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 No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
 jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
-this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright
 status under the laws that apply to them.
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-Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77756
-(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77756)
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #77756 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77756)
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-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77756 ***
-
-
-
-
-                       The Magnificent Profession
-
-                         by Leonard Lockhard
-
-
-  _Leonard Lockhard is an experienced patents attorney who can slip the
-  glovelike surfaces of an inventor’s nightmare on his writing hand
-  with a dexterity glorious to behold. We suspect he even does so in
-  his dreams, chuckling right merrily until the dawn breaks through.
-  You’ll chuckle too, we think, at one of the most uproariously funny
-  SF yarns it has ever been our privilege to publish._
-
-  =Krome was Mr. Patent Office in person--and a hard man to needle. But
-  Marchare’s underground diving suit had a very sharp point to it.=
-
-
-
-
-The interoffice buzzer on my phone rang. It was Helix Spardleton,
-patent attorney extraordinary--and my boss.
-
-“Saddle?” Helix said. “Marchare is on the phone. Take care of him, will
-you?” And he hung up.
-
-For a moment I just sat there, phone in hand. Marchare! My palms were
-suddenly moist. Other patent lawyers had nice normal scientists to work
-with--people who invented new and patentable plastics, pharmaceuticals,
-and insecticides.
-
-I had Marchare. My mind ran back over some of his inventions--synthetic
-babies, supersonic washing machines, hair-growing chemicals.
-Collectively they had netted him a small fortune, but they had brought
-nothing but headaches to me. Now he was on the phone again. Another
-invention undoubtedly.
-
-My forefinger shook a little as I stabbed it at the lighted button on
-the phone. “Saddle speaking,” I said.
-
-“Good morning, Carl!” came cheerily. “This is Marchare. You sound a
-little weak. You’re not ill, I hope?”
-
-“Well, I’m not feeling exactly--”
-
-“Glad to hear it. Look, I wonder if you could drop over at my lab. I’ve
-run across something interesting, and I think we ought to investigate
-the patent possibilities.”
-
-I swallowed dryly. “What is it?”
-
-“A diving suit.”
-
-I pondered his reply suspiciously. Was it conceivable that “Doc”
-had finally thought up a beautiful routine invention for me to work
-with--one that wouldn’t get me all fouled up with the Patent Office? It
-wasn’t too likely. Still--a diving suit. How could I get into trouble
-with a mere diving suit? Surely I was on safe ground there.
-
-I said, “Fine, Doc. Shall I come over now?”
-
-“The sooner the better,” he replied. “I’ll wait for you.”
-
-“Is there anything I should bring along? The camera?”
-
-“Your notebook is all you’ll need,” he assured me. “I’m not yet ready
-to test it underground. See you soon.” He hung up.
-
-I hung up myself and had half risen from my desk when I suddenly
-stiffened. _Underground._ His diving suit worked underground! I was
-plenty startled, but as I thought it over I decided that Marchare
-must have been mistaken. He’d meant _underwater_--just a slip of the
-tongue. Sure, that was it. Who ever heard of a diving suit that went
-underground? It was too fantastic.
-
-I felt better almost immediately. I got my hat and notebook and went
-out into the bright sunshine and hailed a cab.
-
-On the way to Marchare’s laboratory I did some thinking. He was a
-brilliant man capable of almost anything, a man who seldom made
-mistakes. His tongue wouldn’t slip--not on a thing like that. If he
-said underground he meant underground. It was a statement I had to
-accept.
-
-By the time the cab pulled up in front of Marchare’s laboratory in
-Alexandria I knew exactly where I stood. I knew for sure that he had
-gone and invented a diving suit that would go underground.
-
-“Doc” Marchare was dressed in his usual clothes, which is just another
-way of saying he looked as though he’d only recently got back from an
-unsuccessful, but jovial panhandling expedition.
-
-“You got over here quickly, Carl. You’re anxious to get going, eh?”
-
-I forced a sickly smile.
-
-“That’s the spirit,” he said, thumping me on the shoulder. “Come along,
-let’s have a look at it.”
-
-He led me down the hall and into a cluttered work room where Hamilton
-Eskew, his cadaverous assistant, was working on something that looked
-like a large pair of coveralls.
-
-Marchare said, “I’ll describe the suit to you, If you have any
-questions just break in and ask them. It’s really quite simple.”
-
-I said, “Uh-huh,” pulled out my notebook, flexed my fingers, and was
-all set.
-
-“Externally,” he said, “it closely resembles any self-contained
-underwater suit. The body portion is all in one piece. The helmet
-clamps down over the head, and the pack on the back contains the
-power supply. Any power supply can be used so long as it delivers
-approximately ten amperes at ten thousand volts for a reasonable period
-of time.”
-
-I scribbled busily. “Got it,” I told him.
-
-“The current passes to a cabbagite crystal, then to a selector box, and
-finally to the surface of the suit,” he went on. “Control dials mounted
-inside the hands of the suit enable the operator to control the amount
-of current at various places on the surface.”
-
-I broke in, “Cabbagite sounds familiar. Precisely what is it?”
-
-“Well,” said Marchare, “I’m not quite certain. Carbon, you see,
-occurs in two allotropic crystalline forms--diamonds and graphite.
-I’ve prepared a third allotrope that I call cabbagite. It is a
-twinned crystal with peculiar properties, to say the least. When an
-electromotive force is impressed at one end of it the other end emits
-energy of varying wave lengths. The bombardment of this energy seems to
-nullify the cohesive forces between the molecules of matter.
-
-“Up until now the only use I could find for it was in transforming
-oxygen to ozone. When you plug it into the wall socket, you have a
-wonderful cabbage-cooking deodorizer, Spardleton filed a case on that
-use a couple of years ago. A few weeks ago I discovered the crystal
-had other possibilities. I’ve now discovered that it works on solid
-matter as well as oxygen. The solid matter yields and flows when pushed
-on by a conductive object that is connected to an activated cabbagite
-crystal.”
-
-I asked, “But how does the cabbagite crystal allow the diving suit to
-move around underground--through solid earth?”
-
-Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Eskew was shaking his head
-in sneering compassion for my slow-witted grasp of the technical
-details. But Marchare didn’t mind a bit, having had long experience
-with patent attorneys.
-
-“Well,” he said, “the energy from the crystal goes first to a selector
-unit. From there it passes to the surface of the suit by means of
-thousands of tiny wire leads. These leads connect to a wire fabric
-imbedded in the thin rubber from which the suit is made. Is that clear?”
-
-“Of course,” I assured him loftily, ignoring Eskew’s subdued snicker.
-
-“The control dials work this way,” continued Marchare. “Once the diver
-is underground he can cut off the energy field beneath the soles of his
-feet. Thus he will have something solid to stand on. When he walks,
-though, he will have to keep the soles of his feet pointed away from
-the direction of his advance, or retreat, because only the ground under
-his soles will always be solid. Either that, or he can adjust the
-controls each time he moves his foot.
-
-“The control built into the right hand will control the right half of
-the suit; the left-hand one will control the left, The energy field
-over the rest of the suit isn’t so important as long as it is strong
-enough to soften the surrounding earth. But even so we’re going to make
-it possible for the diver to control the energy field on the entire
-surface. That way he could even lie down if he wanted to.”
-
-“Since you haven’t finished the suit yet,” I said, “how do you know it
-will work?”
-
-Eskew looked up at me as though I had just taken a dime from a
-five-year-old.
-
-Marchare never turned a hair. “Oh, it will work all right. We’ve
-already made a great many tests. We’ve thrust objects through walls and
-rocks and metals. Hamilton hasn’t actually finished the diving suit.
-But when he does, you can rest assured it will come up to expectations.”
-
-“What,” I asked, “happens to the diver if the crystal stops functioning
-while he’s underground?”
-
-“Now there’s a disturbing thought,” mused Marchare. “I guess the suit
-would be lost. Gravity would pull it down to the center of the earth.”
-
-Eskew cackled mirthlessly. “And would the diver be burned up.”
-
-Marchare smiled indulgently. “A card, that Hamilton. Actually, there’d
-be no pain. Ham has timed the air supply to fail long before the diver
-can reach the center of the earth.”
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The hair on the back of my neck relaxed a little. I forced myself to
-consider only the legal aspects of the subject at hand. “When will the
-suit be ready?” I asked.
-
-“In about four months,” grunted Eskew. “Possibly a little sooner.”
-
-“That’s good,” I told him. “I think the Patent Office may want a
-demonstration. If I can prepare and file the application within the
-next two weeks, the Office will probably take it up just about the time
-the suit is ready.”
-
-“What I don’t understand,” said Marchare, “is how we can file a patent
-application on something that doesn’t yet exist. Won’t it be perjury
-for me to sign the inventor’s oath?”
-
-“That would depend on what oath you sign,” I told him. “Fortunately
-there are two kinds. In one you swear that everything in the
-application is true. In the second you merely swear that the object
-described in the specifications is your invention. I never heard of any
-inventor using the first kind. You don’t think Selden ever actually
-_made_ the automobile he patented, do you?”
-
-“I see,” he said, with an expression that said he didn’t at all.
-
-I looked over my notes. Mr. Spardleton had previously explained that
-it was useless to take notes on a new invention because the attorney’s
-version never agreed with the inventor’s. What was even worse, neither
-bore any resemblance to the hash the patent examiners would inevitably
-make of it. My notes were sufficiently confused to gladden the heart of
-any practicing patent attorney.
-
-“Well, I guess that’s it,” I said.
-
-I shook hands with Marchare, returned Eskew’s sneer cordially, and
-headed back to town. Plans for the coming tussle with the Patent
-Office were beginning to take shape in my head. But I foresaw no great
-difficulty. This was _real_ invention. Imagine. A diving suit that
-went underground. Even the Examiner would have to admit that this was
-creative originality of the highest order. He couldn’t turn me down. He
-wouldn’t dare.
-
-When I got back to the office I went in and explained the whole thing
-to Spardleton. He heard me all the way through without an interruption.
-When I had exhausted my vocabulary of superlatives he sat quietly for a
-moment thinking. Then he said, “Yes, it seems straightforward enough.
-I’ll tell you what. Make a search and pull a couple of patents that
-describe the usual diving suits. You will be able to use large portions
-of the specifications.”
-
-“How can I?” I asked. “Those patents will only describe diving suits
-that go underwater. They won’t--”
-
-He cut me off with an airy wave of his hand. “Whenever you hit the word
-‘underwater,’ change it to ‘underground.’ When you hit the word ‘sea,’
-change it to ‘ground’ or ‘earth.’ You’ll save a lot of time that way.
-Okay, you’re on your own. But let me see the spec before you file it.”
-
-I left and went over to the Patent Office to make the search. I flipped
-through the patents in Class 2, Subclass 2.1, and selected two patents
-to serve as models. I realized almost immediately that I’d be able to
-use large portions of them. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
-
-During the next ten days I wrote and re-wrote. I consulted with
-Marchare on several occasions, and I worked closely with Eskew to make
-sure that his drawings would be comprehensible to a man from Mars--or
-a patent examiner. Even at lunch Susan, our secretary, and I talked
-about the diving suit and hardly anything else. I ate, slept, and
-breathed the suit. I became convinced that it was going to be a perfect
-application. The Patent Office wouldn’t get to first base with its
-exotic logic this time.
-
-Susan was a gem. She never even frowned when I changed my mind several
-times about how best to drive home a telling point. She just tore up
-the old copy and made a new one from my dictation. Sometimes, though,
-she had a funny little half-smile on her face as though she knew
-something which I didn’t. I asked her about it once. She didn’t say a
-word, just reached over and patted me on top of the head. Somehow it
-made me feel like a Pekinese. But I refused to let it worry me. I was
-too busy creating a perfect patent specification.
-
-The opening paragraph in my specification read:
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-_This invention relates to a suit of apparel, particularly designed for
-the protection of a diver, and has for its object to provide a diving
-suit of novel construction that may be comfortably worn by a person,
-be capable of yielding at all the joints of the wearer’s body, be
-earthproof and airtight, be self-contained as to air supply, be light,
-strong, and durable, afford means for the descent of a diver in various
-depths of dirt, and enable the deepground diver to move around freely
-through rock, stone, and earth of varying composition._
-
-The final draft consisted of seven pages of drawings, ten pages of
-spec, and twenty-eight claims. I sat at my desk for a good thirty
-minutes pridefully staring at the lovely stack of papers. I read over
-some of the more brilliant passages, rolling the words on my tongue,
-amazed at what a clear picture they painted. Convinced that it was
-now a masterpiece of logic and persuasiveness, I took it in for
-Spardleton’s approval.
-
-He picked it up and began to read. I waited confidently, convinced that
-he could hardly fail to see in it the sure hand of genius. He finished
-it far more rapidly than I would have thought possible. “_Um_,” he
-said, tossing it back to me, “It’ll do. File it.”
-
-Susan made out a check for thirty-eight dollars and I mailed the whole
-mess to the Patent Office.
-
-The next couple of months passed swiftly. Under Spardleton’s expert
-tutelage my working fund of patent knowledge blossomed and grew. I
-learned how to write page after page of patent specification without
-actually saying anything. I achieved an amazing degree of tonal control
-over my voice. By simply saying to an Examiner, “I don’t quite agree
-with you there,” I was able to suggest by the tone of my voice alone
-that I knew he had received his scientific education by the rudimentary
-osmotic process of sitting on his text books. Sometimes it worked.
-
-Then one day Spardleton sent for me.
-
-He was evidently busy trying to decipher an Office Action when I
-entered. Webster’s Unabridged stood open on its stand beside his desk
-and at least six volumes of the Britannica were scattered about on the
-floor. The desk itself was littered with thesauruses and handbooks
-and I noticed particularly Partridge’s _Dictionary of Slang and
-Unconventional English_.
-
-As soon as I walked in he asked, “Did you ever hear of the word
-‘sludutiferous?’”
-
-“I’m afraid not,” I said.
-
-“Well, there is such a word. I found it here.” He waved vaguely at the
-forest of books on his desk. “And I must say I’m a little disappointed
-in the Examiner. I don’t know what the Patent Office is coming to when
-they begin using words that are actually in existence.” He looked
-at the initials in the upper left-hand corner of the Office Action.
-“Oh,” he said, brightening considerably. “Maybe that explains it. Old
-Nailgood. He’s just allowed several claims in Marchare’s cabbagite
-deodorizer case. He must be slipping fast.”
-
-His smile vanished and his brows drew together. “Still, there’s
-something phony here. Cabbagite is a real invention. It’s a money maker
-for Marchare, and a boon to the housewife. There’s something remotely
-similar in the prior art. It’s very odd, therefore, that the office is
-willing to give us a patent on it. Unless--”
-
-“Unless what?”
-
-“Unless they want to allow it, in order to use the allowed claims to
-reject Marchare on some other application of even greater importance.
-Does he have any co-pending applications relating to cabbagite?”
-
-“None that I know of,” I said.
-
-“How about that diving suit?” I stared at him, startled, “Surely you
-don’t mean they’d reject a diving suit on a deodorizer? What kind of
-sanity is that?”
-
-He gave me a puzzled look. “Sanity? What’s sanity got to do with it?”
-
-I hadn’t got around to answering him when Susan walked in and handed
-Spardleton a letter--clearly a communication from an Examiner. He tore
-it open and scanned it quickly.
-
-“Ah, hah,” he said. “Look here. This explains everything.”
-
-I circled around behind him. It was an Office Action, all right. And it
-was in reference to the diving suit application.
-
-The first thing I noticed were the initials in the upper left-hand
-corner: H. K. _Herbert Krome_! Mister Patent Office himself--the evil
-genius who handled patent lawyers the way an animal trainer handles big
-cats. A single glance showed me how serious--and nasty--it was.
-
-“This application has been examined
-
-Art cited:
-
-Anderson et al--
-
-1,022,997 April 9, 1912 2/2.1
-
-Browne--
-
-2,388,674 Nov. 13, 1945 2/2.1
-
-Claims 1-28 are rejected as based on inoperable structure in the
-absence of a demonstration.
-
-Claims 1-28 are further rejected on the allowed claims in applicant’s
-co-pending S.N. 162,465, directed to the cabbagite crystal. Since it
-is known that cabbagite rearranges matter (30₂→20₃) it
-would be obvious to attach it to the well-known diving suit of Browne
-to obtain applicant’s result.
-
-No claim is allowed.
-
-                                                               Examiner.
-
-“See?” said Spardleton, his features dark, “Just as I thought. _He’s
-using our own application against us._”
-
-We were quiet for a moment.
-
-“There’s another matter,” said Spardleton. “Marchare says the
-Department of Defense has been dickering with him for rights under
-his diving suit application. I told him to stall them until he gets
-an allowance. If he can’t get a patent, the government can award
-manufacturing rights to anyone and not have to pay Marchare a nickel.
-
-“Actually, they prefer a license under a patent: It avoids any chance
-of suits in the U. S. Court of Claims by twenty or more halfbaked
-inventors who think Defense stole the idea from them. So time is of the
-essence.”
-
-I said, “If I could demonstrate a suit to Krome, I’m sure he’d allow
-the case immediately. But I don’t think the suit has been completed
-yet. Have you heard from Marchare?”
-
-“I phoned him about it a couple of weeks ago,” said Spardleton. “He
-told me it wasn’t _quite_ ready. When I asked him to be specific he
-mumbled something about bugs in the control system.” Spardleton studied
-me thoughtfully.
-
-“I can at least _show_ the suit to Krome,” I said uneasily.
-
-“I think it’ll take more than that,” Spardleton said.
-
-“Maybe I could fill it with rocks and let it down into the ground on a
-rope,” I suggested brightly.
-
-“Krome won’t buy that.” Spardleton frowned and seemed lost in thought
-for a moment. “Still, if I know Krome as well as I think I do it
-may work out all right. You’d better arrange for an interview this
-afternoon, and then run out and get the suit--_as is_. Marchare said
-you could have it anytime.”
-
-As I left to take care of things, a slow introspective smile was
-spreading over Spardleton’s face.
-
-Each patent lawyer must develop his own technique for interviewing
-Examiners. Some shout and rave and rant. But that is foolhardy. One
-slip, and the show is over. Others play dumb and act as if they haven’t
-the slightest idea what the score is. That encourages the Examiner to
-talk himself out on a limb. Still others employ the yakety-yak system
-wherein they never give the Examiner a chance to open his mouth.
-It is a subterfuge which is only used by those who don’t dare meet
-the Examiner in fair and open combat. Others use the buddy-to-buddy
-approach in which the attorney manages to convince the Examiner that he
-and the Examiner--and especially the Examiner--are the only two people
-in the whole world who really understand patents.
-
-After due consideration I had decided to use an absolutely unique
-approach, one never thought of before.
-
-I was going to be myself.
-
-I had a good invention, the application was well-written and everything
-was just as it should be. I had no need to resort to deception, or
-evasion. Besides, I had seen what Krome could do to attorneys with a
-system. He took the system, rolled it up in a compact ball, and fanned
-them out with it, scoring his three strikes without once unbending.
-
-At two o’clock sharp, with the diving suit under my arm, I stepped up
-to Mr. Krome’s desk.
-
-“Mr. Krome?” I inquired, with just the proper amount of rhetorical
-deference.
-
-“Yes, yes. What is it?” he said without even looking up.
-
-“I’d like to talk to you, sir, if I may. It’s about the Marchare case,
-the diving suit--”
-
-I knew Krome quite well, but still he asked me coldly, “Are you the
-attorney of record?”
-
-“Yes, sir,” was my instant reply. He knew I was--and he knew I knew
-that he knew. But it was part of his routine, and I didn’t want to
-irritate him by abbreviating the amenities.
-
-“I can spare you ten minutes,” he grumbled. “I have an important
-appointment with the Commissioner at two-thirty.”
-
-I said, “Ten minutes will be quite sufficient.”
-
-“Just a second while I get the case,” he said. He got up and
-disappeared into the Clerk’s room.
-
-Five minutes later he returned, and steamed back to his desk, my
-application clutched tightly in his hand.
-
-“Yes,” he said, without even looking at it, “part of my rejection was
-on probable inoperability. Have you got a working model there?”
-
-“I certainly have,” I replied. “Though you might not believe it even
-when you see it. This is absolutely the most--”
-
-“Why won’t I believe it when I see it?” he demanded.
-
-“Well, I just meant--”
-
-“Is this a trick of some kind?” he bridled.
-
-“No. Oh, no. I just--”
-
-“Well, why won’t I believe it when I see it?”
-
-“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said quickly. “I meant--”
-
-“I heard what you said. Let me remind you of Rule Three. Interviews
-with Examiners must be conducted with decorum. No frivolity,
-understand?”
-
-“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’ll believe it. Honest you will.”
-
-He stared at me suspiciously. “We’ll see. Bring it into the next room.”
-He stalked off. I picked up the box, and staggered after him into the
-conference room.
-
-“Open it up,” he commanded.
-
-I dumped the suit on the table.
-
-He felt the texture of the cloth. “It doesn’t look like much,” he said.
-“And look here.” Very deliberately he stretched the diving suit out
-full length. “Doesn’t that look just like an ordinary diving suit?” he
-asked.
-
-“Yes, but--”
-
-“Isn’t its design similar to that of any diving suit?”
-
-“Yes, but--”
-
-“And a diver underground acts the same as a diver underwater.”
-
-“Well, sure. But--”
-
-“And, as a matter of fact, listen to this.” Krome picked up the
-application and read a few paragraphs to me. “Now,” he said, “all I
-have to do is change the word ‘underground’ to ‘underwater,’ change the
-word ‘ground’ or ‘earth’ to ‘sea,’ and I have a perfect description of
-a deepsea diving suit. Am I right?”
-
-“I know all that,” I said. “But--”
-
-“Well, then--there is no invention here. Once the cabbagite crystal is
-known it becomes so obvious that any routineer could use it in a diving
-suit. A new use of an old thing or an old process cannot be patented.
-Regar & Sons, Incorporated versus Scott and Williams, Incorporated.”
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-I protested, “But wait a minute. Wait until I demonstrate it for you.
-I’ll tie this rope on and then--”
-
-“No you don’t,” he said. “You don’t pull any rope tricks on me. I’ve
-read the spec. I know how it’s _supposed_ to work. _I’ll_ put it on.”
-And he began to climb into it.
-
-“Kindly stop opening and closing your mouth,” he said, “and help me
-with the helmet.”
-
-“Please,” I gasped. “The controls aren’t--”
-
-“Put the helmet on,” he said.
-
-“But the controls aren’t--”
-
-“Put the helmet on,” he insisted.
-
-With nerveless fingers I obeyed. I can remember wondering whether there
-was anything in his life insurance policy that would have covered
-a possibly fatal outcome. I hoped they wouldn’t make his widow and
-children wait seven years.
-
-I turned to glance at the door to see if there were any witnesses. No
-one was watching. I turned back to Krome and noticed with alarm that he
-appeared to have grown shorter. For a moment I thought he had fallen to
-his knees. But then I saw that he was slowly sinking through the floor.
-
-I made gestures with my hands in front of his face plate in a frantic
-attempt to show him how to operate the controls. Lower and lower he
-sank. I followed him right down to the floor until he disappeared
-through it, leaving me on my hands and knees staring at the blank and
-dusty tiles.
-
-Then I realized with horror that we were on the seventh floor.
-
-I turned and rushed out of the room and down the hall to the stairway.
-I tore down the stairs, and out into the hall below. I ran for the room
-directly underneath the one where Krome had been. Before I could reach
-it several sickeningly-curdled screams resounded through the corridor,
-and I heard the muffled bangs of things crashing to the floor. A few
-loose papers floated out through the open door.
-
-I pulled up in the doorway, and looked in.
-
-There were five patent attorneys in the room, waiting their turn to be
-heard by the Board of Appeals. Krome was in the middle of the room up
-to his waist in the floor. His arms flailed wildly as he tried to keep
-his balance.
-
-The panic-stricken attorneys stood on tables and chairs hurling
-whatever they could lay their hands on at the monster that confronted
-them. Books, inkwells, and brief cases rained around Krome’s helmeted
-figure. Finally one of the attorneys reached down and hoisted a chair
-high over his head.
-
-Krome saw it and raised an arm in terrified protest. For the first time
-his voice came out through the speaker attached to the diving suit.
-“No! No!” he screamed. But it did no good. With fear-driven muscles the
-attorney launched the chair at Krome. It struck him sharply across the
-chest.
-
-The two shattered ends of the chair hurtled past him, and crashed
-against the opposite wall. The middle portion that had hit his body
-flattened out like water against the suit. Part of it flowed down, and
-formed wooden puddles on the floor. Other parts splashed out sideways
-in little streamlets that solidified into splinters and sprinkled all
-over the floor.
-
-The attorneys stared bug-eyed at what had happened to the chair. For a
-brief instant they were paralyzed. Then, moving as a single man, all
-five of them made a dive for the doorway. I was directly in their path,
-and I never had a chance.
-
-I was a wreck when the stampede had passed over me. My nose was
-bleeding profusely, my left trouser-leg was ripped off at the knee, and
-my right sleeve was gone. There were even footprints on my naked chest.
-
-I crawled back to the door and looked in. Krome was gone. I got to my
-feet and slowly started to walk toward the stairs. I tried in vain to
-stem the flow of blood with my shirttail. One eye was swelling fast,
-and a front tooth had worked loose.
-
-I wandered out into the next lower corridor in search of Krome. I
-looked in at the doorway of what seemed to be the proper room. It was.
-The Primary Examiner was sitting at his desk talking to an ashen-faced
-young fellow. Neither of them was saying anything. Their eyes were
-fixed on a stationary point at one corner of the Primary’s desk. At
-first I couldn’t tell what it was. Then I caught a movement, and my
-heart sank.
-
-Krome had descended on the Primary’s desk. Apparently he had thrashed
-around while trying to get his balance, and now he was half-stuck in
-the desk. I got there just in time to see the helmet, right side up at
-last, take up a fixed position at one end of a shelf of books.
-
-“Oh,” said the Primary peering in through the faceplate. “I’m glad
-you dropped in, Krome. I’d like you to meet Jones, our newest junior
-Examiner. He just joined us today. Mr. Jones, Mr. Krome.” There was a
-bitter, almost savage irony in his voice.
-
-Krome nodded curtly, only his head visible above the desk top. His
-arm came out of the desk as he started to shake hands. But he thought
-better of it and his arm dropped out of sight again. Jones just sat
-there, white, tense.
-
-The Primary nodded. “Some misguided applicant has just cut his own
-throat by persuading Mr. Krome to try out his invention.” He turned to
-Jones. “There’s a good lesson here. The inventor has merely substituted
-stone for water. In processes it’s a common expedient to substitute
-one ordinary medium for another. Diving suits are no exception. Mere
-gadgeteering.”
-
-Jones just sat there staring at Krome’s head. I don’t think he heard
-anything the Primary said. I could see that if anybody was going to
-defend my application, I’d have to do it myself. I walked into the room
-and took up the battle.
-
-“But how,” I demanded, “can you reject an inventor on his own
-co-pending application-one that hasn’t even been issued as a patent?”
-
-Krome gave me a pained look through the quartz porthole. “Section one
-hundred and two, A, says the invention must not have been known before
-the invention by the applicant. There’s no inventive advance in the
-diving suit over Marchare’s prior cabbagite application. Hence, in
-effect, the diving suit invention was known when Marchare invented
-cabbagite.”
-
-I blinked at his steady black eyes. “You mean,” I said, “like jet
-planes were known when the Chinese invented the sky rocket?”
-
-“Precisely. This concept of patent law is so sound, so logical, that
-I can’t understand why the Supreme Court took nearly a hundred and
-fifty years to swing around to it. And, of course, when it’s the
-inventor’s own prior work that’s used to reject a current application,
-the situation is a double strike against him.” He leered at me
-triumphantly. “How can a man be smarter than himself?”
-
-“But even the Supreme Court says you can’t reject an application on
-a combination merely because you can find all its elements in the
-prior art,” I protested. “There can still be a patentable invention
-in combining those elements. Here the invention consists of combining
-cabbagite _and_ a diving suit. Nobody ever thought of that before.”
-
-“Of course they never thought of it before,” he explained patiently.
-“They couldn’t, because they never heard of cabbagite before.”
-
-“Then nobody but Marchare could invent the diving suit.”
-
-“Quite true. But the minute he invented it, it became non-invention,
-because, since it was _he_ who invented it, it didn’t require
-invention.”
-
-The new Examiner finally recovered his faculties, He slapped both hands
-on his knees, got up, and said, “Well, so long, sir. By resigning right
-now I may have a fighting chance of retaining my sanity.” And he walked
-out the side door shaking his head.
-
-“What’s the matter with him?” asked the Primary in a puzzled voice.
-
-Krome said, “I don’t know. Perhaps he--” He stopped. The helmet had
-suddenly dropped a couple of inches further into the desk. It hung
-there a split second, then dropped a few inches more. Step by step he
-was slipping down. We heard his muffled voice coming out of the desk
-through the cracks around the drawers, but we couldn’t understand what
-he said. The Primary and I leaned over to look under the desk. We
-watched the floor close over the helmet.
-
-The Primary straightened up, and glared at me. “Well,” he said. “If
-you’ll excuse me, I have lots of work to do.”
-
-“Oh, sure,” I said. “I have to go find Mr. Krome anyway. Goodbye, and
-thanks for your trouble.”
-
-“No trouble, no trouble,” he retorted with a venomous inflection,
-picking up a document from his desk top and beginning to read it.
-
-I trotted on down to the room underneath.
-
-The door was closed, and on it in big letters were the words NARCOTICS
-BUREAU. I carefully opened the door and looked inside.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was a small room, and there were only four men in it. Three of
-them were bent intently over their desks. But the fourth man had
-tilted back in his chair for a moment’s reflection and contemplation.
-His hands were clasped behind his head, and everything about him was
-normal--except his eyes. No human eyes should ever protrude the way his
-did.
-
-Krome hung suspended from the ceiling. Everything below his collar bone
-was in plain sight, and most of it was thrashing around noiselessly.
-For about ten seconds it continued thus--the immobile narcotics expert,
-the quivering Krome. Then Krome managed to turn on the energy field
-in the upper part of the suit. Without a sound he slipped out of the
-ceiling, fell through the floor, and disappeared.
-
-Nobody saw him go except me and the thinker. That amazing gentleman
-swallowed hard and sat upright. A quick glance convinced him that none
-of the others had noticed anything wrong. He swallowed again, sighed
-heavily, and then methodically began to clean out his desk.
-
-As I was sadly closing the door, I realized with sudden consternation
-that Krome was dropping toward the Search Room on the ground floor. And
-the ceiling there was over twenty feet high. I began to run again.
-
-The Search Room was quiet when I burst into it, holding my tattered and
-blood-caked clothing tightly around me. The occupants of the room gave
-me strange looks, but they were so used to having screwballs around
-that nobody said anything. I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
-
-For a moment there was no sign of Krome. Then off to one side, over
-near the entrance where the patent bundles were kept, a foot appeared
-from the ceiling. It moved around as if seeking a firm place to
-stand, and then quickly withdrew back into the ceiling. It cautiously
-reappeared a moment later, closer to the huge pillars that stretched
-down to the floor. Again it sought a footing.
-
-I heaved a sigh of relief. Krome evidently knew where he was, and was
-taking no chances. As I stared the foot vanished for the second time.
-
-It came into view again an instant later, this time about eighteen
-inches from the arch at the summit of the pillars. It flitted around
-and found the pillar. Hands flashed through the ceiling as Krome
-paddled himself over, and then carefully lowered himself out of the
-ceiling and into the arch at the top. Large portions of him were now in
-plain view.
-
-The uproar from the floors above had been steadily increasing in
-volume. The people in the Search Room were glancing questioningly at
-one another. And just as Krome was about to complete his transfer to
-the pillar one of the patent stenographers saw him.
-
-Her screams all but shattered every window in the block-long room.
-Everybody froze. All eyes followed the stenographer’s hand that was
-pointing to where Krome was just beginning to descend, half in and
-half out of the pillar. A long moment of stark silence gave a kind of
-funeral dirge significance to what followed.
-
-There were only two exits. I was smart this time. I stood off to one
-side as the terrified occupants of the room leaped over the search
-tables like gazelles fleeing from a lion. Chairs were crushed to
-pulpwood. Many people had been back in the stacks when the commotion
-started, and were now emerging with their arms loaded with bundles of
-patents. Instantly the air was thick with flying documents.
-
-I couldn’t help but admire the consummate skill with which Krome
-descended the column. His rear end protruded as he stepped slowly down.
-Every four or five feet, he’d stop, turn around, and thrust his head
-out to make sure where he was. Then he’d disappear for a moment, out
-would come his backside again, and the slow descent would resume.
-
-There was a revolving fan fastened to the pillar about seven feet above
-the floor. I watched, fascinated, as Krome got closer and closer to
-it. Finally fan and fanny met. The blades flowed into long slivers of
-metal that shot across the room and _spanged_ off the walls. The motor,
-relieved of its load, began to race faster and faster.
-
-Krome must have felt the gentle blows of the blades because his hand
-reached out of the pillar and brushed at them as though he were shooing
-a fly. His hand passed through the fan support. There was a shower of
-sparks and a little smoke curled up. The fan sagged forward on its
-support and then solidified as Krome’s hand moved on through. I never
-saw a sorrier looking device than that fan once Krome got through with
-it. The electricians would be in for a bad few hours trying to figure
-out what had happened to it.
-
-Krome finally reached the floor, stepped out of the pillar, turned
-off the suit, and heaved a big sigh. He turned around and for the
-first time got a good look at the Search Room. Most of the chairs were
-reduced to rubble. Many of the large search tables were overturned and
-broken and Krome himself stood knee-deep in patents.
-
-Krome gave one puzzled and uncomprehending glance at all this. Then
-he looked at the clock over the door. “Good grief!” he groaned. “Two
-thirty-five! The Commissioner!” He turned and ran through one of the
-archways that opened into the stacks. I lit out after him.
-
-He had turned the suit on again, except for the soles of the feet. This
-gave him a decided advantage over me. He could take short cuts through
-solid walls. He went through the back wall of the stacks without even
-slowing down.
-
-I cut off to one side through the door that led into the foreign art. I
-stopped and listened. From the other end of the long law room I heard a
-sudden splintering crash. I raced on in trepidation. A man was standing
-near the Swedish art. A broken pint bottle lay at his feet and whiskey
-was lapping at the soles of his shoes. His forefinger was half-crooked
-in front of his face. But it was his bulging eyes, aimed at a section
-of the wall, which pointed out the direction Krome had taken. As I
-turned from him he collapsed, head in hands, and began to sob quietly.
-
-I quickly found my way to the back corridor. As I proceeded down it,
-the now-familiar ruckus started up in the Mail Room. Women screamed,
-men shouted, and heavy objects thumped on the floor. Krome had used
-very poor judgment in cutting through the Mail Room. But how was he to
-know that the people in it were not scientifically-minded?
-
-I waited until one of the doors stopped spewing people, and then leaped
-resolutely inside. One glance convinced me that the Patent Office would
-not be running smoothly for a considerable period to come. Several of
-the clerks had dropped to their knees and were praying, some quietly,
-some loudly.
-
-There were papers everywhere. And an empty mailbag dangled limply
-from an overhead light, looking startlingly like the victim of an
-over-wrought hangman. One man sat on the floor in front of a pile of
-thousands of newly-arrived applications. He was laughing insanely and
-tossing repeated handfuls of applications high overhead. Petitions,
-checks, notarized oaths, drawings, and fragments of applications
-slithered through the air like snowflakes in a blizzard. Krome had
-passed through, all right.
-
-I walked amidst the bedlam unnoticed seeking some sign of Krome. I
-couldn’t figure out where he had gone. Then suddenly I had it--his
-two-thirty appointment with the Commissioner.
-
-I jumped to a window and looked out. My heart almost stopped beating at
-what I saw.
-
-A girl was walking away from me along the sidewalk, her hips swinging
-up and down like the ends of a seesaw. Krome was plowing along right
-behind her, completely out of control, getting closer all the time. He
-was tilted forward pawing at the ground with his hands, now submerged
-to his neck, now above ground to his ankles. The girl had ignored his
-first frantic warnings, so Krome shouted again. She threw an annoyed
-glance back over one shoulder and--the seesaw froze.
-
-Krome churned closer and closer. My heart was in my mouth. I had no
-idea what would happen when the diving suit bumped into a live human
-being. I stopped breathing.
-
-Closer and closer! Then just as a collision seemed inevitable Krome
-executed a rather neat surface dive into the pavement which carried
-him safely and spectacularly underneath her feet. Almost instantly
-he reappeared on the other side doing a strong overhand stroke which
-quickly put a safe distance between himself and the grievously
-threatened young lady. She toppled over in a dead faint.
-
-I dashed into the next building, into an office where a short, heavyset
-man stood bending over a huge desk. I recognized him in a flash. The
-Commissioner of Patents!
-
-At the Commissioner’s desk side sat a man in uniform--a two-star
-general.
-
-It added up. I thought fast. Krome--the Commissioner--the general.
-
-I cleared my throat as they looked up blankly. “I beg your pardon,” I
-said politely. “I’m Mr. Saddle, Dr. Marchare’s attorney in the diving
-suit case. Mr. Krome suggested I be here during his appointment on this
-matter.”
-
-“Really?” grunted the Commissioner. “And where is Mr. Krome?”
-
-“He said he’d be passing through any moment now,” I said hurriedly.
-Just then Krome walked in through the north wall. Fortunately neither
-the general nor the Commissioner saw him until he stepped out from the
-wall.
-
-The Commissioner glared at Krome, then at his desk clock. “You’re
-late,” he chided. “However, since you brought the suit, that’ll
-save time. Gentlemen, this is General Bond, Secret Weapons Bureau,
-Department of Defense.”
-
-Krome got it immediately too. But, like other people who live by their
-wits, my reflexes were faster. I said smoothly, “Mr. Krome and I have
-just been giving the suit a tryout, and he invited me along to the
-conference.” I beamed sideways at Krome. “He finds all the claims
-allowable, and my client stands prepared to license the Secretary of
-Defense to manufacture, at a very reasonable royalty, any and all--”
-
-“But--” sputtered Krome.
-
-“Mr. Krome has applied to most stringent tests.” I continued hurriedly
-as I sidled over toward the encased, protesting figure. And in patting
-him jovially on the back, I somehow brushed against the mike button,
-chopping off the torrent in mid-cascade. “Oops, how careless of me! Oh,
-well, Mr. Krome will tell you himself, as soon as I get the helmet off.”
-
-“How long will that take?” demanded General Bond.
-
-“Not more than three or four hours,” I said. “If it doesn’t jam.”
-
-“Can’t wait.” He turned curtly to the Commissioner. “Phone me the
-patent number as soon as the application is passed to issue.”
-
-“Yes, sir,” the Commissioner replied.
-
-“And you, Mr. Saddle,” said the general sternly, “had better inform Dr.
-Marchare about the penalties of profiteering against his government.
-We’ll give him a trial order for ten thousand suits, but if he holds
-out for more than five thousand dollars per suit, we’ll seize the
-patent by Eminent Domain.”
-
-“I suppose the good doctor won’t mind taking a loss on a small trial
-order,” I said reluctantly, “But, of course, on a mass scale, my client
-would at least have to make expenses, particularly if he adds certain
-improved features.”
-
-“Hey, wait a minute,” declared the Commissioner. “There’s something
-funny about this. Look at Krome. Tears are pouring down his cheeks!”
-
-“I’m sure that’s sweat.” I mopped my face hurriedly. “It’s warm in here
-too, isn’t it? Dr. Marchare intends to air-condition the suit. That’ll
-bring it up to an even six thousand.”
-
-“Five thousand five hundred,” clipped the general.
-
-I hesitated a moment. “You’re a hard man, general,” I sighed. “But--all
-right, five thousand five hundred it is.”
-
-And I led Krome out of the room.
-
-
-
-
-Transcriber’s note:
-
-
-This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, November 1955 (Vol. 4,
-No. 4.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
-copyright on this publication was renewed.
-
-Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor
-inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77756 ***