"I don't mean that kind of secrecy. These men were plainly outside the
law, carrying on an illicit experiment. We must find out why energy
experiments or atomic experiments were illegal. That will carry us back
quite a few decades toward the present."
"But how?"
"Why, we trace the auxiliary cruiser, of course. If we can pick them
up when they're purchasing supplies, we'll narrow our backward search
considerably. Can you do it, Dr. Yarr?"
"It'll take time."
"Go ahead--we've got a thousand years."
It took exactly two days. In that time I learned a lot about the
Prognosticator. They had it worked out beautifully. Seems the future
is made up solely of probabilities. The Integrator could push down
any one of these possible avenues, but with a wonderful check. The
less probable the avenue of future was, the more off-focus it was.
If a future event was only remotely possible, it was pictured as a
blurred series of actions. On the other hand, the future that was
almost-positive in the light of present data, was sharply in focus.
When we went back to the Prog Building two days later, Yarr was almost
alive in his excitement. He said: "I really think I've got just the
thing you're looking for."
"What's that?"
"I've picked up an actual moment of bribery. It has additional data
that should put us directly on the track."
We sat down behind the desk with Yarr at the controls. He had a slip of
paper in his hand which he consulted with much muttering as he adjusted
co-ordinates. Once more we saw the preliminary off-focus shadows, then
the sound blooped on like a hundred Stereo records playing at once. The
crystal sharpened abruptly into focus.
The scream and roar of a gigantic foundry blasted our ears. On both
sides of the scene towered the steel girder columns of the foundry
walls, stretching deep into the background like the grim pillars of a
satanic cathedral. Overhead cranes carried enormous blocks of metal
with a ponderous gait. Smoke--black, white and fitfully flared with
crimson from the furnaces, whirled around the tiny figures.
Two men stood before a gigantic casting. One, a foundryman in soiled
overalls, made quick measurements which he called off to the other
carefully checking a blueprint. Over the roar of the foundry the
dialogue was curt and sharp:
"One hundred three point seven."
"Check."
"Short axis. Fifty-two point five."
"Check."
"Tangent on ovate diameter. Three degrees point oh five two."
"Check."
"What specifications for outer convolutions?"
"Y equals cosine X."
"Then that equation resolves to X equals minus one half Pi."
"Check."
The foundryman climbed down from the casting, folding his three-way
gauge. He mopped his face with a bit of waste and eyed the engineer
curiously as the latter carefully rolled up the blueprint and slid it
into a tube of other rolled sheets. The foundryman said: "I think we
did a nice job."
The engineer nodded.
"Only what in blazes do you want it for. Never saw a casting like that."
"I could explain, but you wouldn't understand. Too complicated."
The foundryman flushed. He said: "You theoretical guys are too damned
snotty. Just because I know how to drop-forge doesn't mean I can't
understand an equation."
"Mebbeso. Let it go at that. I'm ready to ship this casting out at
once."
As the engineer turned to leave, rapping the rolled blueprints
nervously against his calf, a great pig of iron that had been sailing
up from the background swung dangerously toward his head. The
foundryman cried out. He leaped forward, seized the engineer by the
shoulder and sent him tumbling to the concrete floor. The blueprints
went flying.
He pulled the engineer to his feet immediately and tried to straighten
the dazed man who could only stare at the tons of iron that sailed
serenely on. The foundryman picked up the scattered sheets and started
to sort them. Abruptly he stopped and examined one of the pages
closely. He began to look through the others, but before he could go
any further, the blueprints were snatched from his hands.