"Not by a long shot, Dusty. There are extenuating circumstances. But
this is just a proof of the fact that one and one is not always two."
"All right. But where does this leave us?"
"In the same damned circle. Granting that your observations are
correct, proper, and unwarped by the addition of bourbon, Scyth and his
galactic civilization have developed faster-than-light travel which
has resulted in the establishment of a galactic government. But the
explanation of how it is done cannot be derived from the nomenclature
of the theory. Frankly, I have not the faintest idea of how to go about
unravelling the word 'phanoband' unless we take it apart from its
roots. Let's see, now."
* * * * *
Brows furrowed and lips pursed, the physicist thought for a long time
and then looked apologetically at Dusty.
"I may be off the beam, Dusty, but I have a notion that your own
mind put it together this way: Phan probably pertains to the roots
of phantom, or unreal, or ghostly, or what is commonly referred to
as the 'supernatural.' The so-called supernatural is invariably a
phenomenon which cannot be explained by commonly accepted academic
theory or empirical practise, mostly because the folks who work with it
have neither academic nor empirical data. Incidentally, the 'o' part
of this first phase is undoubtedly a conjunctive vowel stuffed into
the word so that it can be uttered without losing a couple of front
teeth or blowing a vocal fuse, or maybe spraying the listener like a
professional German lecturer. So let's accept the concept of 'Phan' as
something that you cannot explain in common terms."
"Go on, Doc. You're reducing my case to an absurdity, you know."
"I'm sorry, Dusty, but that's how I see it. Now, let's take the 'Band'
part of the word. As a disciple of Maxwell, et al, I am hopelessly
incapable of concocting a workable theory of radiation which has
nothing to do with some basic concept of frequency. Frequency, when you
sit down and start analyzing it, is a nice, stable idea that explains
a hell of a lot, Dusty, and as you get into atomics you find that
particle radiation can be mathematically reduced to terms of frequency.
You can actually compute the equivalent frequency of a thrown baseball
or a .22 rifle bullet, you know. Then we get to that high-flung miracle
we call 'resonance' and God protect me from having to deliver a
thirty-minute explanation of resonance."
"I won't ask you to, Doc. But aren't you getting involved in your own
traps?"
"Yes, I am. And I'm sorry. But I can't help it. But you can follow my
fumblings, Dusty. In the first place the radiation is not understood,
which explains your accepting the mental concept as 'Phano' and because
the physics of the radiation must be other than electromagnetic--which
would call for the menslation into 'spectrum' the somewhat ambiguous
term 'band' is assigned in your mental concept of the idea. So the
literal menslation of the word is: 'Unknown mode of radiation' which--"
"But where are we getting, Doc?"
"That's what I was approaching, Dusty. This harangue boils down to the
following: these people have a form or type of energy level which is
completely inexplicable to terrestrial science at the present state of
the art. Their terms, when menslated into our level of appreciation,
come out as 'something that works' and 'something that cannot be
defined' which, after all, is like trying to explain to a savage why a
hunk of black rock always turns toward one direction."
"Hell!"
* * * * *
The doctor continued. "Sure. It's hell. Even your own term 'menslator'
which I've picked up as a fine concept is only your own feeble
transliteration of the definition. It does not carry any of the basic
theory. So the fantastic gizmo merely aids in the conveying of an idea
from one mind to another, despite the fact that the two minds place
different values upon the definition of words."
"But this isn't what I'm getting at, Doc. What I want to know is:
granting the possibility of faster-than-light velocities, what have we
got to explain it?"
"Nothing. Nothing but your own statements that you believe that this
is possible and that someone has done it. None of us have any evidence
that it is possible, except you. And I am afraid that I must question
your training as a scientific observer."
"But, Doc, I--"
"Let's face it, Dusty. You swing about as much weight in scientific
circles as Suzy Richtmeyer, voted last year as Miss Alphatron, parked
on the Caltech boo-hucky showing about three yards of shapely nylon
and thirty-two well-polished teeth. She was gorgeous but ill-educated,
Dusty. She wasn't afraid of getting sterile in a radiation lab. She
was afraid of getting pregnant. But if you sit there and ask me how
anybody could possibly make any sound and workable theory out of what
you describe, I can't see it."
"Look, Doc, maybe I can't deliver much. But they were there and that's
what the guy told me."
"There's only one hope, Dusty."
Dusty Britton looked at Dr. Ross; with a voice of determination he
said, "Doc, if there's any hope, let me know how?"
"You've claimed that this galactic gang have some humanitarian
instincts. They aren't just going to set fire to good old Sol and let
us alternately fry and freeze."
"Stop kidding me."
"Maybe I'm not kidding. I'm still promulgating on your own cockeyed
plenum."
"You're not giving me much--"
Dr. Ross sat back confidently. "No, dammit, I can't say that I give
much credit to your cockeyed story, Dusty."
"Now see here--"
"Now _you_ see here," snapped the physicist sternly, "I won't deny that
anything is possible. But I am a firm believer in the law of least
reaction, and I think that this covers the case. If this character
Scyth is at all concerned about our welfare--still granting that
he does exist elsewhere but in your own mind--then get this, Dusty
Britton: he will be back to see how you've made out in your program of
preparing people for the big change before he turns on this barytrine
generator."