I believe so," Porter said, looking +at the number. "Yes, I'm sure it +is."</p> + +<p>Granby nodded briskly. "According +to our records, the machine was +sold as scrap. That is to say, it was +not in an airworthy condition. It +was, in fact, sold without the engines. +Is that correct?"</p> + +<p>"Correct."</p> + +<p>"May I ask if you still own the +machine in question?"</p> + +<p>Porter gave the man a look that +accused Granby of being stupid or +blind or both. He pointed to the +hulking fuselage of the giant aircraft. +"There it is."</p> + +<p>Granby and Feldstein both turned +to look at it as though they had +never noticed it before. "Ah, yes," +Granby said, turning back. "Well, +that's about all there is to it." He +looked at his partner. "It's obvious +that there's no violation here, eh, +Feldstein?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Feldstein in a staccato +voice.</p> + +<p>"Violation?" Porter asked. "What +violation?"</p> + +<p>"Well, nothing, really," Granby +said, deprecatingly. "Just routine, as +I said. People have been known to +buy aircraft as scrap and then repair +them and re-outfit them."</p> + +<p>"Is that illegal?" Porter asked.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Granby hastily. +"Of course not. But any ship so re-outfitted +and repaired must pass CAA +inspection before it can leave the +ground, you understand. So we keep +an eye on such transactions to make +sure that the law isn't violated."</p> + +<p>"After three years?" Porter asked +blandly.</p> + +<p>"Well ... ah ... well ... +you know how it is," Granby said +nervously. "These things take time. +Sometimes ... due to ... clerical +error, we overlook a case now and +then." He glanced at his partner, +then quickly looked back at Porter.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, Mr. Porter," +Feldstein said in a flat, cold +voice, "in view of your record, we +felt that the investigation at this +time was advisable. You bought a +scrap missile and used it illegally. +You can hardly blame us for looking +into this matter."</p> + +<p>"No," said Porter. He had transferred +his level gaze to the taller of +the two men, since it had suddenly +become evident that Feldstein, not +Granby, was the stronger of the two.</p> + +<p>"However," Feldstein went on, +"I'm glad to see that we have no +cause for alarm. You're obviously not +fitting that up as an aircraft. By the +way—just out of curiosity—what +<i>are</i> you doing with it?" He turned +around to look at the big fuselage +again.</p> + +<p>Porter sighed. "I had intended to +hold off on this for a few days, but +I might as well let the cat out now. +I intend to take off in that ship this +week end."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Granby's eyes opened wide, and +Feldstein spun around as though +someone had jabbed him with a +needle. "<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>Porter simply repeated what he +had said. "I had intended to make +application to the Space Force for +permission to test it," he added.</p> + +<p>Feldstein looked at him blankly +for a moment.</p> + +<p>Then: "The <i>Space</i> Force? Mr. +Porter, civilian aircraft come under +the jurisdiction of the CAA."</p> + +<p>"How's he going to fly it?" Granby +asked. "No engines, no wings, no +control surfaces. It's silly."</p> + +<p>"Rocket motors in the rear, of +course," said Feldstein. "He's converted +the thing into a rocket."</p> + +<p>"But the tail is closed," Granby +objected. "There's no rocket orifice."</p> + +<p>"Dummy cover, I imagine," Feldstein +said. "Right, Mr. Porter?"</p> + +<p>"Wrong," said Porter angrily. +"The motive power is supplied by a +mechanism of my own devising! It +has nothing to do with rockets! It's +as superior to rocket power as the +electric motor is to the steam engine!"</p> + +<p>Feldstein and Granby glanced at +each other, and an almost identical +expression of superior smugness grew +over their features. Feldstein looked +back at Porter and said, "Mr. Porter, +I assure you that it doesn't matter +what you're using to lift that thing. +You could be using dynamite for all +I care. The law says that it can't +leave the ground unless it's airworthy. +Without wings or control +surfaces, it is obviously not airworthy. +If it is not a rocket device, +then it comes under the jurisdiction +of the Civil Aeronautics Authority, +and if you try to take off without +our permission, you'll go to jail.</p> + +<p>"If it <i>is</i> a rocket device, then it +will be up to the Space Force to inspect +it before take-off to make sure +it is not dangerous.</p> + +<p>"I might remind you, Mr. Porter, +that you are on parole. You still have +three years to serve on your last conviction. +I wouldn't play around with +rockets any more if I were you."</p> + +<p>Porter blew up. "Listen, you! I'm +not going to be pushed around by +you or anyone else! I know better +than you do what Alcatraz is like, +and I'm not going back there if I +can help it. This country is still +Constitutionally a democracy, not a +bureaucracy, and I'm going to see to +it that I get to exercise my rights!</p> + +<p>"I've invented something that's as +radically new as ... as ... as the Law +of Gravity was in the Seventeenth +Century! And I'm going to get recognition +for it, understand me?" He +gestured furiously toward the fuselage +of the old <i>Supernova</i>. "That ship +is not only airworthy, but <i>space</i>worthy! +And it's a thousand times +safer and a thousand times better +than any rocket will ever be!</p> + +<p>"For your information, Mister +Smug-Face, I've already flown her!"</p> + +<p>Porter stopped, took a deep +breath, compressed his lips, and then +said, in a lower, somewhat calmer +tone, "Know what she'll do? That +baby will hang in the air just like +your aircar, there—and without benefit +of those outmoded, power-wasting +blower fans, too.</p> + +<p>"Now, understand me, Mr. Feldstein: +I'm not going to break any +laws unless I have to. You and all +your bureaucrat friends will have a +chance to give me an O.K. on this +test. But I warn you, brother—<i>I'm +going to take that ship up!</i>"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Feldstein's jaw muscles had tightened +at Porter's tone when he began, +but he had relaxed by the time the +millionaire had finished, and was +even managing to look smugly tolerant. +Elshawe had thumbed the button on +his minirecorder when the conversation +had begun, and he was chuckling +mentally at the thought of what +was going down on the thin, magnetite-impregnated, +plastic thread +that was hissing past the recording +head.</p> + +<p>Feldstein said: "Mr. Porter, we +came here to remind you of the law, +nothing more. If you intend to abide +by the law, fine and dandy. If not, +you'll go back to prison.</p> + +<p>"That ship is not airworthy, +and—"</p> + +<p>"How do you know it isn't?" Porter +roared.</p> + +<p>"By inspection, Mr. Porter; by +inspection." Feldstein looked exasperated. +"We have certain standards +to go by, and an aircraft without +wings or control surfaces simply +doesn't come up to those standards, +that's all. Even a rocket has to have +stabilizing fins." He paused and zipped +open his briefcase.</p> + +<p>"In view of your attitude," he +said, pulling out a paper, "I'm afraid +I shall have to take official steps. +This is to notify you that the aircraft +in question has been inspected and +found to be not airworthy. Since—"</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" Porter snapped. +"Who are you to say so? How would +you know?"</p> + +<p>"I happen to be an officer of the +CAA," said Feldstein, obviously trying +to control his temper. "I also +happen to be a graduate aeronautical +engineer. If you wish, I will give +the ... the ... aircraft a thorough +inspection, inside and out, +and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said Porter. His voice +and his manner had suddenly become +very gentle. "I don't think that would +do much good, do you?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that you'd condemn the +ship, no matter what you found inside. +You couldn't O.K. a ship without +airfoils, could you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Feldstein, +"that's obvious, in the face of—"</p> + +<p>"All right, then give me the notification +and forget the rest of the +inspection." Porter held out his hand.</p> + +<p>Feldstein hesitated. "Well, now, +without a complete inspection—"</p> + +<p>Again Porter interrupted. "You're +not going to get a complete inspection, +Buster," he said with a wolfish +grin. "Either serve that paper or get +off my back."</p> + +<p>Feldstein slammed the paper into +Porter's hand. "That's your official +notification! If necessary, Mr. Porter, +we will be back with a Federal marshal! +Good day, Mr. Porter. Let's +go, Granby."</p> + +<p>The two of them marched back +to their aircar and climbed inside. +The car lifted with a roar of blowers +and headed back over the mountains +toward Albuquerque.</p> + +<p>But long before they were out of +sight over the ridge, Malcom Porter +had turned on his heel and started +back toward the cluster of buildings. +He was swearing vilely in a rumbling +monotone, and had apparently +forgotten all about Elshawe.</p> + +<p>The reporter followed in silence +for a dozen paces, then he asked: +"What's your next step, Mr. Porter?"</p> + +<p>Porter came to an abrupt stop, +turned, and looked at Elshawe. "I'm +going to phone General Fitzsimmons +in Washington! I'm—" He stopped, +scowling. "No, I guess I'd better +phone my lawyer first. I'll find out +what they can do and what they +can't." Then he turned again and +strode rapidly toward the nearest of +the buildings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Seventy-two hours later, Terry Elshawe +was in Silver City, talking to +his boss over a long-distance line.</p> + +<p>"... And that's the way it lines +up, Ole. The CAA won't clear his +ship for take-off, and the Space Force +won't either. And if he tries it without +the O.K. of both of them, he'll +be right back in Alcatraz."</p> + +<p>"He hasn't violated his parole +yet, though?" Winstein's voice came +distantly.</p> + +<p>"No." Elshawe cursed the fact +that he couldn't get a vision connection +with New York. "But, the way +he's acting, he's likely to. He's furious."</p> + +<p>"Why wouldn't he let the Space +Force officers look over his ship?" +Winstein asked. "I still don't see +how that would have hurt him if +he's really got something."</p> + +<p>"It's on the recording I sent +you," Elshawe said.</p> + +<p>"I haven't played it yet," Winstein +said. "Brief me."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't let the Space Force +men look at his engine or whatever +it is because he doesn't trust them," +Elshawe said. "He claims to have +this new drive, but he doesn't want +anyone to go nosing around it. The +Space Force colonel ... what's his +name? ... Manetti, that's it. Manetti +asked Porter why, if he had a +new invention, he hadn't patented +it. Porter said that he wasn't going +to patent it because that would make +it available to every Tom, Dick, and +Harry—his very words—who wanted +to build it. Porter insists that, +since it's impossible to patent the +discovery of a new natural law, he +isn't going to give away his genius +for nothing. He said that Enrico +Fermi was the prime example of +what happened when the Government +got hold of something like +that when the individual couldn't +argue."</p> + +<p>"Fermi?" Winstein asked puzzledly. +"Wasn't he a physicist or something, +back in the Forties?"</p> + +<p>"Right. He's the boy who figured +out how to make the atomic bomb +practical. But the United States Government +latched onto it, and it took +him years to get any compensation. +He never did get the money that he +was entitled to.</p> + +<p>"Porter says he wants to make +sure that the same thing doesn't happen +to him. He wants to prove that +he's got something and then let the +Government pay him what it's worth +and give him the recognition he deserves. +He says he has discovered a +new natural law and devised a machine +that utilizes that law. He isn't +going to let go of his invention until +he gets credit for everything."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence from the +other end. After a minute, Elshawe +said: "Ole? You there?"</p> + +<p>"Oh. Yeah ... sure. Just thinking. +Terry, what do you think of +this whole thing? Does Porter have +something?"</p> + +<p>"Damned if I know. If I were in +New York, I'd say he was a complete +nut, but when I talk to him, +I'm halfway convinced that he +knows what he's talking about."</p> + +<p>There was another long pause. +This time, Elshawe waited. Finally, +Oler Winstein said: "You think +Porter's likely to do something drastic?"</p> + +<p>"Looks like it. The CAA has already +forbidden him to lift that ship. +The Space Force flatly told him that +he couldn't take off without permission, +and they said he wouldn't get +permission unless he let them look +over his gizmo ... whatever it +is."</p> + +<p>"And he refused?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he did let Colonel Manetti +look it over, but the colonel said +that, whatever the drive principle +was, it wouldn't operate a ship. He +said the engines didn't make any +sense. What it boils down to is that +the CAA thinks Porter has rockets +in the ship, and the Space Force +does, too. So they've both forbidden +him to take off."</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> there any rocket motors in +the ship?" Winstein asked.</p> + +<p>"Not as far as I can see," Elshawe +said. "He's got two big atomic-powered +DC generators aboard—says +they have to be DC to avoid electromagnetic +effects. But the drive engines +don't make any more sense to +me than they do to Colonel Manetti."</p> + +<p>Another pause. Then: "O.K., +Terry; you stick with it. If Porter +tries to buck the Government, we've +got a hell of a story if his gadget +works the way he says it does. If it +doesn't—which is more likely—then +we can still get a story when they +haul him back to the Bastille."</p> + +<p>"Check-check. I'll call you if anything +happens."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He hung up and stepped out of +the phone booth into the lobby of +the Murray Hotel. Across the lobby, +a glowing sign said <i>cocktail lounge</i> +in lower-case script.</p> + +<p>He decided that a tall cool one +wouldn't hurt him any on a day like +this and ambled over, fumbling in +his pockets for pipe, tobacco pouch, +and other paraphernalia as he went. +He pushed open the door, spotted a +stool at the bar of the dimly-lit room, +went over to it and sat down.</p> + +<p>He ordered his drink and had no +sooner finished than the man to his +left said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Elshawe."</p> + +<p>The reporter turned his head toward +his neighbor. "Oh, hello, Mr. +Skinner. I didn't know you'd come +to town."</p> + +<p>"I came in somewhat earlier. +Couple, three hours ago." His voice +had the careful, measured steadiness +of a man who has had a little too +much to drink and is determined not +to show it. That surprised Elshawe +a little; Skinner had struck him as a +middle-aged accountant or maybe +a high school teacher—the mild kind +of man who doesn't drink at all, +much less take a few too many.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to hire a 'copter and +fly back," Elshawe said. "You're +welcome if you want to come along."</p> + +<p>Skinner shook his head solemnly. +"No. Thank you. I'm going back +to Los Angeles this afternoon. I'm +just killing time, waiting for the local +plane to El Paso."</p> + +<p>"Oh? Well, I hope you have a +good trip." Elshawe had been under +the impression that Skinner had come +to New Mexico solely to see the test +of Porter's ship. He had wondered +before how the man fitted into the +picture, and now he was wondering +why Skinner was leaving. He decided +he might as well try to find out. +"I guess you're disappointed because +the test has been called off," he said +casually.</p> + +<p>"Called off? Hah. No such thing," +Skinner said. "Not by a long shot. +Not Porter. He'll take the thing up, +and if the Army doesn't shoot him +down, the CAA will see to it that +he's taken back to prison. But that +won't stop him. Malcom Porter is +determined to go down in history +as a great scientist, and nothing is +going to stop him if he can help it."</p> + +<p>"You think his spaceship will +work, then?"</p> + +<p>"Work? Sure it'll work. It worked +in '79; it'll work now. The way that +drive is built, it can't help but work. +I just don't want to stick around +and watch him get in trouble again, +that's all."</p> + +<p>Elshawe frowned. All the time +that Porter had been in prison, his +technicians had been getting together +the stuff to build the so-called +"spaceship," but none of them knew +how it was put together or how it +worked. Only Porter knew that, and +he'd put it together after he'd been +released on parole.</p> + +<p>But if that was so, how come Skinner, +who didn't even work for Porter, +was so knowledgeable about the +drive? Or was that liquor talking?</p> + +<p>"Did you help him build it?" the +reporter asked smoothly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Help</i> him build it? Why, I—" +Then Skinner stopped abruptly. +"Why, no," he said after a moment. +"No. I don't know anything about it, +really. I just know that it worked in +'79, that's all." He finished his drink +and got off his stool. "Well, I've got +to be going. Nice talking to you. +Hope I see you again sometime."</p> + +<p>"Sure. So long, Mr. Skinner." He +watched the man leave the bar.</p> + +<p>Then he finished his own drink +and went back into the lobby and got +a phone. Ten minutes later, a friend +of his who was a detective on the Los +Angeles police force had promised to +check into Mr. Samuel Skinner. Elshawe +particularly wanted to know +what he had been doing in the past +three years and very especially what +he had been doing in the past year. +The cop said he'd find out. There was +probably nothing to it, Elshawe reflected, +but a reporter who doesn't +follow up accidentally dropped hints +isn't much of a reporter.</p> + +<p>He came out of the phone booth, +fired up his pipe again, and strolled +back to the bar for one more drink +before he went back to Porter's ranch.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Malcom Porter took one of the +darts from the half dozen he held in +his left hand and hurled it viciously +at the target board hung on the far +wall of the room.</p> + +<p><i>Thunk!</i></p> + +<p>"Four ring at six o'clock," he said +in a tight voice.</p> + +<p><i>Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! +Thunk!</i></p> + +<p>The other five darts followed in +rapid succession. As he threw each +one, Porter snapped out a word. +"They ... can't ... stop ... Malcom +... Porter!" He glared at the +board "Two bull's-eyes; three fours, +and a three. Twenty-five points. You +owe me a quarter, Elshawe."</p> + +<p>The reporter handed him a coin. +"Two bits it is. What can you do, +Porter? They've got you sewed up +tight. If you try to take off, they'll +cart you right back to The Rock—if +the Army doesn't shoot you down +first. Do you want to spend the next +ten years engrossed in the scenic beauties +of San Francisco Bay?"</p> + +<p>"No. And I won't, either."</p> + +<p>"Not if the Army gets you. I can +see the epitaph now:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">Malcom Porter, with vexation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought he could defy the nation.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shot for space with great elation—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now he's dust and radiation.<br /></span> +</div> + +<p class="noin">Beneath it, they'll engrave a spaceship +argent with A-bombs rampant on a +field sable."</p> + +<p>Porter didn't take offense. He grinned. +"What are you griping about? It +would make a great story."</p> + +<p>"Sure it would," Elshawe agreed. +"But not for me. I don't write the +obituary column."</p> + +<p>"You know what I like about you, +Elshawe?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. I lose dart games to you."</p> + +<p>"That, yes. But you really sound +worried. That means two things. One: +You like me. Two: You believe that +my ship actually will take off. That's +more than any of those other reporters +who have been prowling around +and phoning in do."</p> + +<p>Elshawe shrugged silently and puffed +at his pipe. Malcom Porter's ego +was showing through. He was wrong +on two counts. Elshawe didn't like +him; the man's arrogance and his inflated +opinion of himself as a scientific +genius didn't sit well with the +reporter. And Elshawe didn't really +believe there was anything but a rocket +motor in that hull outside. A new, +more powerful kind of rocket perhaps—otherwise +Porter wouldn't be +trying to take a one-stage rocket to +the Moon. But a rocket, nonetheless.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go back to prison," +Porter continued, "but I'll risk +that if I have to. But I won't risk +death just yet. Don't worry; the +Army won't know I'm even gone until +I'm halfway to the Moon."</p> + +<p>"Foo!" said Elshawe. "Every radar +base from Albuquerque to the Mexican +border has an antenna focused on +the air above this ranch. The minute +you get above those mountains, they'll +have a fix on you, and a minute after +that, they'll have you bracketed with +Cobras.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you let the Government +inspectors look it over and give +you an O.K.? What makes you think +they're all out to steal your invention?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they won't <i>steal</i> it," Porter +said bitterly. "Heaven's-to-Betsy <i>no</i>! +But this invention of mine will mean +that the United States of America will +be in complete control of the planets +and the space between. When the +Government wants a piece of property, +they try to buy it at their price; +if they can't do that, they condemn +it and pay the owner what they think +it's worth—not what the owner thinks +it's worth. The same thing applies +here; they'd give me what they +thought I ought to have—in ten years +or so. Look what happened to Fermi.</p> + +<p>"No, Elshawe; when the Government +comes begging to me for this +invention, they can have it—on <i>my</i> +terms."</p> + +<p>"Going to keep it a secret, eh? You +can't keep a thing like that secret. +Look what happened with atomic +energy after World War Two. We +kept it a secret from the Russians, +didn't we? Fine lot of good that did +us. As soon as they knew it was possible, +they went to work on it. Nature +answers any questions you ask her if +you ask her the right way. As soon +as the Government sees that your +spaceship works, they'll put some of +their bright physicists to work on it, +and you'll be in the same position +as you would have been if you'd +showed it to them in the first place. +Why risk your neck?"</p> + +<p>Porter shook his head. "The analogy +isn't valid. Suppose someone had +invented the A-bomb in 1810. It +would have been a perfectly safe secret +because there wasn't a scientist +on Earth who included such a thing as +atomic energy in his philosophy. And, +believe me, this drive of mine is just +as far ahead of contemporary scientific +philosophy as atomic energy was +ahead of Napoleon's scientists.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I told you that the fuel +my ship uses is a gas lighter than hydrogen. +It isn't, but suppose I told +you so. Do you think any scientist +today could figure out how it worked? +No. They <i>know</i> that there's no such +thing as a gas with a lighter atomic +weight than hydrogen. They know it +so well that they wouldn't even +bother to consider the idea.</p> + +<p>"My invention is so far ahead of +present-day scientific thought that no +scientists except myself could have +even considered the idea."</p> + +<p>"O.K.; O.K.," Elshawe said. "So +you're going to get yourself shot +down to prove your point."</p> + +<p>Porter grinned lopsidedly. "Not at +all. You're still thinking in terms of +a rocket. Sure—if I used a rocket, +they'd knock me down fast, just as +soon as I lifted above the mountains. +But I don't have to do that. All I +have to do is get a few feet of altitude +and hug the ground all the way +to the Pacific coast. Once I get out +in the middle of the Pacific, I can +take off straight up without being +bothered at all."</p> + +<p>"All right. If your machine will +do it," the reporter said, trying to +hide his skepticism.</p> + +<p>"You still think I've got some kind +of rocket, don't you?" Porter asked +accusingly. He paused a moment, +then, as if making a sudden decision, +he said: "Look, Elshawe, I trust +you. I'm going to show you the inside +of that ship. I won't show you +my engines, but I <i>will</i> prove to you +that there are no rocket motors in +her. That way, when you write up +the story, you'll be able to say that +you have first-hand knowledge of that +fact. O.K.?"</p> + +<p>"It's up to you," the reporter said. +"I'd like to see it."</p> + +<p>"Come along," said Malcom Porter.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Elshawe followed Porter out to +the field, feeling rather grateful that +he was getting something to work +on. They walked across the field, +past the two gun-toting men in Levis +that Porter had guarding the ship. +Overhead, the stars were shining +brightly through the thin mountain +air. Elshawe glanced at his wrist +watch. It was a little after ten p.m.</p> + +<p>He helped Porter wheel the ramp +up to the door of the ship and then +followed him up the steps. Porter +unlocked the door and went inside. +The Grumman had been built to +cruise in the high stratosphere, so it +was as air-tight as a submarine.</p> + +<p>Porter switched on the lights. "Go +on in."</p> + +<p>The reporter stepped into the cabin +of the ship and looked around. It +had been rebuilt, all right; it didn't +look anything like the inside of a +normal stratojet.</p> + +<p>"Elshawe."</p> + +<p>"Yeah?" The reporter turned to +look at Porter, who was standing a +little behind him. He didn't even see +the fist that arced upward and smashed +into his jaw. All he saw was a +blaze of light, followed by darkness.</p> + +<p>The next thing he knew, something +was stinging in his nostrils. He +jerked his head aside, coughing. The +smell came again. Ammonia.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, Elshawe," Porter was +saying. "Have another whiff of these +smelling salts and you'll feel better."</p> + +<p>Elshawe opened his eyes and looked +at the bigger man. "I'm awake. +Take that stuff away. What's the +idea of slugging me?"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you might not come +willingly," Porter said apologetically. +"I needed a witness, and I figured +you'd do better than anyone else."</p> + +<p>Elshawe tried to move and found +that he was tied to the seat and +strapped in with a safety belt. +"What's this for?" he asked angrily. +His jaw still hurt.</p> + +<p>"I'll take that stuff off in a few +minutes. I know I can trust you, but +I want you to remember that I'm the +only one who can pilot this ship. If +you try anything funny, neither one +of us will get back alive. I'll let you +go as soon as we get up to three hundred +miles."</p> + +<p>Elshawe stared at him. "Where +are we?"</p> + +<p>"Heading out toward mid-Pacific. +I headed south, to Mexico, first. +We're over open water now, headed +toward Baja California, so I put on +the autopilot. As soon as we get out +over the ocean, we can really make +time. You can watch the sun come +up in the west."</p> + +<p>"And then?" Elshawe felt dazed.</p> + +<p>"And then we head straight up. +For empty space."</p> + +<p>Elshawe closed his eyes again. He +didn't even want to think about it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"... As you no doubt heard," Terrence +Elshawe dictated into the +phone, "Malcom Porter made good +his threat to take a spaceship of his +own devising to the Moon. Ham +radios all over North America picked +up his speech, which was made by +spreading the beam from an eighty-foot +diameter parabolic reflector and +aiming it at Earth from a hundred +thousand miles out. It was a collapsible +reflector, made of thin foil, like +the ones used on space stations. Paragraph.</p> + +<p>"He announced that the trip was +made with the co-operation of the +United States Space Force, and that +it represented a major breakthrough +in the conquest of space. He—"</p> + +<p>"Just a sec," Winstein's voice +broke in. "Is that the truth? Was he +really working with the Space +Force?"</p> + +<p>"Hell, no," said Elshawe. "But +they'll have to claim he was now. +Let me go on."</p> + +<p>"Shoot."</p> + +<p>"... He also beamed a message +to the men on Moon Base One, telling +them that from now on they +would be able to commute back and +forth from Luna to Earth, just as +simply as flying from New York to +Detroit. Paragraph.</p> + +<p>"What followed was even more +astounding. At tremendous acceleration, +Malcom Porter and Terrence +Elshawe, your reporter, headed for +Mars. Inside Porter's ship, there is +no feeling of acceleration except for +a steady, one-gee pull which makes +the passenger feel as though he is +on an ordinary airplane, even though +the spaceship may be accelerating at +more than a hundred gravities. Paragraph.</p> + +<p>"Porter's ship circled Mars, taking +photographs of the Red Planet—the +first close-ups of Mars to be +seen by the human race. Then, at +the same tremendous rate of speed, +Porter's ship returned to Earth. The +entire trip took less than thirty-six +hours. According to Porter, improved +ships should be able to cut that time +down considerably. Paragraph."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/005.png" width="600" height="459" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Have you got those pics?" Winstein +cut in.</p> + +<p>"Sure. Porter gave me an exclusive +in return for socking me. It was +worth it. Remember back in the +Twenties, when the newspapermen +talked about a scoop? Well, we've +got the biggest scoop of the century."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said Winstein. "The +Government hasn't made any announcement +yet. Where's Porter?"</p> + +<p>"Under arrest, where'd you think? +After announcing that he would land +on his New Mexico ranch, he did +just that. As soon as he stepped out, +a couple of dozen Government +agents grabbed him. Violation of +parole—he left the state without notifying +his parole officer. But they +couldn't touch me, and they knew +it.</p> + +<p>"Here's another bit of news for +your personal information. A bomb +went off inside the ship after it landed +and blew the drive to smithereens. +The only information is inside Porter's +head. He's got the Government +where the short hair grows."</p> + +<p>"Looks like it. See here, Terry; +you get all the information you can +and be back here by Saturday. +You're going to go on the Weekend +Report."</p> + +<p>"Me? I'm no actor. Let Maxon +handle it."</p> + +<p>"No. This is hot. You're an eye-witness. +Maxon will interview you. +Understand?"</p> + +<p>"O.K.; you're the boss, Ole. Anything +else?"</p> + +<p>"Not right now, but if anything +more comes up, call in."</p> + +<p>"Right. 'Bye." He hung up and +leaned back in his chair, cocking his +feet up on the desk. It was Malcom +Porter's desk and Malcom Porter's +chair. He was sitting in the Big +Man's office, just as though he owned +it. His jaw still hurt a little, but he +loved every ache of it. It was hard +to remember that he had ever been +angry with Porter.</p> + +<p>Just before they had landed, Porter +had said: "They'll arrest me, of +course. I knew that when I left. But +I think I can get out of it. There +will be various kinds of Government +agents all over the place, but they +won't find anything. I've burned all +my notebooks.</p> + +<p>"I'll instruct my attorney that +you're to have free run of the place +so that you can call in your story."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The phone rang. Elshawe grabbed +up the receiver and said: "Malcom +Porter's residence." He wished that +they had visiphones out in the country; +he missed seeing the face of the +person he was talking to.</p> + +<p>"Let me talk to Mr. Terrence Elshawe, +please," said the voice at the +other end. "This is Detective Lieutenant +Martin of the Los Angeles +Police Department."</p> + +<p>"This is me, Marty."</p> + +<p>"Good! Boy, have I had trouble +getting to you! I had to make it an +official call before the phone company +would put the call through. +How does it feel to be notorious?"</p> + +<p>"Great. What's new?"</p> + +<p>"I got the dope on that Skinner +fellow. I suppose you still want it? +Or has success gone to your head?"</p> + +<p>Elshawe had almost forgotten +about Skinner. "Shoot," he said.</p> + +<p>The police officer rattled off Samuel +Skinner's vital statistics—age, +sex, date and place of birth, and so +on. Then: "He lived in New York +until 1977. Taught science for fifteen +years at a prep school there. +He—"</p> + +<p>"Wait a second," Elshawe interrupted. +"When was he born? Repeat +that."</p> + +<p>"March fourth, nineteen-thirty."</p> + +<p>"Fifty-three," Elshawe said, musingly. +"Older than he looks. O.K.; +go on."</p> + +<p>"He retired in '77 and came to +L.A. to live. He—"</p> + +<p>"Retired at the age of forty-seven?" +Elshawe asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>"That's right. Not on a teacher's +pension, though. He's got some kind +of annuity from a New York life +insurance company. Pays pretty good, +too. He gets a check for two thousand +dollars on the third of every +month. I checked with his bank on +that. Nice, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Very nice. Go on."</p> + +<p>"He lives comfortably. No police +record. Quiet type. One servant, a +Chinese, lives with him. Sort of +combination of valet and secretary.</p> + +<p>"As far as we can tell, he has +made four trips in the past three +years. One in June of '79, one in +June of '80, one in June of '81, and +this year he made the fourth one. +In '79, he went to Silver City, New +Mexico. In '80 and '81, he went to +Hawaii. This year, he went to Silver +City again. Mean anything to you?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," Elshawe said. "Are +you paying for this call, or is the +City of Los Angeles footing the +bill?"</p> + +<p>"Neither. You are."</p> + +<p>"Then shut up and let me think +for a minute." After less than a minute, +he said: "Martin, I want some +more data on that guy. I'm willing +to pay for it. Should I hire a private +detective?"</p> + +<p>"That's up to you. I can't take +any money for it, naturally—but I'm +willing to nose around a little more +for you if I can. On the other hand, +I can't put full time in on it. There's +a reliable detective agency here in +L.A.— Drake's the guy's name. +Want me to get in touch with +him?"</p> + +<p>"I'd appreciate it. Don't tell him +who wants the information or that +it has any connection with Porter. +Get—"</p> + +<p>"Hold it, Terry ... just a second. +You know that if I uncover any indication +of a crime, all bets are off. +The information goes to my superiors, +not to you."</p> + +<p>"I know. But I don't think there's +any crime involved. You work it +from your end and send me the bills. +O.K.?"</p> + +<p>"Fair enough. What more do you +want?"</p> + +<p>Elshawe told him.</p> + +<p>When the phone call had been +completed, Elshawe sat back and +made clouds of pipe smoke, which he +stared at contemplatively. Then he +made two calls to New York—one +to his boss and another to a private +detective agency he knew he could +trust.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Malcom Porter case quickly +became a <i>cause célèbre</i>. Somebody +goofed. Handled properly, the whole +affair might have been hushed up; +the Government would have gotten +what it wanted, Porter would have +gotten what <i>he</i> wanted, and everyone +would have saved face. But some +bureaucrat couldn't see beyond the +outer surface of his spectacle lenses, +and some other bureaucrat failed to +stop the thing in time.</p> + +<p>"Gall, gall, and bitter, bitter +wormwood," said Oler Winstein, +perching himself on the edge of +Terry Elshawe's desk.</p> + +<p>"You don't Gallic, bitter, wormy, +or wooden. What's up?"</p> + +<p>"Got a call from Senator Tallifero. +He wants to know if you'll consent +to appear before the Joint +Congressional Committee for Investigating +Military Affairs. I get the +feeling that if you say 'no,' they'll +send a formal invitation—something +on the order of a subpoena."</p> + +<p>Elshawe sighed. "Oh, well. It's +news, anyway. When do they want +me to be in Washington?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow. Meanwhile, Porter, of +course, is under arrest and in close +confinement. Confusion six ways +from Sunday." He shook his head. +"I don't understand why they just +didn't pat him on the back, say +they'd been working on this thing +all along, and cover it up fast."</p> + +<p>"Too many people involved," Elshawe +said, putting his cold pipe in +the huge ashtray on his desk. "The +Civil Aeronautics crowd must have +had a spotter up in those mountains; +they had a warrant out for his arrest +within an hour after we took off. +They also notified the parole board, +who put out an all-points bulletin +immediately. The Army and the Air +Force were furious because he'd +evaded their radar net. Porter stepped +on so many toes so hard that it +was inevitable that one or more +would yell before they realized it +would be better to keep their mouths +shut."</p> + +<p>"Well, you get up there and tell +your story, and I dare say he'll come +out of it."</p> + +<p>"Sure he will. They know he's got +something, and they know they have +to have it. But he's going to go +through hell before they give it to +him."</p> + +<p>Winstein slid off the desk and +stood up. "I hope so. He deserves +it. By the way, it's too bad you +couldn't get a story out of that Sam +Skinner character."</p> + +<p>"Yeah. But there's nothing to it. +After all, even the FBI tried to find +out if there was anyone at all besides +Porter who might know anything +about it. No luck. Not even +the technicians who worked with +him knew anything useful. Skinner +didn't know anything at all." He told +the lie with a perfectly straight face. +He didn't like lying to Winstein, but +there was no other way. He hoped +he wouldn't have to lie to the Congressional +Committee; perjury was +not something he liked doing. The +trouble was, if he told the truth, +he'd be worse off than if he lied.</p> + +<p>He took the plane that night for +Washington, and spent the next +three days answering questions while +he tried to keep his nerves under +control. Not once did they even approach +the area he wanted them to +avoid.</p> + +<p>On the plane back, he relaxed, +closed his eyes, and, for the first +time in days, allowed himself to +think about Mr. Samuel Skinner.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The reports from the two detective +agencies on the East and West +Coasts hadn't made much sense separately, +but together they added up +to enough to have made it worth +Elshawe's time to go to Los Angeles +and tackle Samuel Skinner personally. +He had called Skinner and +made an appointment; Skinner had +invited him out to his home.</p> + +<p>It was a fairly big house, not too +new, and it sat in the middle of a lot +that was bigger than normal for land-hungry +Los Angeles.</p> + +<p>Elshawe ran through the scene +mentally. He could see Skinner's +mild face and hear his voice saying: +"Come in, Mr. Elshawe."</p> + +<p>They went into the living room, +and Skinner waved him toward a +chair. "Sit down. Want some coffee?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks; I'd appreciate it." While +Skinner made coffee, the reporter +looked around the room. It wasn't +overly showy, but it showed a sort +of subdued wealth. It was obvious +that Mr. Skinner wasn't lacking in +comforts.</p> + +<p>Skinner brought in the coffee and +then sat down, facing Elshawe, in +another chair. "Now," he said bluntly, +"what was that remark you made +on the phone about showing up Malcom +Porter as a phony? I understood +that you actually went to Mars on +his ship. Don't you believe the evidence +of your own senses?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that kind of +phony," Elshawe said. "And you +know it. I'll come to the point. I +know that Malcom Porter didn't invent +the Gravito-Inertial Differential +Polarizer. <i>You</i> did."</p> + +<p>Skinner's eyes widened. "Where +did you get that information?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you my sources, Mr. +Skinner. Not yet, anyhow. But I +have enough information to tell me +that you're the man. It wouldn't hold +up in court, but, with the additional +information you can give me, I think +it will."</p> + +<p>Skinner looked baffled, as if not +knowing what to say next.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Skinner," Elshawe went on, +"a research reporter has to have a +little of the crusader in him, and +maybe I've got more than most. +You've discovered one of the greatest +things in history—or invented it, +whatever you want to call it. You +deserve to go down in history along +with Newton, Watt, Roentgen, Edison, +Einstein, Fermi, and all the +rest.</p> + +<p>"But somehow Malcom Porter +stole your invention and he intends +to take full credit for it. Oh, I know +he's paid you plenty of money not +to make any fuss, and he probably +thinks you couldn't prove anything, +anyway. But you don't have to be +satisfied with his conscience money +any more. With the backing of Magnum +Telenews, you can blow Mister +Glory-hound Porter's phony setup +wide open and take the credit you +deserve."</p> + +<p>Skinner didn't look at all the way +Elshawe had expected. Instead, he +frowned a little and said: "I'm glad +you came, Mr. Elshawe. I didn't +realize that there was enough evidence +to connect me with his project." +But he didn't look exactly +overjoyed.</p> + +<p>"Well," Elshawe said tentatively, +"if you'll just answer a few questions—"</p> + +<p>"Just a minute, Mr. Elshawe. Do +you mind if I ask you a few questions +first?"</p> + +<p>"Go ahead."</p> + +<p>Skinner leaned forward earnestly. +"Mr. Elshawe, who deserves credit +for an invention? Who deserves the +money?"</p> + +<p>"Why ... why, the inventor, of +course."</p> + +<p>"The inventor? Or the man who +gives it to humanity?"</p> + +<p>"I ... don't quite follow you."</p> + +<p>He leaned back in his chair again. +"Mr. Elshawe, when I invented the +Polarizer, I hadn't the remotest idea +of what I'd invented. I taught general +science in the high school Malcom +Porter went to, and I had a lab +in my basement. Porter was a pretty +bright boy, and he liked to come +around to my lab and watch me putter +around. I had made this gadget—it +was a toy for children as far as +I was concerned. I didn't have any +idea of its worth. It was just a little +gadget that hopped up into the air +and floated down again. Cute, but +worthless, except as a novelty. And +it was too expensive to build it as a +novelty. So I forgot about it.</p> + +<p>"Years later, Porter came around +to me and offered to buy it. I dug +it out of the junk that was in my +little workshop and sold it to him.</p> + +<p>"A couple of years after that, he +came back. He said that he'd invented +something. After beating all around +the bush, he finally admitted that +his invention was a development of +my little toy. He offered me a million +dollars if I'd keep my mouth +shut and forget all about the thing."</p> + +<p>"And you accepted?" Elshawe +asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Certainly! I made him buy me a +tax-paid annuity that pays me more +than enough to get by on. I don't +want wealth, Mr. Elshawe—just +comfort. And that's why I gave it to +him."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"I don't follow you."</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you about Malcom +Porter. He is one of that vast horde +of people who want to be <i>someone</i>. +They want to be respected and looked +up to. But they either can't, or +won't, take the time to learn the +basics of the field they want to excel +in. The beautiful girl who wants to +be an actress without bothering to +learn to act; the young man who +wants to be a judge without going +through law school, or be a general +without studying military tactics; and +Malcom Porter, the boy who wanted +to be a great scientist—but didn't +want to take the trouble to learn +science."</p> + +<p>Elshawe nodded. He was thinking +of the "artists" who splatter up clean +canvas and call it "artistic self-expression." +And the clodheads who +write disconnected, meaningless +prose and claim that it's free verse. +The muddleminds who forget that +Picasso learned to paint within the +strict limits of classical art before +he tried new methods, and that +James Joyce learned to handle the +English language well before he +wrote "Finnegan's Wake."</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," Skinner +continued, "I am ... well, rather a +shy man. As soon as Malcom told +me what the device would do when +it was properly powered, I knew that +there would be trouble. I am not a +fighter, Mr. Elshawe. I have no desire +to spend time in prison or be +vilified in the news or called a crackpot +by orthodox scientists.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to fight Malcom's +claim, Mr. Elshawe. Don't you see, +he <i>deserves</i> the credit! In the first +place, he recognized it for what it +was. If he hadn't, Heaven only +knows how long it would have been +before someone rediscovered it. In +the second place, he has fought and +fought hard to give it to humanity. +He has suffered in prison and spent +millions of dollars to get the Polarizer +into the hands of the United +States Government. He has, in fact, +worked harder and suffered more +than if he'd taken the time and trouble +to get a proper education. And +it got him what he wanted; I doubt +that he would have made a very +good scientist, anyway.</p> + +<p>"Porter deserves every bit of +credit for the Polarizer. I am perfectly +happy with the way things are +working out."</p> + +<p>Elshawe said: "But what if the +FBI gets hold of the evidence I +have?"</p> + +<p>"That's why I have told you the +truth, Mr. Elshawe," Skinner said +earnestly. "I want you to destroy +that evidence. I would deny flatly +that I had anything to do with the +Polarizer, in any case. And that +would put an end to any inquiry because +no one would believe that I +would deny inventing something like +that. But I would just as soon that +the question never came up. I would +rather that there be no whisper +whatever of anything like that."</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, then, +very carefully, he said: "Mr. Elshawe, +you have intimated that the inventor +of the Polarizer deserves some kind +of reward. I assure you that the +greatest reward you could give me +would be to help me destroy all +traces of any connection with the +device. Will you do that, Mr. Elshawe?"</p> + +<p>Elshawe just sat silently in the +chair for long minutes, thinking. +Skinner didn't interrupt; he simply +waited patiently.</p> + +<p>After about ten minutes, Elshawe +put his pipe carefully on a nearby +table and reached down to pick up +his briefcase. He handed it to Skinner.</p> + +<p>"Here. It contains all the evidence +I have. Including, I might say, the +recording of our conversation here. +Just take the tape out of the minirecorder. +A man like you deserves +whatever reward he wants. Take it, +Mr. Skinner."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Skinner softly, +taking the briefcase.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>And, on the plane winging back +to New York from the Congressional +investigation, Mr. Terrence Elshawe +sighed softly. He was glad none of +the senators had asked anything +about Skinner, because he knew he +would certainly have had to tell the +truth.</p> + +<p>And he knew, just as certainly, +that he would have been in a great +deal more hot water than Porter had +been. Because Malcom Porter was +going to become American Hero +Number One, and Terry Elshawe +would have ended up as the lying +little sneak who had tried to destroy +the reputation of the great Malcom +Porter.</p> + +<p>Which, all things considered, +would have been a hell of a note.</p> + +<p class="theend">THE END</p> + +<div class="figtran"> +<a href="images/006-2.jpg"><img src="images/006-1.jpg" width="140" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a> +<b><big>Transcriber's Note:</big></b><br /><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> September +1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + +<hr class="dfx" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of By Proxy, by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + +***** This file should be named 24707-h.htm or 24707-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/0/24707/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: By Proxy + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Illustrator: H. R. van Dongen + +Release Date: February 27, 2008 [EBook #24707] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + BY + PROXY + + By DAVID GORDON + + _It's been said that the act of + creation is a solitary thing--that + teams never create; only individuals. + But sometimes a team may be needed + to make creation effective...._ + + Illustrated by Van Dongen + + +Mr. Terrence Elshawe did not conform to the mental picture that pops +into the average person's mind when he hears the words "news reporter." +Automatically, one thinks of the general run of earnest, handsome, +firm-jawed, level-eyed, smooth-voiced gentlemen one sees on one's TV +screen. No matter which news service one subscribes to, the reporters +are all pretty much of a type. And Terrence Elshawe simply wasn't the +type. + +The confusion arises because thirty-odd years of television has resulted +in specialization. If you run up much Magnum Telenews time on your +meter, you're familiar with the cultured voice and rugged good looks of +Brett Maxon, "your Magnum reporter," but Maxon is a reporter only in the +very literal sense of the word. He's an actor, whose sole job is to make +Magnum news sound more interesting than some other telenews service, +even though he's giving you exactly the same facts. But he doesn't go +out and dig up those stories. + +The actual leg work of getting the news into Maxon's hands so that he +can report it to you is done by research reporters--men like Terrence +Elshawe. + +Elshawe was a small, lean man with a large, round head on which grew +close-cropped, light brown hair. His mouth was wide and full-lipped, and +had a distinct tendency to grin impishly, even when he was trying to +look serious. His eyes were large, blue, and innocent; only when the +light hit them at just the right angle was it possible to detect the +contact lenses which corrected an acute myopia. + +When he was deep in thought, he had a habit of relaxing in his desk +chair with his head back and his eyes closed. His left arm would be +across his chest, his left hand cupping his right elbow, while the right +hand held the bowl of a large-bowled briar which Elshawe puffed +methodically during his ruminations. He was in exactly that position +when Oler Winstein put his head in the door of Elshawe's office. + +"Busy?" Winstein asked conversationally. + +In some offices, if the boss comes in and finds an employee in a pose +like that, there would be a flurry of sudden action on the part of the +employee as he tried frantically to look as though he had only paused +for a moment from his busy work. Elshawe's only reaction was to open his +eyes. He wasn't the kind of man who would put on a phony act like that, +even if his boss fired him on the spot. + +"Not particularly," he said, in his slow, easy drawl. "What's up?" + +Winstein came on into the office. "I've got something that might make a +good spot. See what you think." + +If Elshawe didn't conform to the stereotype of a reporter, so much less +did Oler Winstein conform to the stereotype of a top-flight TV magnate. +He was no taller than Elshawe's five-seven, and was only slightly +heavier. He wore his hair in a crew cut, and his boyish face made him +look more like a graduate student at a university than the man who had +put Magnum Telenews together with his own hands. He had an office, but +he couldn't be found in it more than half the time; the rest of the +time, he was prowling around the Magnum Building, wandering into studios +and offices and workshops. He wasn't checking up on his employees, and +never gave the impression that he was. He didn't throw his weight +around and he didn't snoop. If he hired a man for a job, he expected the +job to be done, that was all. If it was, the man could sleep at his desk +or play solitaire or drink beer for all Winstein cared; if the work +wasn't done, it didn't matter if the culprit looked as busy as an +anteater at a picnic--he got one warning and then the sack. The only +reason for Winstein's prowling around was the way his mind worked; it +was forever bubbling with ideas, and he wanted to bounce those ideas off +other people to see if anything new and worthwhile would come of them. + +He didn't look particularly excited, but, then, he rarely did. Even the +most objective of employees is likely to become biased one way or +another if he thinks his boss is particularly enthusiastic about an +idea. Winstein didn't want yes-men around him; he wanted men who could +and would think. And he had a theory that, while the tenseness of an +emergency could and did produce some very high-powered thinking indeed, +an atmosphere of that kind wasn't a good thing for day-in-and-day-out +work. He saved that kind of pressure for the times that he needed it, so +that it was effective because of its contrast with normal procedure. + + * * * * * + +Elshawe took his heavy briar out of his mouth as Winstein sat down on +the corner of the desk. "You have a gleam in your eye, Ole," he said +accusingly. + +"Maybe," Winstein said noncommittally. "We might be able to work +something out of it. Remember a guy by the name of Malcom Porter?" + +Elshawe lowered his brows in a thoughtful frown. "Name's familiar. Wait +a second. Wasn't he the guy that was sent to prison back in 1979 for +sending up an unauthorized rocket?" + +Winstein nodded. "That's him. Served two years of a five-year sentence, +got out on parole about a year ago. I just got word from a confidential +source that he's going to try to send up another one." + +"I didn't know things were so pleasant at Alcatraz," Elshawe said. "He +seems to be trying awfully hard to get back in." + +"Not according to what my informant says. This time, he's going to ask +for permission. And this time, he's going to have a piloted craft, not a +self-guided missile, like he did in '79." + +"Ho_ho_. Well, there might be a story in it, but I can't see that it +would be much of one. It isn't as if a rocket shoot were something +unusual. The only thing unusual about it is that it's a private +enterprise shoot instead of a Government one." + +Winstein said: "Might be more to it than that. Do you remember the trial +in '79?" + +"Vaguely. As I remember it, he claimed he didn't send up a rocket, but +the evidence showed overwhelmingly that he had. The jury wasn't out +more than a few minutes, as I remember." + +"There was a little more to it than that," Winstein said. + +"I was in South Africa at the time," Elshawe said. "Covering the civil +war down there, remember?" + +"That's right. You're excused," Winstein said, grinning. "The thing was +that Malcom Porter didn't claim he hadn't sent the thing up. What he did +claim was that it wasn't a rocket. He claimed that he had a new kind of +drive in it--something that didn't use rockets. + +"The Army picked the thing up on their radar screens, going straight up +at high acceleration. They bracketed it with Cobra pursuit rockets and +blew it out of the sky when it didn't respond to identification signals. +They could trace the thing back to its launching pad, of course, and +they nabbed Malcom Porter. + +"Porter was furious. Wanted to slap a suit against the Government for +wanton destruction of private property. His claim was that the law +forbids unauthorized rocket tests all right, but his missile wasn't +illegal because it wasn't a rocket." + +"What did he claim it was?" Elshawe asked. + +"He said it was a secret device of his own invention. Antigravity, or +something like that." + +"Did he try to prove it?" + +"No. The Court agreed that, according to the way the law is worded, only +'rocket-propelled missiles' come under the ban. The judge said that if +Malcom Porter could prove that the missile wasn't rocket-propelled, he'd +dismiss the case. But Porter wanted to prove it by building another +missile. He wouldn't give the court his plans or specifications for the +drive he claimed he'd invented, or say anything about it except that it +operated--and I quote--'on a new principle of physics'--unquote. Said he +wouldn't tell them anything because the Government was simply using this +as an excuse to take his invention away from him." + +Elshawe chuckled. "That's as flimsy a defense as I've heard." + +"Don't laugh," said Winstein. "It almost worked." + +"What? How?" + +"It threw the burden of proof on the Government. They thought they had +him when he admitted that he'd shot the thing off, but when he denied +that it was a rocket, then, in order to prove that he'd committed a +crime, they had to prove that it _was_ a rocket. It wasn't up to Porter +to prove that it _wasn't_." + +"Hey," Elshawe said in admiration, "that's pretty neat. I'm almost sorry +it didn't work." + + * * * * * + +"Yeah. Trouble was that the Army had blown up the evidence. They knew it +was a rocket, but they had to prove it. They had recordings of the radar +picture, of course, and they used that to show the shape and +acceleration of the missile. They proved that he'd bought an old +obsolete Odin rocket from one of the small colleges in the Midwest--one +that the Army had sold them as a demonstration model for their rocket +engineering classes. They proved that he had a small liquid air plant +out there at his place in New Mexico. In other words, they proved that +he had the equipment to rebuild the rocket and the fuel to run it. + +"Then they got a battery of high-powered physicists up on the stands to +prove that nothing else but a rocket could have driven the thing that +way. + +"Porter's attorney hammered at them in cross-examination, trying to get +one of them to admit that it was possible that Porter had discovered a +new principle of physics that could fly a missile without rockets, but +the Attorney General's prosecutor had coached them pretty well. They all +said that unless there was evidence to the contrary, they could not +admit that there was such a principle. + +"When the prosecutor presented his case to the jury, he really had +himself a ball. I'll give you a transcript of the trial later; you'll +have to read it for yourself to get the real flavor of it. The gist of +it was that things had come to a pretty pass if a man could claim a +scientific principle known only to himself as a defense against a crime. + +"He gave one analogy I liked. He said, suppose that a man is found +speeding in a car. The cops find him all alone, behind the wheel, when +they chase him down. Then, in court, he admits that he was alone, and +that the car was speeding, but he insists that the car was steering +itself, and that he wasn't in control of the vehicle at all. And what +was steering the car? Why, a new scientific principle, of course." + +Elshawe burst out laughing. "Wow! No wonder the jury didn't stay out +long! I'm going to have to dig the recordings of the newscasts out of +the files; I missed a real comedy while I was in Africa." + +Winstein nodded. "We got pretty good coverage on it, but our worthy +competitor, whose name I will not have mentioned within these sacred +halls, got Beebee Vayne to run a commentary on it, and we got beat out +on the meters." + +"Vayne?" Elshawe was still grinning. "That's a new twist--getting a +comedian to do a news report." + +"I'll have to admit that my worthy competitor, whose name et cetera, +does get an idea once in a while. But I don't want him beating us out +again. We're in on the ground floor this time, and I want to hog the +whole thing if I can." + +"Sounds like a great idea, if we can swing it," Elshawe agreed. "Do you +have a new gimmick? You're not going to get a comedian to do it, are +you?" + +"Heaven forbid! Even if it had been my own idea three years ago, I +wouldn't repeat it, and I certainly won't have it said that I copy my +competitors. No, what I want you to do is go out there and find out +what's going on. Get a full background on it. We'll figure out the +presentation angle when we get some idea of what he's going to do this +time." Winstein eased himself off the corner of Elshawe's desk and +stood up. "By the way--" + +"Yeah?" + +"Play it straight when you go out there. You're a reporter, looking for +news; you haven't made any previous judgments." + +Elshawe's pipe had gone out. He fired it up again with his desk lighter. +"I don't want to be," he said between puffs, "too cagey. If he's got ... +any brains ... he'll know it's ... a phony act ... if I overdo it." He +snapped off the lighter and looked at his employer through a cloud of +blue-gray smoke. "I mean, after all, he's on the records as being a +crackpot. I'd be a pretty stupid reporter if I believed everything he +said. If I don't act a little skeptical, he'll think I'm either a +blockhead or a phony or both." + +"Maybe," Winstein said doubtfully. "Still, some of these crackpots fly +off the handle if you doubt their word in the least bit." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," Elshawe said. "He used to live here in New +York, didn't he?" + +"Still does," Winstein said. "He has a two-floor apartment on Central +Park West. He just uses that New Mexico ranch of his for relaxation." + +"He's not hurting for money, is he?" Elshawe asked at random. "Anyway, +what I'll do is look up some of the people he knows and get an idea of +what kind of a bird he is. Then, when I get out there, I'll know more +what kind of line to feed him." + +"That sounds good. But whatever you do, play it on the soft side. My +confidential informant tells me that the only reason we're getting this +inside info is because Malcom Porter is sore about the way our +competition treated him four years ago." + +"Just who is this confidential informant, anyway, Ole?" Elshawe asked +curiously. + +Winstein grinned widely. "It's supposed to be very confidential. I don't +want it to get any further than you." + +"Sure not. Since when am I a blabbermouth? Who is it?" + +"Malcom Porter." + + * * * * * + +Two days later, Terrence Elshawe was sitting in the front seat of a big +station wagon, watching the scenery go by and listening to the driver +talk as the machine tooled its way out of Silver City, New Mexico, and +headed up into the Mogollon Mountains. + +"Was a time, not too long back," the driver was saying, "when a man +couldn't get up into this part of the country 'thout a pack mule. Still +places y'can't, but the boss had t' have a road built up to the ranch +so's he could bring in all that heavy equipment. Reckon one of these +days the Mogollons 'll be so civilized and full a people that a fella +might as well live in New York." + +Elshawe, who hadn't seen another human being for fifteen minutes, felt +that the predicted overcrowding was still some time off. + +"'Course," the driver went on, "I reckon folks have t' live some place, +but I never could see why human bein's are so all-fired determined to +bunch theirselves up so thick together that they can't hardly move--like +a bunch of sheep in a snowstorm. It don't make sense to me. Does it to +you, Mr. Skinner?" + +That last was addressed to the other passenger, an elderly man who was +sitting in the seat behind Elshawe. + +"I guess it's pretty much a matter of taste, Bill," Mr. Skinner said in +a soft voice. + +"I reckon," Bill said, in a tone that implied that anyone whose tastes +were so bad that he wanted to live in the city was an object of pity who +probably needed psychiatric treatment. He was silent for a moment, in +obvious commiseration with his less fortunate fellows. + +Elshawe took the opportunity to try to get a word in. The chunky +Westerner had picked him up at the airport, along with Mr. Samuel +Skinner, who had come in on the same plane with Elshawe, and, after +introducing himself as Bill Rodriguez, he had kept up a steady stream of +chatter ever since. Elshawe didn't feel he should take a chance on +passing up the sudden silence. + +"By the way; has Mr. Porter applied to the Government for permission to +test his ... uh ... his ship, yet?" + +Bill Rodriguez didn't take his eyes off the winding road. "Well, now, I +don't rightly know, Mr. Elshawe. Y'see, I just work on the ranch up +there. I don't have a doggone thing to do with the lab'r'tory at +all--'cept to keep the fence in good shape so's the stock don't get into +the lab'r'tory area. If Mr. Porter wants me to know somethin', he tells +me, an' if he don't, why, I don't reckon it's any a my business." + +"I see," said Elshawe. _And that shuts_ me _up_, he thought to himself. +He took out his pipe and began to fill it in silence. + +"How's everything out in Los Angeles, Mr. Skinner?" Rodriguez asked the +passenger in back. "Haven't seen you in quite a spell." + +Elshawe listened to the conversation between the two with half an ear +and smoked his pipe wordlessly. + +He had spent the previous day getting all the information he could on +Malcom Porter, and the information hadn't been dull by any means. + +Porter had been born in New York in 1949, which made him just barely +thirty-three. His father, Vanneman Porter, had been an oddball in his +own way, too. The Porters of New York didn't quite date back to the time +of Peter Stuyvesant, but they had been around long enough to acquire the +feeling that the twenty-four dollars that had been paid for Manhattan +Island had come out of the family exchequer. Just as the Vanderbilts +looked upon the Rockefellers as newcomers, so the Porters looked on the +Vanderbilts. + +For generations, it had been tacitly conceded that a young Porter +gentleman had only three courses of action open to him when it came time +for him to choose his vocation in life. He could join the firm of +Porter & Sons on Wall Street, or he could join some other respectable +business or banking enterprise, or he could take up the Law. +(Corporation law, of course--_never_ criminal law.) For those few who +felt that the business world was not for them, there was a fourth +alternative--studying for the priesthood of the Episcopal Church. +Anything else was unheard of. + +So it had been somewhat of a shock to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Porter when +their only son, Vanneman, had announced that he intended to study +physics at M.I.T. But they gave their permission; they were quite +certain that the dear boy would "come to his senses" and join the firm +after he had been graduated. He was, after all, the only one to carry on +the family name and manage the family holdings. + +[Illustration] + +But Vanneman Porter not only stuck to his guns and went on to a Ph.D.; +he compounded his delinquency by marrying a pretty, sweet, but not +overly bright girl named Mary Kelley. + +Malcom Porter was their son. + + * * * * * + +When Malcom was ten years old, both his parents were killed in a smashup +on the New Jersey Turnpike, and the child went to live with his widowed +grandmother, Mrs. Hamilton Porter. + +Terry Elshawe had gathered that young Malcom Porter's life had not been +exactly idyllic from that point on. Grandmother Porter hadn't approved +of her son's marriage, and she seemed to have felt that she must do +everything in her power to help her grandson overcome the handicap of +having nonaristocratic blood in his veins. + +Elshawe wasn't sure in his own mind whether environment or heredity had +been the deciding factor in Malcom Porter's subsequent life, but he had +a hunch that the two had been acting synergistically. It was likely that +the radical change in his way of life after his tenth year had as much +to do with his behavior as the possibility that the undeniably brilliant +mental characteristics of the Porter family had been modified by the +genes of the pretty but scatter-brained wife of Vanneman Porter. + +Three times, only his grandmother's influence kept him from being +expelled from the exclusive prep school she had enrolled him in, and his +final grades were nothing to mention in polite society, much less boast +about. + +In her own way, the old lady was trying to do her best for him, but she +had found it difficult to understand her own son, and his deviations +from the Porter norm had been slight in comparison with those of his +son. When the time came for Malcom to enter college, Grandmother Porter +was at a total loss as to what to do. With his record, it was unlikely +that any law school would take him unless he showed tremendous +improvement in his pre-law courses. And unless that improvement was a +general one, not only as far as his studies were concerned, but in his +handling of his personal life, it would be commercial suicide to put him +in any position of trust with Porter & Sons. It wasn't that he was +dishonest; he simply couldn't be trusted to do anything properly. He had +a tendency to follow his own whims and ignore everybody else. + +The idea of his entering the clergy was never even considered. + +It came almost as a relief to the old woman when Malcom announced that +he was going to study physics, as his father had done. + +The relief didn't last long. By the time Malcom was in his sophomore +year, he was apparently convinced that his instructors were dunderheads +to the last man. That, Elshawe thought, was probably not unusual among +college students, but Malcom Porter made the mistake of telling them +about it. + +One of the professors with whom Elshawe had talked had said: "He acted +as though he owned the college. That, I think, was what was his trouble +in his studies; he wasn't really stupid, and he wasn't as lazy as some +said, but he didn't want to be bothered with anything that he didn't +enjoy. The experiments he liked, for instance, were the showy, +spectacular ones. He built himself a Tesla coil, and a table with hidden +AC electromagnets in it that would make a metal plate float in the air. +But when it came to nucleonics, he was bored. Anything less than a +thermonuclear bomb wasn't any fun." + +The trouble was that he called his instructors stupid and dull for being +interested in "commonplace stuff," and it infuriated him to be forced to +study such "junk." + +As a result, he managed to get himself booted out of college toward the +end of his junior year. And that was the end of his formal education. + +Six months after that, his grandmother died. Although she had married +into the Porter family, she was fiercely proud of the name; she had been +born a Van Courtland, so she knew what family pride was. And the +realization that Malcom was the last of the Porters--and a failure--was +more than she could bear. The coronary attack she suffered should have +been cured in a week, but the best medico-surgical techniques on Earth +can't help a woman who doesn't want to live. + +Her will showed exactly what she thought of Malcom Porter. The Porter +holdings were placed in trust. Malcom was to have the earnings, but he +had no voice whatever in control of the principal until he was fifty +years of age. + + * * * * * + +Instead of being angry, Malcom was perfectly happy. He had an income +that exceeded a million dollars before taxes, and didn't need to worry +about the dull details of making money. He formed a small corporation of +his own, Porter Research Associates, and financed it with his own money. +It ran deep in the red, but Porter didn't mind; Porter Research +Associates was a hobby, not a business, and running at a deficit saved +him plenty in taxes. + +By the time he was twenty-five, he was known as a crackpot. He had a +motley crew of technicians and scientists working for him--some with +Ph.D.'s, some with a trade-school education. The personnel turnover in +that little group was on a par with the turnover of patients in a +maternity ward, at least as far as genuine scientists were concerned. +Porter concocted theories and hypotheses out of cobwebs and became +furious with anyone who tried to tear them down. If evidence came up +that would tend to show that one of his pet theories was utter hogwash, +he'd come up with an _ad hoc_ explanation which showed that this +particular bit of evidence was an exception. He insisted that "the basis +of science lies in the experimental evidence, not in the pronouncements +of authorities," which meant that any recourse to the theories of +Einstein, Pauli, Dirac, Bohr, or Fermi was as silly as quoting +Aristotle, Plato, or St. Thomas Aquinas. The only authority he would +accept was Malcom Porter. + +Nobody who had had any training in science could work long with a man +like that, even if the pay had been high, which it wasn't. The only +people who could stick with him were the skilled workers--the welders, +tool-and-die men, electricians, and junior engineers, who didn't care +much about theories as long as they got the work done. They listened +respectfully to what Porter had to say and then built the gadgets he +told them to build. If the gadgets didn't work the way Porter expected +them to, Porter would fuss and fidget with them until he got tired of +them, then he would junk them and try something else. He never blamed a +technician who had followed orders. Since the salaries he paid were +proportional to the man's "ability and loyalty"--judged, of course, by +Porter's own standards--he soon had a group of technician-artisans who +knew that their personal security rested with Malcom Porter, and that +personal loyalty was more important than the ability to utilize the +scientific method. + +Not everything that Porter had done was a one-hundred-per cent failure. +He had managed to come up with a few basic improvements, patented them, +and licensed them out to various manufacturers. But these were purely an +accidental by-product. Malcom Porter was interested in "basic research" +and not much else, it seemed. + +He had written papers and books, but they had been uniformly rejected by +the scientific journals, and those he had had published himself were on +a par with the writings of Immanuel Velikovsky and George Adamski. + +And now he was going to shoot a rocket--or whatever it was--to the moon. +Well, Elshawe thought, if it went off as scheduled, it would at least be +worth watching. Elshawe was a rocket buff; he'd watched a dozen or more +moon shots in his life--everything from the automatic supply-carriers to +the three-man passenger rockets that added to the personnel of Moon Base +One--and he never tired of watching the bellowing monsters climb up +skywards on their white-hot pillars of flame. + +And if nothing happened, Elshawe decided, he'd at least get a laugh out +of the whole episode. + + * * * * * + +After nearly two hours of driving, Bill Rodriguez finally turned off the +main road onto an asphalt road that climbed steeply into the pine forest +that surrounded it. A sign said: _Double Horseshoe Ranch--Private +Road--No Trespassing_. + +Elshawe had always thought of a ranch as a huge spread of flat prairie +land full of cattle and gun-toting cowpokes on horseback; a mountainside +full of sheep just didn't fit into that picture. + +After a half mile or so, the station wagon came to a high metal-mesh +fence that blocked the road. On the big gate, another sign proclaimed +that the area beyond was private property and that trespassers would be +prosecuted. + +Bill Rodriguez stopped the car, got out, and walked over to the gate. He +pressed a button in one of the metal gateposts and said, "Ed? This's +Bill. I got Mr. Skinner and that New York reporter with me." + +After a slight pause, there was a metallic click, and the gate swung +open. Rodriguez came back to the car, got in, and drove on through the +gate. Elshawe twisted his head to watch the big gate swing shut behind +them. + +After another ten minutes, Rodriguez swung off the road onto another +side road, and ten minutes after that the station wagon went over a +small rise and headed down into a small valley. In the middle of it, +shining like bright aluminum in the sun, was a vessel. + +_Now I know Porter is nuts_, Elshawe thought wryly. + +Because the vessel, whatever it was, was parallel to the ground, looking +like the fuselage of a stratojet, minus wings and tail, sitting on its +landing gear. Nowhere was there any sign of a launching pad, with its +gantries and cranes and jet baffles. Nor was there any sign of a rocket +motor on the vessel itself. + +As the station wagon approached the cluster of buildings a hundred yards +this side of the machine, Elshawe realized with shock that the thing +_was_ a stripped-down stratojet--an old Grumman _Supernova_, _circa_ +1970. + +"Well, Elijah got there by sitting in an iron chair and throwing a +magnet out in front of himself," Elshawe said, "so what the hell." + +"What?" Rodriguez asked blankly. + +"Nothing; just thinking out loud. Sorry." + +Behind Elshawe, Mr. Skinner chuckled softly, but said nothing. + +When the station wagon pulled up next to one of the cluster of white +prefab buildings, Malcom Porter himself stepped out of the wide door and +walked toward them. + +Elshawe recognized the man from his pictures--tall, wide-shouldered, +dark-haired, and almost handsome, he didn't look much like a wild-eyed +crackpot. He greeted Rodriguez and Skinner rather peremptorily, but he +smiled broadly and held out his hand to Elshawe. + +"Mr. Elshawe? I'm Malcom Porter." His grip was firm and friendly. "I'm +glad to see you. Glad you could make it." + +"Glad to be here, Dr. Porter," Elshawe said in his best manner. "It's +quite a privilege." He knew that Porter liked to be called "Doctor"; all +his subordinates called him that. + +But, surprisingly, Porter said: "Not 'Doctor,' Mr. Elshawe; just +'Mister.' My boys like to call me 'Doctor,' but it's sort of a nickname. +I don't have a degree, and I don't claim one. I don't want the public +thinking I'm claiming to be something I'm not." + +"I understand, Mr. Porter." + +Bill Rodriguez's voice broke in. "Where do you want me to put all this +stuff, Doc?" He had unloaded Elshawe's baggage from the station wagon +and set it carefully on the ground. Skinner picked up his single +suitcase and looked at Porter inquiringly. + +"My usual room, Malcom?" + +"Yeah. Sure, Sam; sure." As Skinner walked off toward one of the other +buildings, Porter said: "Quite a load of baggage you have there, Mr. +Elshawe. Recording equipment?" + +"Most of it," the reporter admitted. "Recording TV cameras, 16mm movie +cameras, tape recorders, 35mm still cameras--the works. I wanted to get +good coverage, and if you've got any men that you won't be using during +the take-off, I'd like to borrow them to help me operate this stuff." + +"Certainly; certainly. Come on, Bill, let's get this stuff over to Mr. +Elshawe's suite." + + * * * * * + +The suite consisted of three rooms, all very nicely appointed for a +place as far out in the wilderness as this. When Elshawe got his +equipment stowed away, Porter invited him to come out and take a look at +his pride and joy. + +"The first real spaceship, Elshawe," he said energetically. "The first +real spaceship. The rocket is no more a spaceship than a rowboat is an +ocean-going vessel." He gestured toward the sleek, shining, metal ship. +"Of course, it's only a pilot model, you might say. I don't have +hundreds of millions of dollars to spend; I had to make do with what I +could afford. That's an old Grumman _Supernova_ stratojet. I got it +fairly cheap because I told 'em I didn't want the engines or the wings +or the tail assembly. + +"But she'll do the job, all right. Isn't she a beauty?" + +Elshawe had his small pocket recorder going; he might as well get all +this down. "Mr. Porter," he asked carefully, "just how does this vessel +propel itself? I understand that, at the trial, it was said that you +claimed it was an antigravity device, but that you denied it." + +"Those idiots!" Porter exploded angrily. "Nobody understood what I was +talking about because they wouldn't listen! Antigravity! _Pfui!_ When +they learned how to harness electricity, did they call it +anti-electricity? When they built the first atomic reactor, did they +call it anti-atomic energy? A rocket works against gravity, but they +don't call _that_ antigravity, do they? My device works _with_ gravity, +not against it." + +"What sort of device is it?" Elshawe asked. + +"I call it the Gravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer," Porter said +importantly. + +Elshawe was trying to frame his next question when Porter said: "I know +the name doesn't tell you much, but then, names never do, do they? You +know what a transformer does, but what does the name by itself convey? +Nothing, unless you know what it does in the first place. A cyclotron +cycles something, but what? A broadcaster casts something abroad--what? +And how?" + +"I see. And the 'how' and 'what' is your secret, eh?" + +"Partly. I can give you a little information, though. Suppose there were +only one planet in all space, and you were standing on its surface. +Could you tell if the planet were spinning or not? And, if so, how fast? +Sure you could; you could measure the so-called centrifugal force. The +same thing goes for a proton or electron or neutron or even a neutrino. +But, if it _is_ spinning, what is the spin relative to? To the particle +itself? That's obvious nonsense. Therefore, what is commonly called +'inertia' is as much a property of so-called 'empty space' as it is a +property of matter. My device simply utilizes spatial inertia by +polarizing it against the matter inertia of the ship, that's all." + +"Hm-m-m," said Elshawe. As far as his own knowledge of science went, +that statement made no sense whatever. But the man's manner was +persuasive. Talking to him, Elshawe began to have the feeling that +Porter not only knew what he was talking about, but could actually do +what he said he was going to do. + +"What's that?" Porter asked sharply, looking up into the sky. + +Elshawe followed his gaze. "That" was a Cadillac aircar coming over a +ridge in the distance, its fans making an ever-louder throaty hum as it +approached. It settled down to an altitude of three feet as it neared, +and floated toward them on its cushion of air. On its side, Elshawe +could see the words, UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, and beneath that, in +smaller letters, _Civil Aeronautics Authority_. + +"Now what?" Porter muttered softly. "I haven't notified anyone of my +intentions yet--not officially." + +"Sometimes those boys don't wait for official notification," Elshawe +said. + +Porter glanced at him, his eyes narrowed. "You didn't say anything, did +you?" + +"Look, Mr. Porter, I don't play that way," Elshawe said tightly. "As far +as I'm concerned, this is your show; I'm just here to get the story. You +did us a favor by giving us advance notice; why should we louse up your +show for you?" + +"Sorry," Porter said brusquely. "Well, let's make a good show of it." + +The CAA aircar slowed to a halt, its fans died, and it settled to its +wheels. + + * * * * * + +Two neatly dressed, middle-aged men climbed out. Both were carrying +briefcases. Porter walked briskly toward them, a warm smile on his face; +Elshawe tagged along behind. The CAA men returned Porter's smile with +smiles that could only be called polite and businesslike. + +Porter performed the introductions, and the two men identified +themselves as Mr. Granby and Mr. Feldstein, of the Civil Aeronautics +Authority. + +"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Porter asked. + +Granby, who was somewhat shorter, fatter, and balder than his partner, +opened his briefcase. "We're just here on a routine check, Mr. Porter. +If you can give us a little information...?" He let the half-question +hang in the air as he took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. + +"Anything I can do to help," Porter said. + +Granby, looking at the papers, said: "In 1979, I believe you purchased a +Grumman _Supernova_ jet powered aircraft from Trans-American Airlines? +Is that correct?" + +"That is correct," Porter agreed. + +Granby handed one of the papers to Porter. "That is a copy of the +registration certificate. Is the registration number the same as it is +on your copy?" + +[Illustration] + +"I believe so," Porter said, looking at the number. "Yes, I'm sure it +is." + +Granby nodded briskly. "According to our records, the machine was sold +as scrap. That is to say, it was not in an airworthy condition. It was, +in fact, sold without the engines. Is that correct?" + +"Correct." + +"May I ask if you still own the machine in question?" + +Porter gave the man a look that accused Granby of being stupid or blind +or both. He pointed to the hulking fuselage of the giant aircraft. +"There it is." + +Granby and Feldstein both turned to look at it as though they had never +noticed it before. "Ah, yes," Granby said, turning back. "Well, that's +about all there is to it." He looked at his partner. "It's obvious that +there's no violation here, eh, Feldstein?" + +"Quite," said Feldstein in a staccato voice. + +"Violation?" Porter asked. "What violation?" + +"Well, nothing, really," Granby said, deprecatingly. "Just routine, as I +said. People have been known to buy aircraft as scrap and then repair +them and re-outfit them." + +"Is that illegal?" Porter asked. + +"No, no," said Granby hastily. "Of course not. But any ship so +re-outfitted and repaired must pass CAA inspection before it can leave +the ground, you understand. So we keep an eye on such transactions to +make sure that the law isn't violated." + +"After three years?" Porter asked blandly. + +"Well ... ah ... well ... you know how it is," Granby said nervously. +"These things take time. Sometimes ... due to ... clerical error, we +overlook a case now and then." He glanced at his partner, then quickly +looked back at Porter. + +"As a matter of fact, Mr. Porter," Feldstein said in a flat, cold voice, +"in view of your record, we felt that the investigation at this time was +advisable. You bought a scrap missile and used it illegally. You can +hardly blame us for looking into this matter." + +"No," said Porter. He had transferred his level gaze to the taller of +the two men, since it had suddenly become evident that Feldstein, not +Granby, was the stronger of the two. + +"However," Feldstein went on, "I'm glad to see that we have no cause for +alarm. You're obviously not fitting that up as an aircraft. By the +way--just out of curiosity--what _are_ you doing with it?" He turned +around to look at the big fuselage again. + +Porter sighed. "I had intended to hold off on this for a few days, but I +might as well let the cat out now. I intend to take off in that ship +this week end." + + * * * * * + +Granby's eyes opened wide, and Feldstein spun around as though someone +had jabbed him with a needle. "_What?_" + +Porter simply repeated what he had said. "I had intended to make +application to the Space Force for permission to test it," he added. + +Feldstein looked at him blankly for a moment. + +Then: "The _Space_ Force? Mr. Porter, civilian aircraft come under the +jurisdiction of the CAA." + +"How's he going to fly it?" Granby asked. "No engines, no wings, no +control surfaces. It's silly." + +"Rocket motors in the rear, of course," said Feldstein. "He's converted +the thing into a rocket." + +"But the tail is closed," Granby objected. "There's no rocket orifice." + +"Dummy cover, I imagine," Feldstein said. "Right, Mr. Porter?" + +"Wrong," said Porter angrily. "The motive power is supplied by a +mechanism of my own devising! It has nothing to do with rockets! It's as +superior to rocket power as the electric motor is to the steam engine!" + +Feldstein and Granby glanced at each other, and an almost identical +expression of superior smugness grew over their features. Feldstein +looked back at Porter and said, "Mr. Porter, I assure you that it +doesn't matter what you're using to lift that thing. You could be using +dynamite for all I care. The law says that it can't leave the ground +unless it's airworthy. Without wings or control surfaces, it is +obviously not airworthy. If it is not a rocket device, then it comes +under the jurisdiction of the Civil Aeronautics Authority, and if you +try to take off without our permission, you'll go to jail. + +"If it _is_ a rocket device, then it will be up to the Space Force to +inspect it before take-off to make sure it is not dangerous. + +"I might remind you, Mr. Porter, that you are on parole. You still have +three years to serve on your last conviction. I wouldn't play around +with rockets any more if I were you." + +Porter blew up. "Listen, you! I'm not going to be pushed around by you +or anyone else! I know better than you do what Alcatraz is like, and I'm +not going back there if I can help it. This country is still +Constitutionally a democracy, not a bureaucracy, and I'm going to see to +it that I get to exercise my rights! + +"I've invented something that's as radically new as ... as ... as the +Law of Gravity was in the Seventeenth Century! And I'm going to get +recognition for it, understand me?" He gestured furiously toward the +fuselage of the old _Supernova_. "That ship is not only airworthy, but +_space_worthy! And it's a thousand times safer and a thousand times +better than any rocket will ever be! + +"For your information, Mister Smug-Face, I've already flown her!" + +Porter stopped, took a deep breath, compressed his lips, and then said, +in a lower, somewhat calmer tone, "Know what she'll do? That baby will +hang in the air just like your aircar, there--and without benefit of +those outmoded, power-wasting blower fans, too. + +"Now, understand me, Mr. Feldstein: I'm not going to break any laws +unless I have to. You and all your bureaucrat friends will have a chance +to give me an O.K. on this test. But I warn you, brother--_I'm going to +take that ship up!_" + + * * * * * + +Feldstein's jaw muscles had tightened at Porter's tone when he began, +but he had relaxed by the time the millionaire had finished, and was +even managing to look smugly tolerant. Elshawe had thumbed the button on +his minirecorder when the conversation had begun, and he was chuckling +mentally at the thought of what was going down on the thin, +magnetite-impregnated, plastic thread that was hissing past the +recording head. + +Feldstein said: "Mr. Porter, we came here to remind you of the law, +nothing more. If you intend to abide by the law, fine and dandy. If not, +you'll go back to prison. + +"That ship is not airworthy, and--" + +"How do you know it isn't?" Porter roared. + +"By inspection, Mr. Porter; by inspection." Feldstein looked +exasperated. "We have certain standards to go by, and an aircraft +without wings or control surfaces simply doesn't come up to those +standards, that's all. Even a rocket has to have stabilizing fins." He +paused and zipped open his briefcase. + +"In view of your attitude," he said, pulling out a paper, "I'm afraid I +shall have to take official steps. This is to notify you that the +aircraft in question has been inspected and found to be not airworthy. +Since--" + +"Wait a minute!" Porter snapped. "Who are you to say so? How would you +know?" + +"I happen to be an officer of the CAA," said Feldstein, obviously trying +to control his temper. "I also happen to be a graduate aeronautical +engineer. If you wish, I will give the ... the ... aircraft a thorough +inspection, inside and out, and--" + +"Oh, no!" said Porter. His voice and his manner had suddenly become very +gentle. "I don't think that would do much good, do you?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you'd condemn the ship, no matter what you found inside. +You couldn't O.K. a ship without airfoils, could you?" + +"Of course not," said Feldstein, "that's obvious, in the face of--" + +"All right, then give me the notification and forget the rest of the +inspection." Porter held out his hand. + +Feldstein hesitated. "Well, now, without a complete inspection--" + +Again Porter interrupted. "You're not going to get a complete +inspection, Buster," he said with a wolfish grin. "Either serve that +paper or get off my back." + +Feldstein slammed the paper into Porter's hand. "That's your official +notification! If necessary, Mr. Porter, we will be back with a Federal +marshal! Good day, Mr. Porter. Let's go, Granby." + +The two of them marched back to their aircar and climbed inside. The car +lifted with a roar of blowers and headed back over the mountains toward +Albuquerque. + +But long before they were out of sight over the ridge, Malcom Porter had +turned on his heel and started back toward the cluster of buildings. He +was swearing vilely in a rumbling monotone, and had apparently forgotten +all about Elshawe. + +The reporter followed in silence for a dozen paces, then he asked: +"What's your next step, Mr. Porter?" + +Porter came to an abrupt stop, turned, and looked at Elshawe. "I'm going +to phone General Fitzsimmons in Washington! I'm--" He stopped, scowling. +"No, I guess I'd better phone my lawyer first. I'll find out what they +can do and what they can't." Then he turned again and strode rapidly +toward the nearest of the buildings. + + * * * * * + +Seventy-two hours later, Terry Elshawe was in Silver City, talking to +his boss over a long-distance line. + +"... And that's the way it lines up, Ole. The CAA won't clear his ship +for take-off, and the Space Force won't either. And if he tries it +without the O.K. of both of them, he'll be right back in Alcatraz." + +"He hasn't violated his parole yet, though?" Winstein's voice came +distantly. + +"No." Elshawe cursed the fact that he couldn't get a vision connection +with New York. "But, the way he's acting, he's likely to. He's furious." + +"Why wouldn't he let the Space Force officers look over his ship?" +Winstein asked. "I still don't see how that would have hurt him if he's +really got something." + +"It's on the recording I sent you," Elshawe said. + +"I haven't played it yet," Winstein said. "Brief me." + +"He wouldn't let the Space Force men look at his engine or whatever it +is because he doesn't trust them," Elshawe said. "He claims to have this +new drive, but he doesn't want anyone to go nosing around it. The Space +Force colonel ... what's his name? ... Manetti, that's it. Manetti asked +Porter why, if he had a new invention, he hadn't patented it. Porter +said that he wasn't going to patent it because that would make it +available to every Tom, Dick, and Harry--his very words--who wanted to +build it. Porter insists that, since it's impossible to patent the +discovery of a new natural law, he isn't going to give away his genius +for nothing. He said that Enrico Fermi was the prime example of what +happened when the Government got hold of something like that when the +individual couldn't argue." + +"Fermi?" Winstein asked puzzledly. "Wasn't he a physicist or something, +back in the Forties?" + +"Right. He's the boy who figured out how to make the atomic bomb +practical. But the United States Government latched onto it, and it took +him years to get any compensation. He never did get the money that he +was entitled to. + +"Porter says he wants to make sure that the same thing doesn't happen to +him. He wants to prove that he's got something and then let the +Government pay him what it's worth and give him the recognition he +deserves. He says he has discovered a new natural law and devised a +machine that utilizes that law. He isn't going to let go of his +invention until he gets credit for everything." + +There was a long silence from the other end. After a minute, Elshawe +said: "Ole? You there?" + +"Oh. Yeah ... sure. Just thinking. Terry, what do you think of this +whole thing? Does Porter have something?" + +"Damned if I know. If I were in New York, I'd say he was a complete nut, +but when I talk to him, I'm halfway convinced that he knows what he's +talking about." + +There was another long pause. This time, Elshawe waited. Finally, Oler +Winstein said: "You think Porter's likely to do something drastic?" + +"Looks like it. The CAA has already forbidden him to lift that ship. The +Space Force flatly told him that he couldn't take off without +permission, and they said he wouldn't get permission unless he let them +look over his gizmo ... whatever it is." + +"And he refused?" + +"Well, he did let Colonel Manetti look it over, but the colonel said +that, whatever the drive principle was, it wouldn't operate a ship. He +said the engines didn't make any sense. What it boils down to is that +the CAA thinks Porter has rockets in the ship, and the Space Force +does, too. So they've both forbidden him to take off." + +"_Are_ there any rocket motors in the ship?" Winstein asked. + +"Not as far as I can see," Elshawe said. "He's got two big +atomic-powered DC generators aboard--says they have to be DC to avoid +electromagnetic effects. But the drive engines don't make any more sense +to me than they do to Colonel Manetti." + +Another pause. Then: "O.K., Terry; you stick with it. If Porter tries to +buck the Government, we've got a hell of a story if his gadget works the +way he says it does. If it doesn't--which is more likely--then we can +still get a story when they haul him back to the Bastille." + +"Check-check. I'll call you if anything happens." + + * * * * * + +He hung up and stepped out of the phone booth into the lobby of the +Murray Hotel. Across the lobby, a glowing sign said _cocktail lounge_ in +lower-case script. + +He decided that a tall cool one wouldn't hurt him any on a day like this +and ambled over, fumbling in his pockets for pipe, tobacco pouch, and +other paraphernalia as he went. He pushed open the door, spotted a stool +at the bar of the dimly-lit room, went over to it and sat down. + +He ordered his drink and had no sooner finished than the man to his left +said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Elshawe." + +The reporter turned his head toward his neighbor. "Oh, hello, Mr. +Skinner. I didn't know you'd come to town." + +"I came in somewhat earlier. Couple, three hours ago." His voice had the +careful, measured steadiness of a man who has had a little too much to +drink and is determined not to show it. That surprised Elshawe a little; +Skinner had struck him as a middle-aged accountant or maybe a high +school teacher--the mild kind of man who doesn't drink at all, much less +take a few too many. + +"I'm going to hire a 'copter and fly back," Elshawe said. "You're +welcome if you want to come along." + +Skinner shook his head solemnly. "No. Thank you. I'm going back to Los +Angeles this afternoon. I'm just killing time, waiting for the local +plane to El Paso." + +"Oh? Well, I hope you have a good trip." Elshawe had been under the +impression that Skinner had come to New Mexico solely to see the test of +Porter's ship. He had wondered before how the man fitted into the +picture, and now he was wondering why Skinner was leaving. He decided he +might as well try to find out. "I guess you're disappointed because the +test has been called off," he said casually. + +"Called off? Hah. No such thing," Skinner said. "Not by a long shot. Not +Porter. He'll take the thing up, and if the Army doesn't shoot him down, +the CAA will see to it that he's taken back to prison. But that won't +stop him. Malcom Porter is determined to go down in history as a great +scientist, and nothing is going to stop him if he can help it." + +"You think his spaceship will work, then?" + +"Work? Sure it'll work. It worked in '79; it'll work now. The way that +drive is built, it can't help but work. I just don't want to stick +around and watch him get in trouble again, that's all." + +Elshawe frowned. All the time that Porter had been in prison, his +technicians had been getting together the stuff to build the so-called +"spaceship," but none of them knew how it was put together or how it +worked. Only Porter knew that, and he'd put it together after he'd been +released on parole. + +But if that was so, how come Skinner, who didn't even work for Porter, +was so knowledgeable about the drive? Or was that liquor talking? + +"Did you help him build it?" the reporter asked smoothly. + +"_Help_ him build it? Why, I--" Then Skinner stopped abruptly. "Why, +no," he said after a moment. "No. I don't know anything about it, +really. I just know that it worked in '79, that's all." He finished his +drink and got off his stool. "Well, I've got to be going. Nice talking +to you. Hope I see you again sometime." + +"Sure. So long, Mr. Skinner." He watched the man leave the bar. + +Then he finished his own drink and went back into the lobby and got a +phone. Ten minutes later, a friend of his who was a detective on the Los +Angeles police force had promised to check into Mr. Samuel Skinner. +Elshawe particularly wanted to know what he had been doing in the past +three years and very especially what he had been doing in the past year. +The cop said he'd find out. There was probably nothing to it, Elshawe +reflected, but a reporter who doesn't follow up accidentally dropped +hints isn't much of a reporter. + +He came out of the phone booth, fired up his pipe again, and strolled +back to the bar for one more drink before he went back to Porter's +ranch. + + * * * * * + +Malcom Porter took one of the darts from the half dozen he held in his +left hand and hurled it viciously at the target board hung on the far +wall of the room. + +_Thunk!_ + +"Four ring at six o'clock," he said in a tight voice. + +_Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!_ + +The other five darts followed in rapid succession. As he threw each one, +Porter snapped out a word. "They ... can't ... stop ... Malcom ... +Porter!" He glared at the board "Two bull's-eyes; three fours, and a +three. Twenty-five points. You owe me a quarter, Elshawe." + +The reporter handed him a coin. "Two bits it is. What can you do, +Porter? They've got you sewed up tight. If you try to take off, they'll +cart you right back to The Rock--if the Army doesn't shoot you down +first. Do you want to spend the next ten years engrossed in the scenic +beauties of San Francisco Bay?" + +"No. And I won't, either." + +"Not if the Army gets you. I can see the epitaph now: + + _Malcom Porter, with vexation, + Thought he could defy the nation. + He shot for space with great elation-- + Now he's dust and radiation._ + +Beneath it, they'll engrave a spaceship argent with A-bombs rampant on a +field sable." + +Porter didn't take offense. He grinned. "What are you griping about? It +would make a great story." + +"Sure it would," Elshawe agreed. "But not for me. I don't write the +obituary column." + +"You know what I like about you, Elshawe?" + +"Sure. I lose dart games to you." + +"That, yes. But you really sound worried. That means two things. One: +You like me. Two: You believe that my ship actually will take off. +That's more than any of those other reporters who have been prowling +around and phoning in do." + +Elshawe shrugged silently and puffed at his pipe. Malcom Porter's ego +was showing through. He was wrong on two counts. Elshawe didn't like +him; the man's arrogance and his inflated opinion of himself as a +scientific genius didn't sit well with the reporter. And Elshawe didn't +really believe there was anything but a rocket motor in that hull +outside. A new, more powerful kind of rocket perhaps--otherwise Porter +wouldn't be trying to take a one-stage rocket to the Moon. But a rocket, +nonetheless. + +"I don't want to go back to prison," Porter continued, "but I'll risk +that if I have to. But I won't risk death just yet. Don't worry; the +Army won't know I'm even gone until I'm halfway to the Moon." + +"Foo!" said Elshawe. "Every radar base from Albuquerque to the Mexican +border has an antenna focused on the air above this ranch. The minute +you get above those mountains, they'll have a fix on you, and a minute +after that, they'll have you bracketed with Cobras. + +"Why don't you let the Government inspectors look it over and give you +an O.K.? What makes you think they're all out to steal your invention?" + +"Oh, they won't _steal_ it," Porter said bitterly. "Heaven's-to-Betsy +_no_! But this invention of mine will mean that the United States of +America will be in complete control of the planets and the space +between. When the Government wants a piece of property, they try to buy +it at their price; if they can't do that, they condemn it and pay the +owner what they think it's worth--not what the owner thinks it's worth. +The same thing applies here; they'd give me what they thought I ought to +have--in ten years or so. Look what happened to Fermi. + +"No, Elshawe; when the Government comes begging to me for this +invention, they can have it--on _my_ terms." + +"Going to keep it a secret, eh? You can't keep a thing like that secret. +Look what happened with atomic energy after World War Two. We kept it a +secret from the Russians, didn't we? Fine lot of good that did us. As +soon as they knew it was possible, they went to work on it. Nature +answers any questions you ask her if you ask her the right way. As soon +as the Government sees that your spaceship works, they'll put some of +their bright physicists to work on it, and you'll be in the same +position as you would have been if you'd showed it to them in the first +place. Why risk your neck?" + +Porter shook his head. "The analogy isn't valid. Suppose someone had +invented the A-bomb in 1810. It would have been a perfectly safe secret +because there wasn't a scientist on Earth who included such a thing as +atomic energy in his philosophy. And, believe me, this drive of mine is +just as far ahead of contemporary scientific philosophy as atomic energy +was ahead of Napoleon's scientists. + +"Suppose I told you that the fuel my ship uses is a gas lighter than +hydrogen. It isn't, but suppose I told you so. Do you think any +scientist today could figure out how it worked? No. They _know_ that +there's no such thing as a gas with a lighter atomic weight than +hydrogen. They know it so well that they wouldn't even bother to +consider the idea. + +"My invention is so far ahead of present-day scientific thought that no +scientists except myself could have even considered the idea." + +"O.K.; O.K.," Elshawe said. "So you're going to get yourself shot down +to prove your point." + +Porter grinned lopsidedly. "Not at all. You're still thinking in terms +of a rocket. Sure--if I used a rocket, they'd knock me down fast, just +as soon as I lifted above the mountains. But I don't have to do that. +All I have to do is get a few feet of altitude and hug the ground all +the way to the Pacific coast. Once I get out in the middle of the +Pacific, I can take off straight up without being bothered at all." + +"All right. If your machine will do it," the reporter said, trying to +hide his skepticism. + +"You still think I've got some kind of rocket, don't you?" Porter asked +accusingly. He paused a moment, then, as if making a sudden decision, he +said: "Look, Elshawe, I trust you. I'm going to show you the inside of +that ship. I won't show you my engines, but I _will_ prove to you that +there are no rocket motors in her. That way, when you write up the +story, you'll be able to say that you have first-hand knowledge of that +fact. O.K.?" + +"It's up to you," the reporter said. "I'd like to see it." + +"Come along," said Malcom Porter. + + * * * * * + +Elshawe followed Porter out to the field, feeling rather grateful that +he was getting something to work on. They walked across the field, past +the two gun-toting men in Levis that Porter had guarding the ship. +Overhead, the stars were shining brightly through the thin mountain air. +Elshawe glanced at his wrist watch. It was a little after ten p.m. + +He helped Porter wheel the ramp up to the door of the ship and then +followed him up the steps. Porter unlocked the door and went inside. The +Grumman had been built to cruise in the high stratosphere, so it was as +air-tight as a submarine. + +Porter switched on the lights. "Go on in." + +The reporter stepped into the cabin of the ship and looked around. It +had been rebuilt, all right; it didn't look anything like the inside of +a normal stratojet. + +"Elshawe." + +"Yeah?" The reporter turned to look at Porter, who was standing a little +behind him. He didn't even see the fist that arced upward and smashed +into his jaw. All he saw was a blaze of light, followed by darkness. + +The next thing he knew, something was stinging in his nostrils. He +jerked his head aside, coughing. The smell came again. Ammonia. + +"Wake up, Elshawe," Porter was saying. "Have another whiff of these +smelling salts and you'll feel better." + +Elshawe opened his eyes and looked at the bigger man. "I'm awake. Take +that stuff away. What's the idea of slugging me?" + +"I was afraid you might not come willingly," Porter said apologetically. +"I needed a witness, and I figured you'd do better than anyone else." + +Elshawe tried to move and found that he was tied to the seat and +strapped in with a safety belt. "What's this for?" he asked angrily. His +jaw still hurt. + +"I'll take that stuff off in a few minutes. I know I can trust you, but +I want you to remember that I'm the only one who can pilot this ship. If +you try anything funny, neither one of us will get back alive. I'll let +you go as soon as we get up to three hundred miles." + +Elshawe stared at him. "Where are we?" + +"Heading out toward mid-Pacific. I headed south, to Mexico, first. We're +over open water now, headed toward Baja California, so I put on the +autopilot. As soon as we get out over the ocean, we can really make +time. You can watch the sun come up in the west." + +"And then?" Elshawe felt dazed. + +"And then we head straight up. For empty space." + +Elshawe closed his eyes again. He didn't even want to think about it. + + * * * * * + +"... As you no doubt heard," Terrence Elshawe dictated into the phone, +"Malcom Porter made good his threat to take a spaceship of his own +devising to the Moon. Ham radios all over North America picked up his +speech, which was made by spreading the beam from an eighty-foot +diameter parabolic reflector and aiming it at Earth from a hundred +thousand miles out. It was a collapsible reflector, made of thin foil, +like the ones used on space stations. Paragraph. + +"He announced that the trip was made with the co-operation of the United +States Space Force, and that it represented a major breakthrough in the +conquest of space. He--" + +"Just a sec," Winstein's voice broke in. "Is that the truth? Was he +really working with the Space Force?" + +"Hell, no," said Elshawe. "But they'll have to claim he was now. Let me +go on." + +"Shoot." + +"... He also beamed a message to the men on Moon Base One, telling them +that from now on they would be able to commute back and forth from Luna +to Earth, just as simply as flying from New York to Detroit. Paragraph. + +"What followed was even more astounding. At tremendous acceleration, +Malcom Porter and Terrence Elshawe, your reporter, headed for Mars. +Inside Porter's ship, there is no feeling of acceleration except for a +steady, one-gee pull which makes the passenger feel as though he is on +an ordinary airplane, even though the spaceship may be accelerating at +more than a hundred gravities. Paragraph. + +"Porter's ship circled Mars, taking photographs of the Red Planet--the +first close-ups of Mars to be seen by the human race. Then, at the same +tremendous rate of speed, Porter's ship returned to Earth. The entire +trip took less than thirty-six hours. According to Porter, improved +ships should be able to cut that time down considerably. Paragraph." + +[Illustration] + +"Have you got those pics?" Winstein cut in. + +"Sure. Porter gave me an exclusive in return for socking me. It was +worth it. Remember back in the Twenties, when the newspapermen talked +about a scoop? Well, we've got the biggest scoop of the century." + +"Maybe," said Winstein. "The Government hasn't made any announcement +yet. Where's Porter?" + +"Under arrest, where'd you think? After announcing that he would land on +his New Mexico ranch, he did just that. As soon as he stepped out, a +couple of dozen Government agents grabbed him. Violation of parole--he +left the state without notifying his parole officer. But they couldn't +touch me, and they knew it. + +"Here's another bit of news for your personal information. A bomb went +off inside the ship after it landed and blew the drive to smithereens. +The only information is inside Porter's head. He's got the Government +where the short hair grows." + +"Looks like it. See here, Terry; you get all the information you can and +be back here by Saturday. You're going to go on the Weekend Report." + +"Me? I'm no actor. Let Maxon handle it." + +"No. This is hot. You're an eye-witness. Maxon will interview you. +Understand?" + +"O.K.; you're the boss, Ole. Anything else?" + +"Not right now, but if anything more comes up, call in." + +"Right. 'Bye." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, cocking his feet +up on the desk. It was Malcom Porter's desk and Malcom Porter's chair. +He was sitting in the Big Man's office, just as though he owned it. His +jaw still hurt a little, but he loved every ache of it. It was hard to +remember that he had ever been angry with Porter. + +Just before they had landed, Porter had said: "They'll arrest me, of +course. I knew that when I left. But I think I can get out of it. There +will be various kinds of Government agents all over the place, but they +won't find anything. I've burned all my notebooks. + +"I'll instruct my attorney that you're to have free run of the place so +that you can call in your story." + + * * * * * + +The phone rang. Elshawe grabbed up the receiver and said: "Malcom +Porter's residence." He wished that they had visiphones out in the +country; he missed seeing the face of the person he was talking to. + +"Let me talk to Mr. Terrence Elshawe, please," said the voice at the +other end. "This is Detective Lieutenant Martin of the Los Angeles +Police Department." + +"This is me, Marty." + +"Good! Boy, have I had trouble getting to you! I had to make it an +official call before the phone company would put the call through. How +does it feel to be notorious?" + +"Great. What's new?" + +"I got the dope on that Skinner fellow. I suppose you still want it? Or +has success gone to your head?" + +Elshawe had almost forgotten about Skinner. "Shoot," he said. + +The police officer rattled off Samuel Skinner's vital statistics--age, +sex, date and place of birth, and so on. Then: "He lived in New York +until 1977. Taught science for fifteen years at a prep school there. +He--" + +"Wait a second," Elshawe interrupted. "When was he born? Repeat that." + +"March fourth, nineteen-thirty." + +"Fifty-three," Elshawe said, musingly. "Older than he looks. O.K.; go +on." + +"He retired in '77 and came to L.A. to live. He--" + +"Retired at the age of forty-seven?" Elshawe asked incredulously. + +"That's right. Not on a teacher's pension, though. He's got some kind of +annuity from a New York life insurance company. Pays pretty good, too. +He gets a check for two thousand dollars on the third of every month. I +checked with his bank on that. Nice, huh?" + +"Very nice. Go on." + +"He lives comfortably. No police record. Quiet type. One servant, a +Chinese, lives with him. Sort of combination of valet and secretary. + +"As far as we can tell, he has made four trips in the past three years. +One in June of '79, one in June of '80, one in June of '81, and this +year he made the fourth one. In '79, he went to Silver City, New Mexico. +In '80 and '81, he went to Hawaii. This year, he went to Silver City +again. Mean anything to you?" + +"Not yet," Elshawe said. "Are you paying for this call, or is the City +of Los Angeles footing the bill?" + +"Neither. You are." + +"Then shut up and let me think for a minute." After less than a minute, +he said: "Martin, I want some more data on that guy. I'm willing to pay +for it. Should I hire a private detective?" + +"That's up to you. I can't take any money for it, naturally--but I'm +willing to nose around a little more for you if I can. On the other +hand, I can't put full time in on it. There's a reliable detective +agency here in L.A.-- Drake's the guy's name. Want me to get in touch +with him?" + +"I'd appreciate it. Don't tell him who wants the information or that it +has any connection with Porter. Get--" + +"Hold it, Terry ... just a second. You know that if I uncover any +indication of a crime, all bets are off. The information goes to my +superiors, not to you." + +"I know. But I don't think there's any crime involved. You work it from +your end and send me the bills. O.K.?" + +"Fair enough. What more do you want?" + +Elshawe told him. + +When the phone call had been completed, Elshawe sat back and made clouds +of pipe smoke, which he stared at contemplatively. Then he made two +calls to New York--one to his boss and another to a private detective +agency he knew he could trust. + + * * * * * + +The Malcom Porter case quickly became a _cause celebre_. Somebody +goofed. Handled properly, the whole affair might have been hushed up; +the Government would have gotten what it wanted, Porter would have +gotten what _he_ wanted, and everyone would have saved face. But some +bureaucrat couldn't see beyond the outer surface of his spectacle +lenses, and some other bureaucrat failed to stop the thing in time. + +"Gall, gall, and bitter, bitter wormwood," said Oler Winstein, perching +himself on the edge of Terry Elshawe's desk. + +"You don't Gallic, bitter, wormy, or wooden. What's up?" + +"Got a call from Senator Tallifero. He wants to know if you'll consent +to appear before the Joint Congressional Committee for Investigating +Military Affairs. I get the feeling that if you say 'no,' they'll send a +formal invitation--something on the order of a subpoena." + +Elshawe sighed. "Oh, well. It's news, anyway. When do they want me to be +in Washington?" + +"Tomorrow. Meanwhile, Porter, of course, is under arrest and in close +confinement. Confusion six ways from Sunday." He shook his head. "I +don't understand why they just didn't pat him on the back, say they'd +been working on this thing all along, and cover it up fast." + +"Too many people involved," Elshawe said, putting his cold pipe in the +huge ashtray on his desk. "The Civil Aeronautics crowd must have had a +spotter up in those mountains; they had a warrant out for his arrest +within an hour after we took off. They also notified the parole board, +who put out an all-points bulletin immediately. The Army and the Air +Force were furious because he'd evaded their radar net. Porter stepped +on so many toes so hard that it was inevitable that one or more would +yell before they realized it would be better to keep their mouths shut." + +"Well, you get up there and tell your story, and I dare say he'll come +out of it." + +"Sure he will. They know he's got something, and they know they have to +have it. But he's going to go through hell before they give it to him." + +Winstein slid off the desk and stood up. "I hope so. He deserves it. By +the way, it's too bad you couldn't get a story out of that Sam Skinner +character." + +"Yeah. But there's nothing to it. After all, even the FBI tried to find +out if there was anyone at all besides Porter who might know anything +about it. No luck. Not even the technicians who worked with him knew +anything useful. Skinner didn't know anything at all." He told the lie +with a perfectly straight face. He didn't like lying to Winstein, but +there was no other way. He hoped he wouldn't have to lie to the +Congressional Committee; perjury was not something he liked doing. The +trouble was, if he told the truth, he'd be worse off than if he lied. + +He took the plane that night for Washington, and spent the next three +days answering questions while he tried to keep his nerves under +control. Not once did they even approach the area he wanted them to +avoid. + +On the plane back, he relaxed, closed his eyes, and, for the first time +in days, allowed himself to think about Mr. Samuel Skinner. + + * * * * * + +The reports from the two detective agencies on the East and West Coasts +hadn't made much sense separately, but together they added up to enough +to have made it worth Elshawe's time to go to Los Angeles and tackle +Samuel Skinner personally. He had called Skinner and made an +appointment; Skinner had invited him out to his home. + +It was a fairly big house, not too new, and it sat in the middle of a +lot that was bigger than normal for land-hungry Los Angeles. + +Elshawe ran through the scene mentally. He could see Skinner's mild face +and hear his voice saying: "Come in, Mr. Elshawe." + +They went into the living room, and Skinner waved him toward a chair. +"Sit down. Want some coffee?" + +"Thanks; I'd appreciate it." While Skinner made coffee, the reporter +looked around the room. It wasn't overly showy, but it showed a sort of +subdued wealth. It was obvious that Mr. Skinner wasn't lacking in +comforts. + +Skinner brought in the coffee and then sat down, facing Elshawe, in +another chair. "Now," he said bluntly, "what was that remark you made on +the phone about showing up Malcom Porter as a phony? I understood that +you actually went to Mars on his ship. Don't you believe the evidence of +your own senses?" + +"I don't mean that kind of phony," Elshawe said. "And you know it. I'll +come to the point. I know that Malcom Porter didn't invent the +Gravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer. _You_ did." + +Skinner's eyes widened. "Where did you get that information?" + +"I can't tell you my sources, Mr. Skinner. Not yet, anyhow. But I have +enough information to tell me that you're the man. It wouldn't hold up +in court, but, with the additional information you can give me, I think +it will." + +Skinner looked baffled, as if not knowing what to say next. + +"Mr. Skinner," Elshawe went on, "a research reporter has to have a +little of the crusader in him, and maybe I've got more than most. You've +discovered one of the greatest things in history--or invented it, +whatever you want to call it. You deserve to go down in history along +with Newton, Watt, Roentgen, Edison, Einstein, Fermi, and all the rest. + +"But somehow Malcom Porter stole your invention and he intends to take +full credit for it. Oh, I know he's paid you plenty of money not to make +any fuss, and he probably thinks you couldn't prove anything, anyway. +But you don't have to be satisfied with his conscience money any more. +With the backing of Magnum Telenews, you can blow Mister Glory-hound +Porter's phony setup wide open and take the credit you deserve." + +Skinner didn't look at all the way Elshawe had expected. Instead, he +frowned a little and said: "I'm glad you came, Mr. Elshawe. I didn't +realize that there was enough evidence to connect me with his project." +But he didn't look exactly overjoyed. + +"Well," Elshawe said tentatively, "if you'll just answer a few +questions--" + +"Just a minute, Mr. Elshawe. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions +first?" + +"Go ahead." + +Skinner leaned forward earnestly. "Mr. Elshawe, who deserves credit for +an invention? Who deserves the money?" + +"Why ... why, the inventor, of course." + +"The inventor? Or the man who gives it to humanity?" + +"I ... don't quite follow you." + +He leaned back in his chair again. "Mr. Elshawe, when I invented the +Polarizer, I hadn't the remotest idea of what I'd invented. I taught +general science in the high school Malcom Porter went to, and I had a +lab in my basement. Porter was a pretty bright boy, and he liked to come +around to my lab and watch me putter around. I had made this gadget--it +was a toy for children as far as I was concerned. I didn't have any idea +of its worth. It was just a little gadget that hopped up into the air +and floated down again. Cute, but worthless, except as a novelty. And it +was too expensive to build it as a novelty. So I forgot about it. + +"Years later, Porter came around to me and offered to buy it. I dug it +out of the junk that was in my little workshop and sold it to him. + +"A couple of years after that, he came back. He said that he'd invented +something. After beating all around the bush, he finally admitted that +his invention was a development of my little toy. He offered me a +million dollars if I'd keep my mouth shut and forget all about the +thing." + +"And you accepted?" Elshawe asked incredulously. + +"Certainly! I made him buy me a tax-paid annuity that pays me more than +enough to get by on. I don't want wealth, Mr. Elshawe--just comfort. And +that's why I gave it to him." + + * * * * * + +"I don't follow you." + +"Let me tell you about Malcom Porter. He is one of that vast horde of +people who want to be _someone_. They want to be respected and looked up +to. But they either can't, or won't, take the time to learn the basics +of the field they want to excel in. The beautiful girl who wants to be +an actress without bothering to learn to act; the young man who wants to +be a judge without going through law school, or be a general without +studying military tactics; and Malcom Porter, the boy who wanted to be +a great scientist--but didn't want to take the trouble to learn +science." + +Elshawe nodded. He was thinking of the "artists" who splatter up clean +canvas and call it "artistic self-expression." And the clodheads who +write disconnected, meaningless prose and claim that it's free verse. +The muddleminds who forget that Picasso learned to paint within the +strict limits of classical art before he tried new methods, and that +James Joyce learned to handle the English language well before he wrote +"Finnegan's Wake." + +"On the other hand," Skinner continued, "I am ... well, rather a shy +man. As soon as Malcom told me what the device would do when it was +properly powered, I knew that there would be trouble. I am not a +fighter, Mr. Elshawe. I have no desire to spend time in prison or be +vilified in the news or called a crackpot by orthodox scientists. + +"I don't want to fight Malcom's claim, Mr. Elshawe. Don't you see, he +_deserves_ the credit! In the first place, he recognized it for what it +was. If he hadn't, Heaven only knows how long it would have been before +someone rediscovered it. In the second place, he has fought and fought +hard to give it to humanity. He has suffered in prison and spent +millions of dollars to get the Polarizer into the hands of the United +States Government. He has, in fact, worked harder and suffered more than +if he'd taken the time and trouble to get a proper education. And it got +him what he wanted; I doubt that he would have made a very good +scientist, anyway. + +"Porter deserves every bit of credit for the Polarizer. I am perfectly +happy with the way things are working out." + +Elshawe said: "But what if the FBI gets hold of the evidence I have?" + +"That's why I have told you the truth, Mr. Elshawe," Skinner said +earnestly. "I want you to destroy that evidence. I would deny flatly +that I had anything to do with the Polarizer, in any case. And that +would put an end to any inquiry because no one would believe that I +would deny inventing something like that. But I would just as soon that +the question never came up. I would rather that there be no whisper +whatever of anything like that." + +He paused for a moment, then, very carefully, he said: "Mr. Elshawe, you +have intimated that the inventor of the Polarizer deserves some kind of +reward. I assure you that the greatest reward you could give me would be +to help me destroy all traces of any connection with the device. Will +you do that, Mr. Elshawe?" + +Elshawe just sat silently in the chair for long minutes, thinking. +Skinner didn't interrupt; he simply waited patiently. + +After about ten minutes, Elshawe put his pipe carefully on a nearby +table and reached down to pick up his briefcase. He handed it to +Skinner. + +"Here. It contains all the evidence I have. Including, I might say, the +recording of our conversation here. Just take the tape out of the +minirecorder. A man like you deserves whatever reward he wants. Take it, +Mr. Skinner." + +"Thanks," said Skinner softly, taking the briefcase. + + * * * * * + +And, on the plane winging back to New York from the Congressional +investigation, Mr. Terrence Elshawe sighed softly. He was glad none of +the senators had asked anything about Skinner, because he knew he would +certainly have had to tell the truth. + +And he knew, just as certainly, that he would have been in a great deal +more hot water than Porter had been. Because Malcom Porter was going to +become American Hero Number One, and Terry Elshawe would have ended up +as the lying little sneak who had tried to destroy the reputation of the +great Malcom Porter. + +Which, all things considered, would have been a hell of a note. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ September + 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of By Proxy, by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY PROXY *** + +***** This file should be named 24707.txt or 24707.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/0/24707/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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