"The message will be in the hands of your representative Wilneda within
the hour."
The punched tape from Operator No. 7's machine slid along the line
until it entered a coupling machine.
The coupling machine worked furiously. It accepted the tapes from
seventy operators as fast as they could write them. It selected the
messages as they entered the machine, placing a mechanical preference
upon whichever message happened to be ahead of the others on the moving
tapes. The master tape moved continuously at eleven thousand words
per minute, taking teletype messages from everywhere in the Northern
Hemisphere of Venus to Terra and Mars. It was a busy machine; even at
eleven thousand words per minute it often got hours behind.
The synchronous-keyed signal from the coupling machine left the
operating room and went to the transmission room. It was amplified and
sent out of the city to a small, squat building at the outskirts of
Northern Landing.
It was hurled at the sky out of a reflector antenna by a thousand
kilowatt transmitter. The wave seared against the Venusian Heaviside
Layer. It fought and it struggled. And, as is the case with strife,
it lost heavily in the encounter. The beam was resisted fiercely.
Infiltrations of ionization tore at the radio beam, stripping and
trying to beat it down.
But man triumphed over nature. The megawatt of energy that came in
a tight beam from the building at Northern Landing emerged from
the Heaviside Layer as a weak, piffling signal. It wavered and it
crackled. It wanted desperately to lie down and sleep. Its directional
qualities were impaired, and it wabbled badly. It arrived at the relay
station tired and worn.
One million watts of ultra-high frequency energy at the start, it was
measurable in microvolts when it reached a space station, only five
hundred miles above the city of Northern Landing.
The signal, as weak and as wabbly as it was, was taken in by eager
receptors. It was amplified. It was dehashed, de-staticked and
deloused. And once again, one hundred decibels stronger and infinitely
cleaner, the signal was hurled out on a tight beam from a gigantic
parabolic reflector.
Across sixty-seven million miles of space went the signal. Across
the orbit of Venus it went in a vast chord. It arrived at the Venus
Equilateral Station with less trouble than the original transmission
through the Heaviside Layer. The signal was amplified and demodulated.
It went into a decoupler machine where the messages were sorted
mechanically and sent, each to the proper channel, into other coupler
machines. Beams from Venus Equilateral were directed at Mars and at
Terra.
The Terra beam ended at Luna. Here it again was placed in the
two-component beam and from Luna it punched down at Terra's Layer. It
emerged into the atmosphere of Terra, as weak and as tired as it had
been when it had come out of the Venusian Heaviside Layer. It entered a
station in the Bahamas, was stripped of the interference, and put upon
the land beams. It entered decoupling machines that sorted the messages
as to destination. These various beams spread out across the face of
Terra; the one carrying Korvus' message finally coming into a station
at Ten Mile Road and Woodward. From this station at the outskirts of
Detroit, it went upon land wires downtown to the International Hotel.
The teletype machine in the office of the hotel began to click rapidly.
The message to Wilneda was arriving.
And fifty-five minutes after the operator told Korvus that less than an
hour would ensue, Wilneda was saying, humorously, "So, Korvus was drunk
again last night--"
* * * * *
Completion of Korvus' message to Wilneda completes also one phase of
the tale at hand. It is not important. There were a hundred and fifty
other messages that might have been accompanied in the same manner,
each as interesting to the person who likes the explanation of the
interplanetary communication service. But this is not a technical
journal. A more complete explanation of the various phases that a
message goes through in leaving a city on Venus to go to Terra may be
found in the Communications Technical Review, Volume XXVII, number 8,
pages 411 to 716. Readers more interested in the technical aspects are
referred to the article.
But it so happens that Korvus' message was picked out of a hundred-odd
messages because of one thing only. At the time that Korvus' message
was in transit through the decoupler machines at The Venus Equilateral
Relay Station, something of a material nature was entering the air lock
of the station.
It was an unexpected visit.
Don Channing looked up at the indicator panel in his office and frowned
in puzzlement. He punched a buzzer and spoke into the communicator on
his desk.
"Find out who that is, will you, Arden?"
"He isn't expected," came back the voice of Arden Westland.
"I know that. But I've been expecting someone ever since John Peters
retired last week. You know why."
"You hope to get his job," said the girl in an amused voice. "I hope
you do. So that someone else will sit around all day trying to make
you retire so that he can have your job!"
"Now look, Arden, I've never tried to make Peters retire."
"No, but when the word came that he was thinking of it, you began to
think about taking over. Don't worry, I don't blame you." There was
quite a protracted silence, and then her voice returned, "The visitor
is a gentleman by the name of Francis Burbank. He came out in a flitter
with a chauffeur and all."
"Big shot, hey?"
"Take it easy. He's coming up the office now."
"I gather that he desires audience with me?" asked Don.
"I think that he's here to lay down the law! You'll have to get out of
Peters' office, if his appearance is any guide."
There was some more silence. The communicator was turned off at the
other end, which made Channing fume. He would have preferred to hear
the interchange of words between his secretary and the newcomer. Then,
instead of having the man announced, the door opened and the stranger
entered. He came to the point immediately.
"You're Don Channing? Acting Director of Venus Equilateral?"
"I am."
"Then I have some news for you, Dr. Channing. I have been appointed
Director by the Interplanetary Communications Commission. You are to
resume your position as Electronics Engineer."
"Oh?" said Channing. "I sort of believed that I would be offered that
position."
"There was a discussion of that procedure. However, the Commission
decided that a man of more commercial training would better fill the
position. The Communications Division has been operating at too small
a profit. They felt that a man of commercial experience could cut
expenses and so on to good effect. You understand their reasoning, of
course," said Burbank.
"Not exactly."
"Well, it is like this. They know that a scientist is not usually the
man to consider the cost of experimentation. They build thousand-ton
cyclotrons to convert a penny's worth of lead into one and one-tenth
cents' worth of lead and gold. And they use three hundred dollars'
worth of power and a million-dollar machine to do it with.
"They feel that a man with training like that will not know the real
meaning of the phrase, 'cutting expenses.' A new broom sweeps clean,
Dr. Channing. There must be many places where a man of commercial
experience can cut expenses. I, as Director, shall do so."
"I wish you luck," said Channing.
"Then there is no hard feeling?"
"I can't say that. It is probably not your fault. I cannot feel against
you, but I do feel sort of let down at the decision of the Commission.
I have had experience in this job."
"The Commission may appoint you to follow me. If your work shows a
grasp of commercial operations, I shall so recommend."
"Thanks," said Channing dryly. "May I buy you a drink?"
"I never drink. And I do not believe in it. If it were mine to say, I'd
prohibit liquor from the premises. Venus Equilateral would be better
off without it."
Don Channing snapped the communicator. "Miss Westland, will you come
in?"
She entered, puzzlement on her face.
"This is Mr. Burbank. His position places him in control of this
office. You will, in the future, report to him directly. The report
on the operations, engineering projects, and so on that I was to send
in to the Commission this morning will, therefore, be placed in Mr.
Burbank's hands as soon as possible."
"Yes, Dr. Channing." Her eyes held a twinkle, but there was concern and
sympathy in them, too. "Shall I get them immediately?"
"They are ready?"
"I was about to put them on the tape when you called."
"Then give them to Mr. Burbank." Channing turned to Burbank. "Miss
Westland will hand you the reports I mentioned. They are complete and
precise. A perusal of them will put you in grasp of the situation here
at Venus Equilateral better than will an all-afternoon conference. I'll
have Miss Westland haul my junk out of here. You may consider this as
your office, it having been used by Dr. Peters. And, in the meantime,
I've got to check up on some experiments on the ninth level." Channing
paused. "You'll excuse me?"
"Yes, if Miss Westland knows where to find you."
"She will. I'll inform her of my whereabouts."
"I may want to consult you after I read the reports."
"That will be all right. The autocall can find me anywhere on Venus
Equilateral, if I'm not at the place Miss Westland calls."
* * * * *
Don Channing stopped at Arden's desk. "I'm booted," he told her.
"Leaving Venus Equilateral?" she asked with concern.
"No, blond and beautiful, I'm just shunted back to my own office."
"Can't I go with you?" pleaded the girl.
"Nope. You are to stay here and be a nice, good-looking Mata Hari. This
bird seems to think that he can run Venus Equilateral like a bus or a
factory. I know the type, and the first thing he'll do is to run the
place into a snarl. Keep me informed of anything complicated, will you?"
"Sure. And where are you going now?"
"I'm going down and get Walt Franks. We're going to inspect the
transparency of a new type of glass."
"I didn't know that optical investigations come under your
jurisdiction."
"This investigation will consist of a visit to the ninth level."
"Can't you take me along?"
"Not today," he grinned. "Your new boss does not believe in the
evils of looking through the bottom of a glass. We must behave with
decor. We must forget fun. We are now operating under a man who will
commercialize electronics to a fine art."
"Don't get stewed. He may want to know where the electrons are kept."
"I'm not going to drink that much. Walt and I need a discussion," he
said. "And in the meantime, haul my spinach out of the office, will
you, and take it back to the electronics office? I'll be needing it
back there."
"O.K., Don," she said. "I'll see you later."
Channing left to go to the ninth level. He stopped long enough to
collect Walt Franks.
Over a tall glass of beer, Channing told Franks of Burbank's visit. And
why.
Only one thing stuck in Franks' mind. "Did you say that he might close
Joe's?" asked Franks.
"He said that if it were in his power to do so, he would."
"Heaven forbid. Where will we go to be alone?"
"Alone?" snorted Channing. The barroom was half filled with people,
being the only drinking establishment for sixty-odd million miles.
"Well, you know what I mean."
"I could smuggle in a few cases of beer," suggested Don.
"Couldn't we smuggle him out?"
"That would be desirable. But I think he is here to stay. Darn it
all, why do they have to appoint some confounded political pal to a
job like this? I'm telling you, Walt, he must weigh two hundred if he
weighs a pound. He holds his stomach on his lap when he sits down."
Walt looked up and down Channing's slender figure. "Well, he won't be
holding Westland on his lap if it is filled with stomach."
"I never hold Westland on my lap--"
"No?"
"--during working hours!" finished Channing. He grinned at Franks and
ordered another beer. "And how is the Office of Beam Control going to
make out under the new regime?"
"I'll answer that after I see how the new regime treats the Office of
Beam Control," answered Franks. "I doubt that he can do much to bugger
things up in my office. There aren't many cheaper ways to direct a
beam, you know."
"Yeah. You're safe."
"But what I can't understand is why they didn't continue you in that
job. You've been handling the business ever since last December when
Peters got sick. You've been doing all right."
"Doing all right just means that I've been carrying over Peters'
methods and ideas. What the Commission wants, apparently, is something
new. Ergo the new broom."
"Personally, I like that one about the old shoes being more
comfortable," said Franks. "If you say the right word, Don, I'll slip
him a dose of high voltage. That should fix him."
"I think that the better way would be to work for the bird. Then when
he goes, I'll have his recommendation."
"Phooey," snorted Franks, "They'll just appoint another political
pal. They've tried it before and they'll try it again. I wonder what
precinct he carries."
The telephone rang in the bar, and the bartender, after answering,
motioned to Walt Franks. "You're wanted in your office," said the
bartender. "And besides," he told Channing, "if I'm going to get lunch
for three thousand people, you'd better trot along, too. It's nearly
eleven o'clock, you know, and the first batch of two hundred will be
coming in."
Joe was quite inaccurate as to the figures. The complement of Venus
Equilateral was just shy of twenty-seven hundred. They worked in three
eight-hour shifts, about nine hundred to a shift. They had their
breakfast, lunch, and dinner hours staggered so that at no time was
there more than about two hundred people in the big lunchroom. The
bar, it may be mentioned, was in a smaller room at one end of the much
larger cafeteria.
The Venus Equilateral Relay Station was a modern miracle of engineering
if you liked to believe the books. Actually, Venus Equilateral was an
asteroid that had been shoved into its orbit about the Sun, forming a
practical demonstration of the equilateral triangle solution of the
Three Moving Bodies. It was a long cylinder, about three miles in
length by about a mile in diameter.
In 1946, the United States Army Signal Corps succeeded in sending
forth and receiving in return a radar signal from the moon. This was
an academic triumph; at that time such a feat had no practical value.
Its value came later when the skies were opened up for travel; when men
crossed the void of space to colonize the nearer planets Mars and Venus.
They found then that communication back and forth depended upon the
initial experiment in 1946.
But there were barriers, even in deep space. The penetration of the
Heaviside Layer was no great problem. That had been done. They found
that Sol, our sun, was often directly in the path of the communications
beam because the planets all make their way around Sol at different
rates of speed.
All too frequently Mars is on the opposite side of the sun from Terra,
or Sol might lie between Venus and Mars. Astronomically, this situation
where two planets lie on opposite sides of the sun is called Major
Opposition, which is an appropriate name even though those who named it
were not thinking in terms of communications.
To circumvent this natural barrier to communications, mankind made use
of one of the classic solutions of the problem of the Three Moving
Bodies, in which it is stated that three celestial objects at the
corners of an equilateral triangle will so remain, rotating about their
common center of gravity. The equilateral position between the sun and
any planet is called the "Trojan" position because it has been known
for some time that a group of asteroids precede and follow Jupiter
around in his orbit. The "Trojan" comes from the fact that these
asteroids bear the well known names of the heroes of the famous Trojan
War.
To communicate around the sun, then, it is only necessary to establish
a relay station in the Trojan position of the desired planet. This will
be either ahead or behind the planet in its orbit; and the planet, the
sun, and the station will form an equilateral triangle.
So was born the Venus Equilateral Relay Station.
There was little of the original asteroid. At the present time, the
original rock had been discarded to make room for the ever-growing
personnel and material that were needed to operate the relay station.
What had been an asteroid with machinery was now a huge pile of
machinery with people. The insides, formerly of spongy rock, were now
neatly cubed off into offices, rooms, hallways, and so on, divided
by sheets of steel. The outer surface, once rugged and forbidding,
was now all shiny steel. The small asteroid, a tiny thing, was gone,
the station having overflowed the asteroid soon after men found that
uninterrupted communication was possible between the worlds.
Now the man-made asteroid carried twenty-seven hundred people. There
were stores, offices, places of recreation, churches, marriages,
deaths, and everything but taxes. Judging by its population, it was a
small town.
Venus Equilateral rotated about its axis. On the inner surface of the
shell were the homes of the people--not cottages, but apartmental
cubicles, one, two, three, six rooms. Centrifugal force made a little
more than one Earth G of artificial gravity. Above this outer shell of
apartments, the offices began. Offices, recreation centers, and so on.
Up in the central portion where the gravity was nil or near-nil, the
automatic machinery was placed. The servo-gyroscopes and their beam
finders, the storerooms, the air plant, the hydroponic farms, and all
other things that needed little or no gravity for well-being.
This was the Venus Equilateral Relay Station, sixty degrees ahead of
the planet Venus, on Venus' orbit. Often closer to Terra than Venus,
the relay station offered a perfect place to relay messages through
whenever Mars or Terra were on the other side of the sun. It was seldom
idle, for it was seldom that Mars and Venus were in such a position
that direct communication between all the three planets was possible.
This was the center of Interplanetary Communications. This was the main
office. It was the heart of the Solar System's communication line, and
as such, it was well manned. Orders for everything emanated from Venus
Equilateral. It was a delicate proposition, Venus Equilateral was, and
hence the present-on-all-occasions official capacities and office staff.
This was the organization that Don Channing hoped to direct. A closed
corporation with one purpose in mind: Interplanetary Communication!
Channing wondered if the summons for Walt Franks was an official one.
Returning to the electronics office, Don punched the communicator and
asked: "Is Walt in there?"
Arden's voice came back: "No, but Burbank is in Franks' office. Wanna
listen?"
"Eavesdropper! Using the communicator?"
"Sure."
"Better shut it off," warned Don. "Burbank isn't foolish, you know,
and there are pilot lights and warning flags on those things to tell
if someone has the key open. I wouldn't want to see you fired for
listening-in."
"All right, but it was getting interesting."
"If I'm betting on the right horse," said Channing, "this will be
interesting for all before it is finished."
* * * * *
Seven days went by in monotonous procession. Seven days in a world of
constant climate. One week, marked only by the changing of work shifts
and the clocks that marked off the eight-hour periods. Seven days
unmarred by rain or cold or heat. Seven days of uninterrupted sunshine
that flickered in and out of the sealed viewports with eye-searing
brilliance, coming and going as the station rotated.
But in the front offices, things were not serene. Not that monotony
ever set in seriously in the engineering department, but that sacred
sanctum of all-things-that-didn't-behave-as-they-should found that even
their usual turmoil was worse. There was nothing that a person could
set his fingers on directly. It was more of a quiet, undercover nature.
On Monday Burbank sent around a communiqué removing the option of free
messages for the personnel. On Tuesday he remanded the years-long
custom of permitting the supply ships to carry, free, packages from
friends at home. On Wednesday, Francis Burbank decided that there
should be a curfew on the one and only beer emporium. "Curfew" was a
revision made after he found that complete curtailing of all alcoholic
beverages might easily lead to a more moral problem; there being
little enough to do with one's spare time. On Thursday, he set up a
stiff-necked staff of censors for the moving picture house. On Friday,
he put a tax on cigarettes and candy. On Saturday, he installed time
clocks in all the laboratories and professional offices, where previous
to his coming, men had come for work a half hour late and worked an
hour overtime at night.