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diff --git a/32717.txt b/32717.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e39d45c --- /dev/null +++ b/32717.txt @@ -0,0 +1,905 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wait for Weight, by Jack McKenty + +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: Wait for Weight + +Author: Jack McKenty + +Illustrator: Don Sibley + +Release Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook #32717] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAIT FOR WEIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +Wait for Weight + +By JACK McKENTY + + _Sometimes the best incentive is to tell a man that success + will throw him out of a job!_ + +Illustrated by SIBLEY + + +When Dr. Allport Brinton's alarm clock sounded, it brought madness. It +was very clever; it not only rang chimes of amazing penetrating power, +it turned on all the lights in the room, closed the window, and started +his bath water running. But this morning it was not appreciated. In +fact, as Dr. Brinton got out of bed, he silently called down evil on +the technician who had built it for him. + +[Illustration] + +The "off" switch was on the wall farthest away from his bed and was +controlled by a hairtrigger combination dial that couldn't be operated +by anyone not fully awake. Dr. Brinton fumbled for a while, then gave +up and started looking for his bedroom slippers. They had apparently +crawled away during the night. + +He padded into his bathroom barefoot. He was about to see what a hot +bath would do for what he had already diagnosed as a histamine headache +when the alarm clock, having decided that anyone who could sleep +through ten minutes of chiming was unwakable, stopped chiming, turned +off the lights, opened the window, and let all the water out. + +Dr. Brinton was walking back toward the light switch when he tripped on +his bedroom slippers and fell back into bed. No further invitation was +necessary; he slept till noon. + +Dr. Brinton unmistakably had a hangover. Considering the party he had +attended the night before, it was not surprising. Actually, it was +remarkable that he had been able to get out of bed at all. During the +fourteen years that the Rocket Research Station had been in operation, +the parties that were held every time another test flight resulted in +failure had grown from a few drinks in somebody's room to a mammoth +bust-up that left the whole place partially paralyzed for days +afterward. + +First as chief chemist, and later as director of the Station, Dr. +Brinton had attended every one of the scores of parties during every +one of the fourteen years. It spoke well for his endurance to say that +he was back at his office at one o'clock. Some people didn't make it +until the next day. + + * * * * * + +His secretary, who didn't drink, was one of very few who were at work +on time. She walked into his office and stood in front of his desk, +tapping her foot. Her facial expression showed that she thought people +who got drunk at parties were amoral, degenerate, and entirely unfit +for administrative positions. Dr. Brinton, who had been mentally +comparing the relative merits of Prussic acid and hanging as pain +relievers, sat up straight to prove that he was moral, alert, and ready +for any problem that might come up. His secretary sniffed to indicate +that she didn't believe him. Dr. Brinton dropped his eyes to admit that +maybe he wasn't at his best at the moment, but it was only a temporary +condition, and by tomorrow he would be okay. + +"In two minutes you'll wish you were dead," said his secretary. "Read +this." + +She handed him a letter. He read it and his knuckles cracked as he +gripped the arms of his chair. + +"Senator MacNeill coming to visit _here_?" he cried in alarm. Though +his voice was squeaky, he was surprised to hear it at all. "Get me a +line to Washington, our top priority, Audrey at the Naval Department." + +The call was put through. + +"Commander Audrey? This is Brinton at the Station. Joe MacNeill is +coming to visit us. Can you head him off?... + +"Yes, I know, but he's on one of his economy drives. We just did a test +yesterday and if he inspects this place now, we won't get enough money +to build a pinball machine. Delay him a week, anyway.... + +"Well, try. I'll arrange a tour for him as best I can, but if he +doesn't come, I'll be much happier. Let me know as soon as possible. +Fine. Good-by." + +He scribbled a memo and carried it out to his secretary. "Copy of this +to all department heads, right away. Phone the commissary and have them +get all the decorations taken down in the dining room. Tell them to lay +in some steaks for tomorrow. Phone Harry Sparling in Public +Relations--alert him V.V.I.P. tomorrow, extra-special tour including +all our movies on the subject. I'm going over to the Fuels Department." + +Dr. Ferber, head of Fuels, met Dr. Brinton at the door of his lab. + +"I just got your memo," he said. "Is that budget-butcher really coming +down here?" + +Dr. Brinton nodded his head gently. "I'm afraid so. I came over to see +what kind of show we can put on for him." + +"We have some samples to run on the indoor motors. There are a couple +of loads left for the acceleration sled. And I suppose if we work all +night we could get a sergeant-major ready, but if he's on an economy +drive that might be too elaborate. Just a view of everybody pouring +stuff from one test-tube to another might be best." + +"Do the samples and run the sled once," Dr. Brinton said. "That should +provide enough fire and noise. The rest of it will have to be fast +talk. I think I'll go home to bed." + + * * * * * + +Dr. Brinton considered himself a methodical man. He had bacon and eggs +every morning for breakfast. He always took a vitamin pill with his +afternoon coffee. And he was used to exactly eight hours sleep. It was +this last habit that caused him to wake up that night at midnight; he +had gone to bed at four that afternoon and habit is a hard thing to +break. At first he thought it was morning, but a glance at his watch +hanging on its illuminated pedestal corrected that. + +He grunted, rolled over, and waited for sleep to overtake him again. +Nothing happened. He turned and stared at the ceiling for a while. +Still nothing; he had not felt so wide awake for a long time. Then he +was struck by one of the flashes of inspiration that had made him +famous--he would raid the refrigerator. + + * * * * * + +Downstairs, he found that his son Eric had anticipated him by two +minutes, and was busy setting the table with cheese, pickles, ice +cream, peanut butter, and everything else necessary to keep a +sixteen-year-old boy operating at peak efficiency. A pile of books on +the table indicated that he had just finished his homework. Dr. Brinton +was pleased that his son had worked so late, but the choice of food +made him shudder. He rummaged in the refrigerator himself, found a cold +pork chop that Eric had somehow overlooked, and bore it to the table in +triumph. + +"We were dealt a blow today," he said, between mouthfuls. + +"Oh?" said Eric, on guard in case it was about his school work. + +"Received word that Senator MacNeill is coming here tomorrow. No, +today--it's after midnight." + +"Oh." It was an "oh" of relief. A senator couldn't be nearly as +troublesome as a teacher. + +"Don't say 'oh' like that. He'll probably close the Station tight and +we'll all be out of work. You don't realize, it, but money has been +getting harder and harder to cadge for this place. We're practically +running only the Fuels department now." + +He got up, threw the bone from his pork chop into a garbage pail, +washed his hands at the sink, and sat down again. + +He continued, "Wait till he finds out about those four reactor rockets +that are cooling off on the Moon, waiting for us to get there. I can +hear him scream, 'Five million dollars each! Each full of precious +equipment, to say nothing of invaluable fissionable material!' And then +this place gets shut down." + +Eric had a suggestion. "Give him the old routine about how we have to +get men to the Moon or the Russians will do it first and use all the +equipment we've sent there without even thanking us." + +"Umm," said his father, considering. He shook his head finally. "His +answer to that is why send good money after bad. No. I just hope he +feels better after a steak dinner. Either that or the wings fall off +his plane." He smiled wistfully at the thought. "Oh, well," he said, +"let's go to bed." + +They went their separate ways, but only Eric went to bed. His father +entered the library, sat down, got his pipe going, and began to reread +_How to Win Friends and Influence People_. + + * * * * * + +The next day saw Dr. Brinton contemplate suicide, homicide, and voting +Republican, though not necessarily in that order. The Senator had +viewed their most inspiring onward-and-upward movies and merely asked +how much they cost to make. He had eaten a huge steak at the +commissary, and then inspected the garbage cans for waste. His visits +to various departments had been marred by his lack of interest in +anything except the number of men employed by each and their average +salaries, though he did comment that they all looked hung-over. In the +Fuels Department, he had walked out on the demonstrations, interrupting +some actual experiments that were going on outside the test room. + +Dr. Brinton was now riding in the back of a jeep, explaining to the +Senator that nuclear rockets were not too efficient, and the shielding +necessary to make them safe for men weighed more than their payload. +The Senator noted down the word "inefficient." + +A loudspeaker on a pole a little farther down the road interrupted the +explanation. "Twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty-five," it shouted. +"Five-nine, eighteen. Five-nine, eighteen. Seventy-three, ten-eight." +It began to repeat the message. + +The driver, who had slowed while they listened to the message, turned +the jeep around and sped them back the other way. + +"What in Heaven's name was that?" asked the Senator, who was busy +hanging on. + +"Twenty-five means emergency," shouted Dr. Brinton. "Five and nine is +fire and explosion in the Fuels Department, which is eighteen. +Seventy-three is my call number and ten-eight means they want me to get +there in a hurry." + +For the first time, the Senator looked impressed. Then he grew angry +again when his hat blew off and the driver wouldn't stop to go back and +get it. The jeep took a shortcut across the concrete fence, and left +tire marks in the grass in front of the Fuels Department. Dr. Brinton +jumped out and ran into the building, leaving the Senator to argue with +the driver about going back for the hat. + +The lab outside the test room was dusty and littered with broken glass. +Two technicians were receiving first aid for minor cuts, but everyone +else seemed to be in an almost holiday mood. + +Dr. Ferber saw Dr. Brinton standing in the doorway and came over to +him immediately. + +"That telephone operator gets too excited," he said. "There's no fire, +and I think it was an implosion, not an explosion. Wrecked our new +pressure catalyzer. Harrison's gone to hospital and the two you see are +hurt, but none of it's very serious. I suppose Butcher Boy is going to +put this down in his little notebook, too." + +"If you are referring to me," said the Senator's voice behind them, "I +most certainly am going to make a note of it. And I suggest you both +start advertising for other jobs." + + * * * * * + +Brinton had been indulging in a pleasant little fantasy in which he had +cut Senator MacNeill up into twenty-eight pieces, placed them in +aluminum cans, and made them radioactive in the Station pile. He was +smiling at the newsreel cameras, about to fire the first +Senator-powered spaceship in the history of mankind, when his alarm +clock, which had maliciously been waiting for just such an opportunity, +spoiled his dream by waking him up. + +That was how the next day started. It continued in the same vein when, +in a fit of petulance, he strode into his clothes closet and kicked the +alarm control box, barefoot. He was working the combination dial for +the third or fourth time when he noticed that his feet were getting +wet. His kick must have jammed some relays in the control box; the bath +water was overflowing. Since the box was sealed to prevent him from +fooling with it, he had had to prevent a flood by limping downstairs +and pulling the master switch. + +With no electricity, his breakfast consisted of cold fruit juice, cold +cereal, and cold milk. When he got to his office, he ordered a pot of +coffee and made out a requisition for a pipe wrench. If it ever +happened again, he was going to shut the water off instead. + +His secretary came in with the coffee and poured him a cup. + +"I have some letters for you to sign," she said brightly, to cheer him +up. Dr. Brinton drank his coffee. "Our new filing system is working +very well," she added, pouring him another cup. The doctor's face +relaxed a little, but it was because the snow bank in his stomach was +beginning to melt. His secretary played her trump. "And somebody from +the Fuels Department phoned and said something was passing the yellow +line and might make the blue." + +She was never sure afterward whether Dr. Brinton had gone around his +desk, or over it. She had blinked and by the time her eyes were open +again, he was gone. + +Dr. Brinton found a crowd in the indoor test lab, chuckling over the +line being drawn by a differential analyzer. He elbowed his way to the +front, looked himself, and began a little dance of impatience. The +analyzer was connected with linkages to the test stand where a tiny +rocket motor was thrusting out a hot blue pencil of flame. The results +from the analyzer were plotted as range capability against time on a +piece of graph paper which had four curved colored lines overprinted on +it. The curved lines were marked in succession: "Earth," "Moon," "Moon" +and "Earth." + +If the first Earth line, colored red, was passed, the fuel under test +could power a rocket to leave Earth, carrying men with it. If the +yellow line--the first Moon line--was reached, the rocket could +theoretically land men on the Moon. Several rockets, carrying dummy +loads, had already tried and failed: their fuels, though the best +available, barely reached the yellow line when under test. + +The blue--second--Moon line was calculated to indicate an escape from, +the Moon without refueling, and the last line, in green, was a +theoretical powered landing back on Earth. + +The pen of the analyzer had already passed the blue line and was more +than halfway to the green! + + * * * * * + +"This the stuff that was left in the catalyzer after the explosion +yesterday!" Dr. Ferber shouted to Dr. Brinton over the roar from the +little engine. "It looked as if it would burn, so I tested it. +Jackpot!" + +"What is it?" asked Dr. Brinton. + +"Supposed to be an artificial base for a _perfume_!" + +The last word seemed louder because the test rocket just then ran out +of fuel and grew silent. The tracing of the pen stopped a fraction +short of the green line. + +Dr. Ferber continued in his normal voice while he busied himself with +the connections of the engine: "We didn't have anything to do to put on +a show for MacNeill yesterday, so I told the lads to carry on with +experiments of their own. It was Harrison who made this stuff. He was +cut by flying glass and landed in the hospital. I phoned there this +morning and found the damn fool doctor took his appendix out. Said he +figured he might as well while Harrison was in there. He's still under +the anesthetic and we won't be able to ask him anything for several +hours." + +"Doesn't matter," said Dr. Brinton. "We know it works; we have to find +out why it works. Got any left? We'll analyze it." + +The next few hours saw Dr. Brinton rapidly become a bitter and +disillusioned man. + +When a qualitative test informed them that the presence of nitrogen +meant they were going to have to use an even longer and more laborious +process than the ordinary one, he uttered a few sentences that made a +couple of nearby German exchange students wonder if perhaps they hadn't +a portion missed in the English language learning. + +When he found that he had forgotten his pipe at home, and the analysis +required too much of their attention to allow him to go home and get +it, he quoted a paragraph or two that earned him the undivided +attention of everyone in the lab. + +But when he took the results over to a calculator and worked them out +to carbon 281.6% he had barely started the prologue when frustration +overtook him and he subsided, speechless. He was at a loss to say or do +anything except mumble that 281.6% was impossible. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Ferber came over and took the paper with the results from him. +Everyone in the lab watched while he checked the calculations +patiently. + +A delegation minutely checked the apparatus the two doctors had used; +it was faultless. One person even went so far as to cast a suspicious +look at the big automatic micro-balance standing on its pedestal in the +center of the room. He weighed a piece of paper, wrote his name on it +in pencil and reweighed it. The difference was satisfactory. For a few +moments, they all just stood and looked at each other. Then the whole +lot of them set to work. + +A junior technician headed for the spectrograph, came back in three +minutes with a freshly developed spectral photograph and a puzzled +look. He spent some time comparing both of them with the illustrations +in a manual entitled _Structural Formulae as Indicated by Spectral +Groupings_. + +The two German exchange students made a few tries at finding the class +of compound. They soon were deep in a technical discussion in their own +language, the only recognizable words being "biuret," "dumkopf," and +"damn." + +A senior research-chemist tried crystalizing some and invented an +entirely new swear word. + +With four helpers, Dr. Brinton and Dr. Ferber redid the combustion +analysis in slightly less than twice the time it would have taken only +one of them. Of course they were assured of accuracy; each step was +checked at least twice by everyone. + +The result was still carbon 281.6%. + +Dr. Brinton escaped the ensuing mental paralysis since he had already +been through the experience once. He went over and began to study the +figures written in on the side of the spectral photograph. Out of +little more than idle curiosity, he compared the ratios of the rough +quantitative estimate found spectrographically with the more accurate +but impossible answer of the combustion micro-analysis. + +While he was doing the necessary figuring, he listened sympathetically +to the technician. The young man was complaining bitterly about things +in general, and chemistry in particular. Chemical reference books came +in for a special roasting, because: "either that lousy book is +incomplete, or this structural formula is out of this world." + +That did it. + +Brinton got out a scratch pad and drew a little diagram. + +Then he went to talk to Dr. Ferber. + +"Would it be possible that Harrison started with a multi-ringed +phenol?" he asked. Dr. Ferber nodded. Dr. Brinton showed him the +drawing. "Does that remind you of any geometrical figure?" + +Dr. Ferber looked. There was a pause, then his eyes lit up. + +"Of course," he said. "Since formulae are usually drawn in one plane, I +doubt if anyone ever noticed that before. And when it comes under +stress by compression, it's only natural that it should fold." He +paused and looked at the calendar, "Four weeks?" he asked. + +"That'll do fine," said Dr. Brinton. "I'll arrange the details. You +look after the fuel. Harrison can give us the details of this one, but +there are probably any number of fuels based on this principal. Some +will be even more efficient, too." + +He excused himself, went to a phone, and asked for a Washington number. +The call was answered. + +"Hello, Senator MacNeill?" he said. "How would you like to be guest of +honor at a party?" + + * * * * * + +Brinton peered through the ring of reporters over to the head table +where Senator MacNeill was speaking, and speaking, and speaking. + +"He's on his home state," Dr. Brinton said. "About half an hour to go. +Now, gentlemen, you were asking about the new fuel. You all received +press handouts containing the information. You will probably receive +copies of the Senator's speech. And the broadcast from our first men on +the Moon went out over several networks hours ago. It seems to me that +you have enough for several stories." + +One of the reporters asked bewilderedly, "What is a tesseract? I read +the handout twice and I still don't understand." + +"A mathematician would be better qualified to explain," said Dr. +Brinton, "but I'll try. A tesseract is a fourth dimensional cube. A +line has one dimension, a square has two, a cube has three, and a +tesseract has four. A cube can be unfolded into six squares, and a +tesseract unfolds to eight cubes. The new fuel had a molecular +structure resembling an unfolded tesseract. When pressure is applied, +it folds up into a tesseract so that it takes up less room and relieves +the pressure. + +"The practical application is that we can get eight pounds of it into a +one pound can. The other seven pounds of it are riding around in the +fourth dimension. As soon as it starts to burn, the structure is +destroyed, so that it comes back out of the fourth dimension. Several +people have assured me that it can't work. They're probably right, +except that it does. Oh, I'll be back in a minute." + +He went over to another group and spoke to one of its members. The man +addressed nodded his head and left. Dr. Brinton returned. + +"If there are no more questions, I suggest we do some serious drinking. +I am now out of a job and I want to celebrate." + + * * * * * + +Promptly at seven-thirty, a relay clicked and the alarm clock went into +its usual daily routine with the chimes, window, lights, and bath +water. + +Dr. Brinton woke up enough to reach out a lazy arm and flip a newly +installed toggle switch beside his bed. Everything returned to normal. +The light and the chimes both faded away, the window reopened, and a +soft gurgling came from the bathroom. + +A slight gurgling also came from the bed, where Dr. Brinton, with a +happy little smile on his face, had gone peacefully back to sleep, +perfectly satisfied that he had worked himself into unemployment by +finding the fuel that would power spaceships to--and from--any part of +the Solar System. + + +--=JACK McKENTY= + + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction October 1952. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright +on this publication was renewed. + +Italicized text is shown within _underscores_. + +Bold text is shown within =equal signs=. + +Thought breaks are shown by 5 asterisks: + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wait for Weight, by Jack McKenty + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAIT FOR WEIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 32717.txt or 32717.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/7/1/32717/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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