"And better than any burglar alarm," I pointed out. "This one needn't
sit still while some crook disconnects it!"
* * * * *
He pointed out, of course, that this might destroy its usefulness to
people in a police-state. The dictator's police and troops could wear
"Hey, Rube!" radios, too. I replied that all the people's underground
fighters would need is a Cooling pistol and a saw-edged meat knife.
One man could knock over a whole platoon and cut their heel-tendons in
minutes. "The American Indians used to collect scalps in less time!" I
said. "But a wounded man's more trouble to the enemy than a dead one. I
think the heel-tendon would be easiest."
Perhaps it was a bit out of character for me. Whitney looked at me for
a long moment, and blinked. Both eyes, tight.
But still he didn't think much of my plans.
His subsequent suggestions were far more rational, however, than the
ones I had evolved through fear.
First, we didn't really know the Armed Forces _would_ suppress this
gun. They were completely involved in their problems of space flight
and military satellites; there probably wasn't anyone left in
Washington who was even looking for secret weapons now. And we just
might get this gun through while they weren't looking.
He suggested, therefore, that I attempt to patent my invention. But
that we should take adequate safeguards: I must handle all patent
correspondence through his office. Then, if the Armed Forces clamped
down, they'd come there first--and he could tip me off in time to
escape. I'd have to flee the country. But at least I'd be free and we
could adopt other measures for bringing out the gun.
It would be pointless now to disclose what other plans and arrangements
we made. It's enough to say I agreed. The discussion then turned to
further speculation of what the future might be with the Cooling gun.
Whitney was not at all convinced it would be good, but, rather, that
neither we nor any group of men had the right to decide what humanity
should or should not do.
He had strong doubts that it would mean the end of dictatorship.
"Dictators dream world conquest, and dreams like that breed war," he
said. "But they aren't the only ones to blame. You'll find people who
_like_ dictatorships!"
But the truth was that most of humanity didn't want to get involved,
never realizing that that involved them more than anything else could.
It was at approximately this time, so far as I can determine, that Big
Jake Claggett and one of his henchmen walked up to a service station
where a Porsche speedster was getting gas. They clubbed the station
attendant unconscious, hauled the driver out of the little sports car
and took off in it.
Dr. Whitney left me with a problem. What could be done to keep people
alert? It is this one thing that will determine the Cooling gun's
effect on the world--whether as an instrument of crime or protection
for the weak, the innocent.
Where people are complacent, it will be a boon to thieves and
revolutionaries.