"Two and one-half billion operations is a lot of operations. Because
they breed continuously, the job would never be done."
"I see. Like the marching Chinese!"
"Who the devil are they?"
"It was a--uh--paradox of my time. Somebody figured out that if all
the Chinese in the world were to line up four abreast, I think it was,
and start marching past a given point, they'd never stop because of the
babies that would be born and grow up before they passed the point."
"That's right. Only instead of 'a given point,' make it 'the largest
conceivable number of operating rooms that we could build and staff.'
There could never be enough."
"Say!" said Barlow. "Those movies about babies--was that your
propaganda?"
"It was. It doesn't seem to mean a thing to them. We have abandoned the
idea of attempting propaganda contrary to a biological drive."
"So if you work _with_ a biological drive--?"
"I know of none which is consistent with inhibition of fertility."
* * * * *
Barlow's face went poker-blank, the result of years of careful
discipline. "You don't, huh? You're the great brains and you can't
think of any?"
"Why, no," said the psychist innocently. "Can you?"
"That depends. I sold ten thousand acres of Siberian tundra--through
a dummy firm, of course--after the partition of Russia. The buyers
thought they were getting improved building lots on the outskirts of
Kiev. I'd say that was a lot tougher than this job."
"How so?" asked the hawk-faced man.
"Those were normal, suspicious customers and these are morons, born
suckers. You just figure out a con they'll fall for; they won't know
enough to do any smart checking."
The psychist and the hawk-faced man had also had training; they kept
themselves from looking with sudden hope at each other.
"You seem to have something in mind," said the psychist.
Barlow's poker face went blanker still. "Maybe I have. I haven't heard
any offer yet."
"There's the satisfaction of knowing that you've prevented Earth's
resources from being so plundered," the hawk-faced man pointed out,
"that the race will soon become extinct."
"I don't know that," Barlow said bluntly. "All I have is your word."
"If you really have a method, I don't think any price would be too
great," the psychist offered.
"Money," said Barlow.
"All you want."
"More than you want," the hawk-faced man corrected.
"Prestige," added Barlow. "Plenty of publicity. My picture and my name
in the papers and over TV every day, statues to me, parks and cities
and streets and other things named after me. A whole chapter in the
history books."
The psychist made a facial sign to the hawk-faced man that meant, "Oh,
brother!"