"Not as a lab flunky," said Gilmer quickly. "You'd have a free hand.
American business recognizes ability. You'd plan your own projects,
and head them yourself. My own company is prepared to offer you twenty
thousand a year to start."
Arch sat without moving.
"After taxes," said Gilmer.
"How about this--capacitite, I call it?"
"Naturally, development and marketing would be in the hands of the
company, or of several companies," said Gilmer. "You wouldn't want to
waste your time on account books. You'd get proper payment for the
assignment, of course--"
Elizabeth entered, looking stunning. Gilmer rose with elaborate
courtesy, and the discussion veered to trivialities for awhile.
Then the girl lit a cigaret and watched them through a haze of smoke.
"Your time is valuable, Mr. Gilmer," she said abruptly. "Why don't you
make an offer and we'll talk about that?"
"Oh, no hurry, Mrs. Arch. I was hoping you would be my guests tonight--"
"No, thanks. With all due regard for you, I don't want to be put under
a moral obligation before business is discussed."
Gilmer chuckled amiably and repeated the idea he had broached.
"I like Westfield," said Elizabeth. "I don't like New York. It isn't
fit for human consumption."
"Oh, I quite agree," said Gilmer. "Once a year I have to break
loose--cabin up in Maine, hunting, fishing, back to Nature--you really
must come up sometime soon. Your objection can be answered easily
enough. We could set up a laboratory for you here, if you really
insist. You see, we're prepared to be very generous."
Arch shook his head. "No," he said harshly. "No, thanks. I like being
independent."
Gilmer raised his brows. "I understand that. But after all, the only
difference would be--"
Arch grinned. He was enjoying himself now. On a dark day some years
ago, he had tried to raise a bank loan and had failed for lack of
collateral and credit rating and his refusal to subject any friend to
co-signing. Ever since, he had indulged daydreams about having finance
come crawling to him. The reality was intoxicating.
"No," he repeated. "That's all I want to say about it, too. The income
from capacitite will be quite enough for us. If you want to discuss a
license to manufacture, go ahead."
"Hrm! As you wish." Gilmer smoothed the coldness out of his voice.
"Maybe you'll change your mind later. If so, feel free to call on me
anytime. Now, for an assignment of rights, I think a sum of fifty
thousand dollars could be arranged--"
Elizabeth drooped lids over startlingly blue eyes. "As an initial
payment, perhaps," she said gently. "But think what a royalty of, say,
ten cents a pound would add up to even in a year."
"Oh, yes, that would be negotiated too," said Gilmer. "However, you
realize manufacture could not start immediately, and would in any case
be on a smaller scale than you perhaps think."
"Eh?" Arch sat bolt upright. "What do you mean? Why, this stuff is
going to revolutionize not only electronics, but all power--dammit,
everything!"
"Dr. Arch," said Gilmer regretfully, "you must not have considered the
matter of capital investment. Do you know how many billions of dollars
are sunk in generators, dams, lines, motors--"
"Gasoline," said Elizabeth. "We've thought of that angle too."
"We _can't_ throw all that in the discard!" went on Gilmer earnestly.
He seemed more human, all at once. "It may take twenty years to recover
the investment in, say, a local transmission network. The company would
go broke overnight if that investment were suddenly made valueless.
Millions of people would be thrown out of work. Millions more would
lose their savings in stocks and bonds--"
"I always said stocks were a mug's game," interrupted Arch. "If the two
or three shares owned by the widow and orphan you're leading up to go
blooey, it won't break her. For years, now, I've had ads dinning the
wonders of the present economic system into my ears. One of its main
features, I'm told, is progress. All right, here's a chance to leap a
hundred years ahead. Let's see you take it."
Gilmer's pink cheeks reddened. "I'm afraid you still don't understand,"
he replied. "We have a responsibility. The world is watching us. Just
imagine what those British Socialists would say if--"
"If you're against socialism," said Elizabeth with a laugh, "why not
start at home? Public schools and federal highways, for instance.
I fail to see where personal liberty is necessarily tied to any
particular method of distribution."
Gilmer seemed, for a moment, to lose his temper. "This is no place for
radicals," he said thickly. "We've all got to have faith and put our
shoulders to the wheel. We--" He paused, swallowed, and smiled rather
stiffly. "Excuse me. I didn't mean to get worked up. There are a lot of
stories about wonderful new inventions which the greedy corporations
have bought up and hidden away. They simply are not true. All I'm after
is a gradual introduction of this material."
"I know those wonderful inventions are pure rumor," said Arch. "But I
also know that just about everything I buy is made to wear out so I'll
have to buy some more. It's cheaper, yes, but I'd rather pay twice as
much to start with and have my purchase last ten times as long. Why
can't I buy a decent kitchen knife? There's not one that keeps its
edge. My wife finally made eyes at the butcher and got one of his old
knives; _it_ lasts.
"A big thing like capacitite represents a chance to change our whole
philosophy into something more rational. That's what I'm after--not
just money. There needn't be any unemployment. Capacitite makes
increased production possible, so why not--well, why not drop the work
day to four hours for the same wages? Then you can employ twice as many
people."
"It is not your or my place to make carping criticisms," retorted
Gilmer. "Fundamental changes aren't as easy as you think. Dr. Arch,
I'm sorry to say that unless you'll agree to proper terms, none of the
companies I represent will be interested in your material."
"All right," snapped Arch. "I can make it myself. Make it by the ton if
I like, and sell it for a dollar a pound."
"You may find yourself undersold."
"My patent--"
"It hasn't gone through yet. That takes time, plenty of time if you
don't want to cooperate. And even if it is granted, which I by no means
guarantee, you'll have to sue infringers; and do you know how crowded
court calendars are? And how expensive a series of appeals can make
such a suit?"
"Okay," said Elizabeth sweetly. "Go ahead and make it. You just got
through telling us why you can't."
Gilmer looked out the window. "This is a great country," he said, with
more sincerity than Arch had expected. "No country on earth has ever
been so rich and happy. Do you know how it got that way?"
"By progressing," said Arch. "For your information, I am not a leftist;
I'll bet I'm far to the right of you. So far, that I still believe in
full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes."
Gilmer rose, with a certain dignity. "I'm afraid tempers are getting
a little short," he said quietly. "I beg of you to reconsider. We'll
fight for the public interest if we must, but we'd rather cooperate.
May I leave my card? You can always get in touch with me."
He made his farewells and left. Arch and Elizabeth looked somewhat
blankly at each other.
"Well, Killer," said the girl at last, "I hope we haven't taken too
big a chaw to swallow."
* * * * *
Culquhoun dropped over in the evening and listened to their account.
He shook his head dubiously. "You're up against it, laddie," he said.
"They'll defend their coffers to the bitter end."
"It isn't that." Arch stared moodily into the darkness. "I don't think
they're a bunch of monsters--no more than anybody else. They just
believe in the status quo. So do you, you know."
"How?" Culquhoun bristled. "I'll admit I'm not the hell-fire
revolutionary of my undergraduate days, but I still think a basic
change is called for."
"Not basic," said Arch. "You just want to change part of the mechanism.
But you'd keep the same ant-heap industrial society. I believe the
heart went out of this land after the Civil War, and the death warrant
was signed about 1910. Before then, a man was still an individual; he
worked for himself, at something he understood, and wasn't afraid to
stand up and spit in the eye of the world. Now he spends his daily
routine on an assembly line or behind a desk or counter, doing the same
thing over and over for someone else. In the evening he watches the
same pap on his television, and if something goes wrong he whines his
way to the apartment superintendent or the VA or the Social Security
office.
"Look at the progress of euphemism. Old people are Senior Citizens.
Draft becomes Selective Service. Graveyard to cemetery to memorial
park. We've become a race of dependents. And we can't break away: there
isn't any frontier left, there isn't any alternative society, one man
can't compete with a corporation. Or with a commissar, for that matter.
"What we need is not to go back to living in log cabins, but to make
the means of sustenance and the sources of energy so cheap that every
man can have them in sufficient quantity to live and work. I don't
know--maybe I'm being vainglorious, but it does seem as if capacitite
is a long step in that direction."
"I warn you, you're talking good Marxism," said Culquhoun with a grin.
"The means of production determine the type of society."
"Which is pure hogwash," answered Arch. "Egypt and Assyria had
identical technologies. So did Athens and Sparta. So do America
and Russia. The means of production only determine the _possible_
societies, and there are always many possibilities.
"I'd like to see the possibility of individualism available again to
the American people. If they're too far gone to accept it, to hell with
them."
* * * * *
The government can work fast when it wants to. It was just the
following afternoon when the phone rang again. Elizabeth came out
to the lab, where Arch and Bob Culquhoun were preparing a batch of
capacitite, with a strained look on her face. "Come inside, dear," she
said thinly. "I've got some bad news." When he was in the house, she
added: "Two FBI men are on their way here."
"What the devil?" Arch felt a gulp of fear. It was irrational he told
himself. The FBI was no Gestapo; on the whole, he approved of it. Maybe
some friend had given his name as a security reference. "All right.
We'll see what they want."
"I'm going to start some coffee," said Elizabeth. "Lucky we've got a
cake too."
"Huh?"
"You'll see." She patted his cheek and managed a smile. "You're too
innocent, sweetheart."
Sagdahl and Horrisford turned out to be hard young men with carefully
expressionless faces. They introduced themselves very politely, and
Arch led the way into the living room. Horrisford took out a notebook.
"Well," said Arch a little huskily, "what can I do for you?"
"You can answer some questions, if you please," said Sagdahl
tonelessly. "You don't have to answer any, and whatever you say can be
used in evidence."
"I haven't broken any laws that I know of," said Arch feebly.
"That remains to be seen. This is an investigation."
"Whatever _for_?"
"Dr. Arch," said Sagdahl patiently, "yesterday you published an article
on a discovery of potential military importance. It has upset a great
many plans. Worse, it has been released with no discretion whatsoever,
and the consequences aren't easy to foresee. If we'd had any inkling,
it would never have been published openly. As it is, you went outside
regular channels and--"
"I didn't have to go through channels," said Arch. "I've never gotten
any confidential data, or even applied for a clearance. I work for
myself and--" He saw Horrisford busily writing, and his words dried up.
The realization was appalling. The military applications of capacitite
had crossed his mind only vaguely and been dismissed with an escapist
shrug.
"Let's get down to business," said Sagdahl. "Everything will be a lot
easier if you cooperate. Now, where were you born?"
Arch hadn't imagined anyone could be so thorough about tracking down a
man's entire life. He answered frankly, feeling he had nothing to hide.
Of course, there _had_ been his roommate at M.I.T., and the roommate
had had a girl friend one of whose other friends was a Communist, and...
"I see. Now, when you graduated--"
Elizabeth entered from the kitchen with a tray. "Pardon me," she
smiled. "I think refreshments are in order."
Sagdahl's face didn't change, but his eyes bugged slightly. Elizabeth
put a coffee cup in his hand and a plate of cake on one knee. He looked
unhappy, but mumbled dutiful thanks.
"Oh, it's a pleasure," said Elizabeth blandly. "You boys are doing your
duty, and really, this is very exciting."
Sagdahl got down a mouthful of cake. Valiantly, he tried to resume the
staccato flow: "Now, when you graduated, Dr. Arch, you took a vacation,
you say. Where was that?"
"Up in Quebec. About three months. Just driving around and--"
"I see. Then you returned to school for a master's degree, right? Did
you at this time know a Joseph Barrett?"
"Well, yes, I shared an office with him."
"Did you ever discuss politics with him?"
"Drink your coffee before it gets cold," said Elizabeth. "There's
plenty more."
"Oh--thanks. Now, about this Barrett?"
"We argued a lot. You see, I'm frankly a reactionary--"
"Were you associated with any political-action group?"
"Mr. Horrisford," said Elizabeth reproachfully, "you haven't touched
your cake."
"No, I wasn't that interested," said Arch. "Didn't even bother to vote
in '50."
"Here, Mr. Sagdahl, do have some more cake."
"Thanks!--You met some of Barrett's friends?"
"Yes, I was at some parties and--"
"Excuse me, I'll just warm your coffee."
"Did you at this time know anyone who had worked in the Manhattan
Project?"
"Of course. They were all over the place. But I never was told
anything restricted, never asked for--"
"Please, Mr. Horrisford! It's my favorite recipe."
"Ummm. Thank you, but--"
"You met your future wife when?"
"In--"
"Excuse me, there's the phone... Hello. Mrs. Arch speaking... Oh?...
Yes, I'll see... Pardon me. There's a man from the Associated Press in
town. He wants to see you, dear."