The art experts all stared at the speaker. "Then he _is_ the one?"
someone asked.
"Yes. And he is willing to see us tomorrow afternoon...."
* * * * *
The Wizard of Light occupied the four topmost floors of a mid-town
apartment building. Most of that space was used for his laboratories
(the city having granted him special permission), from which had issued
many important inventions, although none in the last few years.
Dr. Browl received his uneasy guests in a huge room whose far wall,
opposite the main entranceway, was composed entirely of glass. It was,
in fact, a gigantic window, which afforded a splendid view of the city.
The art dealers and exhibitors were hardly in a frame of mind to
appreciate the scene, however, as they filed into the room and at
their host's direction, seated themselves on chairs and sofas arranged
in rows off to one side.
"All here?" asked the Wizard, searching the apprehensive faces before
him with his uncertain old eyes. Someone muttered in the affirmative,
and the Wizard broke into a high-pitched cackling. It confirmed the
worst fears of his visitors. They were dealing with a demented genius
who would be beyond the persuasions of reason.
"Now I'll get out my little toy," the Wizard declared cheerfully. He
hobbled past them to one of the room's several doors, opened it, and
pulled forth his easel, which had been mounted on little tires so that
feeble as he was, he could maneuver it around quite easily.
"Looks like a fancy easel, doesn't it, eh?" he chortled, wheeling
it out in front of his audience. "Well, it _is_ an easel, but it's
more than just an easel! It's a camera, my friends. Not an ordinary
camera--oh, no! It's a three-dimensional molecular camera!" He laughed
so hard that he was forced to lean against his bulky creation for
support.
When he had recovered, he went on more calmly: "I won't confuse you
with the technical details, gentlemen. You would hardly understand
them anyway. Let me merely assure you that this camera contains a
high-speed electronic scanning device which accurately records in its
memory the precise structure of each molecule of matter within its
range." With this, the Wizard pressed a button and the front part of
the easel, which happened to be trained on the main entranceway, began
to purr.
"You recorded the paintings you were pretending to copy!" one of the
dealers blurted out.
"Precisely," rejoined the Wizard. "But of course that is just half the
story. To record is not to reproduce. Yet my invention is capable of
both tasks." He punched another button. The machine stopped purring,
and instead, its rear section began to vibrate. "Reproduction!" cried
the Wizard, excitedly. "The memorized particles now begin to be
duplicated by means of a cybernetic reactor, which with infinite speed
and skill, dips into a little reservoir of atomic raw materials, so to
speak, and fashions from them the requisite molecules! Thus I produce
not merely copies of your vaunted masterpieces, but the masterpieces
themselves--complete to the last fragment of aged wood frame and
cracked canvas!"
"Of course," he added more soberly, "there are a few problems still to
be solved. The reproduction is not instantaneous, but takes several
minutes to solidify. And then, too," he went on, as if musing to
himself, "there is the unfortunate circumstance that my pictures will
dissolve within a few months, reverting to their elemental state."
* * * * *
He perceived that his last remark had greatly heartened his listeners,
and snapped at them angrily:
"Don't get your hopes up, gentlemen! I shall perfect it, never fear!
And in the meantime, I can keep on producing!"