"Kingman, Dr. Channing."
Don grunted. He did not like to be addressed by title when someone who
disliked him did it. His friends did not; Kingman's use of the title
made it an insult.
"Look," said Kingman, "what do you want to use those blocks for?"
"We've got a job of checking dimensions."
"Nothing more? Do you need the metal for electrical reasons?"
"No," said Don, "what have you in mind?"
"Our tool shop is nicely equipped to grind glass gauges. We can do that
better than grinding Jo-blocks. Can you use glass ones?"
"Hang on a minute." Channing turned to Walt. "Kingman says his outfit
uses glass gauges. Any reason why we can't?"
"See no reason why not. I've heard of using glass gauges, and they've
got some good reasons, too. Tell him to go ahead."
"Kingman? How soon can we get glass ones?"
"Horman, how soon on the glass blocks?"
"Two dozen? About a week."
"We'll have your blocks on the way within four days, Channing. Four
days minimum, plus whatever wait is necessary to get 'em aboard a
spacer."
"We'll check from this end on schedules. We need the blocks, and if the
wait is too long, we'll send the _Relay Girl_ in for 'em."
Don hung up and then said: "Glass ones might be a good idea. We can
check the transmission characteristics optically. I think we can check
more, quicker, than by running analysis on steel."
"Plus the fact that you can get the blocks back after test," grinned
Walt. "Once you tear into a steel block to check its insides, you've
lost your sample. I don't know any better way to check homogeneity than
by optical tests."
"O.K. Well, four days for glass blocks will do better than a couple of
months on steel blocks."
"Right. Now let's look up Wes and see what he's come up with."
They found Farrell in one of the blister laboratories, working on a
small edition of the power transmission tubes. He was not dressed in
spacesuit, and so they entered the blister and watched him work.
"Have a little trouble getting the focus to stay sharp through the
trace," complained Wes. "I can get focus of atomic proportions--the
circle of confusion is about the size of the atom nucleus, I mean--at
the axis of the tube. But the deflection of the cone of energy produces
aberration, which causes coma at the edges. The corners of an area look
fierce."
"I wonder if mechanical scanning wouldn't work better."
"Undoubtedly. You don't hope to send life, do you?"
"It would be nice--but no more fantastic than this thing is now. What's
your opinion?"
Wes loosened a set screw on the main tube anode and set the anode
forward a barely perceptible distance. He checked it with a vernier
rule and tightened the screw. He made other adjustments on the works
of the tube itself, and then motioned outside. They left the blister,
Wes closed the air-tight, and cracked the valve that let the air out of
the blister. He snapped the switch on the outside panel and then leaned
back in his chair while the cathode heated.
"With electrical scanning, you'll have curvature of field with this
gadget. That isn't too bad, I suppose, because the restorer will have
the same curvature. But you're going to scan three ways, which means
correction for the linear distance from the tube as well as the other
side deflections and their aberrations. Now if we could scan the gadget
mechanically, we'd have absolute flatness of field, perfect focus, and
so forth."
Walt grinned. "Thinking of television again? Look, bright fellows, how
do you move an assembly of mechanical parts in quanta of one atomic
diameter? They've been looking for that kind of a gadget for centuries.
Dr. Rowland and his gratings would turn over in their graves with a
contrivance that could rule lines one atom apart."
"On what?" asked Don.
"If it would rule one atom lines, brother, you could put a million
lines per inch on anything rulable with perfection, ease, eclat, and
savoir faire. You follow my argument? Or would you rather take up this
slip of my tongue and make something out of it?"
"O.K., fella, I see your point. How about that one, Wes?"
Wes Farrell grinned. "Looks like I'd better be getting perfect focus
with the electrical system here. I hadn't considered the other angle at
all, but it looks a lot tougher than I thought."
He squinted through a wall-mounted telescope at the set-up on the
inside of the blister. "She's hot," he remarked quietly, and then set
to checking the experiment. Fifteen minutes of checking, and making
notes, and he turned to the others with a smile. "Not too bad that
way," he said.
"What are you doing?"
"I've established a rather complex field. In order to correct the
aberrations, I've got non-linear focussing fields in the places where
they tend to correct for the off-axis aberrations. To correct for the
height-effect, I'm putting a variable corrector to control the whole
cone of energy, stretching it or shortening it according to the needs.
I think if I use a longer focal length I'll be able to get the thing
running right.
"That'll lessen the need for correction, too," he added, cracking the
blister-intake valve and letting the air hiss into the blister. He
opened the door and went inside, and began to adjust the electrodes.
"You know," he added over his shoulder, "we've got something here that
might bring a few dollars on the side. This matter-bank affair produces
clean, clear, and practically pure metal. You might be able to sell
some metal that was rated 'pure' and mean it."
"You mean absolutely, positively, guaranteed, uncontaminated,
unadulterated, perfectly chemically pure?" grinned Don.
"Compared to what 'chemically pure' really means, your selection of
adjectives is a masterpiece of understatement," laughed Walt.
"I'm about to make one more try," announced Wes. "Then I'm going to
drop this for the time being. I've got to get up to the machine shop
and see what they're doing with the rest of the thing."
"We'll take that over if you wish," said Don.
"Will you? I'll appreciate it. I sort of hate to let this thing go when
I feel that I'm near an answer."
"We'll do it," said Walt, definitely.
They left the laboratory and made their way to the elevator that would
lift them high into the relay station where the machine shop was
located. As they entered the elevator Don shook his head.
"What's the matter?"
"Well, friend Wes is on the beam again. If he feels that we're close to
the answer, I'll bet a hat that we're hanging right on the edge. Also,
that kind of work would kill me dead. He likes to stick on one thing
till the bitter end, no matter how long it takes. I couldn't do it."
"I know. About three days of this and you're wanting another job to
clear your mind. Then you could tackle that one for about three hours
and take back on the first."
"Trying to do that to Farrell would kill both him and the jobs," said
Don. "But you and I can keep two or three projects going strong. Oh,
well, Wes is worth a million."
"He's the best we've got," agreed Walt. "Just because he has a peculiar
slant on life is no sign he's not brilliant."
"It's you and I that have the cockeyed slant on life," grinned Don.
"And frankly, I'm proud of it." He swung the elevator door aside and
they walked down the corridor. "This isn't going to be much to see, but
we'll take a look."
The machine shop, to the man, was clustered around the one cabinet
under construction. They moved aside to permit the entry of Channing
and Franks.
"Hm-m-m," said Don. "Looks like a refrigerator and incinerator
combined."
It did. It stood five feet tall, three feet square, and was sealed in
front by a heavy door. There was a place intended for the tube that
Farrell was tinkering in the blister, and the lines to supply the power
were coiled behind the cabinet.
"Partly wired?" asked Don.
"Just the power circuits," answered Warren, "We'll have this finished
in a couple of days now. The other one is completed except for Wes
Farrell's section."
Channing nodded, and said: "Keep it going." He turned to Walt and after
the passage of a knowing glance the pair left. "Walt, this is getting
on my nerves. I want to go down to Joe's and drink myself into a stupor
which will last until they get something cogent to work on."
"I'm with you, but what will Arden say?"
"I'm going to get Arden. Self-protection. She'd cut my feet off at the
knees if I went off on a tear without her."
"I have gathered that," grinned Walt. "You're afraid of her."
"Yeah," drawled Don. "After all--she's the cook."
"I'm waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"If and when. If you two go on as you have for another year without one
of you turning up with a black eye, I may be tempted to go forth and
track me down a babe of my own."
* * * * *
The cabinet stood in the north end of Venus Equilateral but it was not
alone. It may even be the record for all times; certainly no other
cabinet three by three by five ever had twenty-seven men all standing
in a circle awaiting developments. The cabinet at the south end of
Venus Equilateral was no less popular, though the number of watchers
was less by one. Here, then, were winner and runner-up of inanimate
popularity for the ages. The communicator system set in the walls
of the two rooms carried sounds from the north room to the south,
and those sounds in the south room could be heard in the north room.
Channing grinned boyishly at Arden.
"This, my love, is a device which may make it quite possible for me to
send you back to mother."
Arden smiled serenely. "No dice," she said. "Mother went back to
grandmother last week. When is this thing going to cook?"
"Directly."
"What are we waiting for?"
"Walt."
"I'm ready," came Walt's voice through the speaker.
"About time, slowpoke."
"Really, it was not his fault," objected Wes. "I wanted to check the
scanner-synchronization."
"He's precious," chortled Arden in Don's ear. "He wouldn't think of
letting Walt, the big bum, take the blame for anything that wasn't
Walt's fault."
"That's a good line," grinned Don. "Walt's faults. After we set this
thing aside as a finished project, we'll set that 'Walt's Faults' to
music. Ready, Walt?"
"Right. I am now slipping the block into the cabinet. The door is
closed. Have you got the preliminary synchronizing signal in tick?"