7 Trips Through Time and Space, page 10
“Why, I don’t know. Neither, I’m afraid, does he. I spoke to him over the phone this morning, and he doesn’t know how much longer his work will take. Again he asked me to convey his apologies for his precipitate departure so soon after your own arrival. If there is anything you may need or require, of course, you have but to ask.”
“Thank you. We will be wanting to make field trips eventually, of course, but it will be some time before we can definitely map out precisely what our plans will be.”
Landau bowed his silvery head just a few degrees. “Naturally. Is there anything I can do for you at the moment?”
The Barlows looked at each other. It was Dennis who spoke. “Not just at the moment, Dr. Landau; thanks. Everything’s going smoothly so far.”
“I am happy to hear it. I wish you every success in your search for truth.”
He left them and headed for No. 2 viewing room. Dr. Pendray had not yet turned on the screen. “Busy, Jim?” Landau asked.
“Nothing urgent, Marc. Why?”
Landau came in and closed the door behind him. “I was just wondering what you’d said to our emissaries from the Darlington Foundation that aroused their wrath,” he said with a grin. “Especially hers.”
“Oh, that.” Pendray repeated the conversation.
“Diplomacy, thy name is Pendray,” Landau murmured when he had finished.
“It .won’t matter a damn anyway,” Pendray said with a shrug. “I have a feeling that she’s already mentally writing her final report, complete with conclusions. In the back of her mind, she has already decided what she is going to tell the Foundation. Nothing you or I or anyone else could say will change it, and that husband of hers will go right along with her.”
“You have no great faith in them as scientific investigators, eh, Jim?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve seen their kind before. They will gather vast reams of data, make all kinds of carefully tailored experiments, and prepare dozens of pretty little graphs and tables. They will discard the ‘anomalies,’ of course—any data that doesn’t fit in with their preconceived notion. What’s left will be neatly pushed and trimmed until it does fit. What does Paul think?”
“The same. What can we do about it? The Darlington Foundation will have the report they want. With that and those photographs, the stink they’ll raise on Earth will be enough to wreck the whole Sandaroth project, ruining human and Daroth alike.”
“One almost wishes,” Pendray said, “that the Barlows fail to return from their projected field trip—except that that wouldn’t do a bit of good.”
“No. The stink that would arise would have a different aroma, but the results would be the same. It’s not bad enough that we have this mysterious madness in the last group of Darotha adolescents; we have to have madness of our own race.” He put his hand to his forehead and massaged his brows with thumb and middle finger.
“Who’s behind it?” Pendray asked. “Do you have any further information?”
“Only what we guessed before. The only man who could have taken those pictures was Finnerly of Industrial Computer Corporation,” Landau said. “But they’re not the only ones.”
“Who else? I thought you said you didn’t have any more information.”
“I don’t. But think about it. ICC isn’t trying to get troops sent here to ‘protect’ the Yahoos just so they can wind up selling us computers and guidance-and-control systems for a few multiphase lathes and shapers.”
“You’re right.” There was anger in Pendray’s voice. “Without the Darotha, this planet would be just like any other. Wide open. We’d have fifty million people here within five years. No control.”
“No control,” Landau agreed. “But plenty of new sales territory for certain unscrupulous lice. We know who isn’t in on it, too. None of the Big Three in inertiogravitics; they’re strictly honest and strictly ethical. The same goes for most of the big, important corporations. You can bet ICC isn’t getting any backing from those boys. But there are others. Too many of them.”
“It’ll be a double play, then,” Pendray said. “They’ll hit us high and low. Protect the Noble Yahoos on the one hand and open Sandaroth up for full colonization on the other.”
“The sound of two hands clapping,” Landau said dryly.
“Yeah. While the only extraterrestrial intelligent race we have met gets crushed between them. We might as well pack up and go home.”
“You don’t have much faith in Paul’s plan, then?” “Frankly, Marc, no.” Pendray admitted. “He seems to think that giving the Barlows ail the data they can swallow will convince them. But, dammit, Marc, you can’t convince a fanatic he’s wrong by giving him data. He only believes what he wants to believe.”
“ ‘My mind is made up; please don’t confuse me with facts.’ ” Landau quoted.
“Exactly.”
“But there’s nothing else we can do, Jim,” Landau said. “We can’t fight the Darlington Foundation for the Promotion of Human Brotherhood. I doubt if even the Government could fight it. It’s got billions behind it— both in money and in people. And it’s full of people like the Barlows: honest, dedicated, hardworking fanatics.”
“I know. I know.” Pendray rubbed his chin with a fingertip. “What about Governor Donovan? What’s he going to do?”
“Paul talked to him. He agreed to stay out of the whole mess. If worse comes to worst, and the planet is opened up, he can stay on as Colonial Governor and try to protect the Darotha as much as possible.”
“That may help. But not much.” Pendray suddenly twisted his mouth into a sardonic grin. “Maybe I’d have been better off if I hadn’t come back from the field until this was all over, one way or another. At least one has other things to worry about out in the boondocks. I’m really not a city boy at heart.”
Landau grinned back. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t call Point Garrison a city. We’re still a village at heart. Forty thousand people could get lost without anyone noticing it in a real city.”
“It contains half the human population of the planet,” Pendray said. “No city on Earth can make that statement.”
“Agreed. Oh, and Jim—”
“Yes?”
“I think we’ll be better off if we don’t antagonize the Barlows. It just—”
“Just stiffens their resistance. I know, Marc. I’ll try to cultivate the ‘friendly physician and counselor’ attitude. The country doctor bit. But if she gets offended every time she hears the word Yahoo in that context, she’s going to feel offended most of the time.”
“Well, we can’t wrap her in swaddling clothes. I’ll let you go back to your tapes now. Thanks, Jim.”
Very few of the citizens of Point Garrison were aware of the danger embodied in Blanche and Dennis Barlow. Their names had been mentioned in the newscasts when they arrived, but hardly anyone paid any attention. In certain circles, the word spread that they were studying, the Yahoo, but that aroused no particular curiosity. Why should it? It was said by those who had met them that the Barlows—and especially Blanche Barlow—were “a little nutty” on the subject of Yahoos and Yahoo intelligence and most of these people learned to substitute the phrase “humanoid natives” for “Yahoos” in their presence. Except for that quirk, they seemed a pleasant enough couple. Women were attracted to the handsome, personable, Dennis, and men found it difficult to keep their eyes off Blanche’s beauty. Even so, they were “foreigners”—visitors, not residents. Somehow, they did not fit well into the social life of Point Garrison. If the truth were known, that didn’t bother the Barlows; they didn’t even notice it. They were on Sandaroth to work, not to socialize.
At the end of the first month, Dennis decided he’d take a tour of one of the small factories in the city: Garrison Flyer Mfg. Co.
The manager of the plant was a short, round, sandy-haired Scot named Fred Doyle. He met Barlow at the front gate and gave him a hearty handshake.
“Glad to know you, Dr. Barlow! Governor Donovan called me. Said you wanted to look around. Glad to have you. Come in, come in.”
After a few minutes of polite amenities, Dennis Barlow was asked where he’d like to start.
“Well, to be perfectly frank, Mr. Doyle—”
“Just call me Fred, Dr. Barlow. Everybody does.”
“O.K. Fred. And I’m Dennis. At any rate, I was going to say that I had some free time today, so I thought I’d take a kind of busman’s holiday. My wife is feeding stuff into the computer at the Research Institute, and it’s a job that only takes one. Actually, I’m interested in your factory as a zoologist rather than from the actual manufacturing point of view.”
“Well, if you’ll tell me why a zoologist should be interested in the manufacture of inertiogravitic motors from a zoological point of view, I’ll be glad to help you, Dennis.”
“I understand you have some Darotha working for you, Fred, and I understand they can do jobs that no human being can do.”
“Oh!” Fred chuckled. “Why, sure! Come along; I’ll take you to the multiplex lathe section. That’s the most interesting part, anyway. I’ll introduce you to my foreman, Than; he’ll be able to show you how these things work.”
He led Dennis Barlow to a huge building full of machines. Everything was well-lit, airy, and clean. It seemed more like a kitchen or an operating room than a workshop. It took Barlow a minute or two to realize that, as far as he could see, he and Doyle were the only human beings in the place. All the machines were run by Darotha.
“Than!” Fred called to one of them who was wiping off a big machine with a piece of toweling. “C’mere a minute! I want you to meet a fellow.”
The Daroth put the rag down and came toward the two men with panther-like grace. “ ’Ow are you this morning, Fred?” His voice carried easily over the low, all-pervading hum of power that was the only noticeable noise in the place.
“Pretty good, Than; pretty good. I’d like you to meet Dr. Dennis Barlow. Dr. Barlow, this is Thannovosh, my general foreman for this section.”
“Glad to know you, Dr. Barlow.” Then he looked expectantly at Fred.
“Have you got one of the machines free, Than? I’d like you to give Dr. Barlow a little demonstration if you’ve got the time.”
“Sure, Fred; glad to. Just come this way over to number fourteen, Dr. Barlow.”
Barlow followed, but he was looking at the other machines in the building. There were about thirty of them, and at each stood a Daroth, all eight tentacles moving at once, turning various verniers, knobs, and control wheels. There was a weird, rhythmic beauty about it that reminded him of seaweed fronds moving in a slow current or the tentacles of a slowly swimming octopus.
At machine number fourteen, Than said: “I’ve got ’er all set up for a BJF-37, Fred. Will that be all right?”
“Sure. Fine. Show him your check-block, will you, and explain it to him.”
From a drawer in the base of the machine, Than took an odd metal shape. It was about the size of a man’s fist, but it was surfaced with weirdly undulating curves, complex three-dimensional curves that made queer hills and valleys and swirling grooves.
“This is w’at we call the check-block, Dr. Barlow. It’s the same size and shape as the impulse spinner in an inertiogravitic unit. ’Ave you ever looked inside the engine of a flier?”
“Not with the casing off, no.”
“Well, the impulse spinner ’as to undergo several different modes of motion at once—depending on wether
you’re moving up or down, right or left, pitching, yawing, rolling, or just ’overing. There are eight of them in an ordinary flier engine. They all move at tremendously ’igh velocities and undergo ’igh surges. And they all ’ave to be synchronized. This is made of ’ardened tool steel instead of Paramag alloy, but the shape is the same. Each one of these surfaces is a control surface for the various modes of motion and each performs a different function as the axis of spin is shifted. That’s w’at makes it look so odd.” Than chuckled. “It ’as a sort of a shapeless shape, you might say. But it ’as to be that way, and each curve ’as to be just so, or you’ll get vibration that’ll shake your engine apart.”
Two tentacles put the block down. Two more indicated the machine itself. “Now this is w’at we call a multiplex lathe. An impulse spinner can’t be cast; it ’as to be forged and machined. You ’ave to be sure it’s ’omogeneous and of equal density throughout.”
Two more tentacles reached out to a low, wheeled framework nearby and took a lump of metal out of a tray. Than held the lump up for Barlow’s inspection. “This is the forged blank. All we ’ave to do is machine it, and this is ’ow it’s done.”
He fitted the check-block into the multiplex chuck to his left, and the forged blank into the chuck at his right. A guide rod touching the surface of the check-block was exactly matched with a borazon cutting tool that touched the forged blank. As the guide rod followed the curves of the check-block, the tool cut the same curves in the blank. A tentacle touched a switch and both pieces of metal began to spin. Then there was a sudden deadness in the air around the machine, as though someone had thrown a heavy blanket over it. “Got to ’ave the noise suppressors on,” Than said, “otherwise this place would be a screaming ’ell.”
Than spun two more wheels, and two more borazon tools moved toward the forged blank, each with its corresponding guide rod moving toward the check-block.
Then Than touched another switch and the dance of the tentacles began. There was a grace to it that reminded Barlow of the hand motions of a Hawaiian hula dancer. The tentacles moved knobs and levers, and the borazon tools, all three of them at once, bit smoothly into the spinning blank, slicing off ribbons of bright metal. Than touched the chuck control and the axis of spin changed slightly as the borazon chisels sliced away the unwanted metal. Again the axis of spin shifted, and the tools moved in and out over the blank, cutting, cutting.
Barlow watched in fascination as the impulse spinner took shape beneath the cutting edge of the borazon, transfiguring the lumpy-looking forged blank into a piece of precision machinery.
Then, abruptly, it was finished.
The tools fell away and the spinning stopped. Than released the chuck and took the finished piece out. “Now we’ll take ’er over to the comparator and see ’ow she matches the master block.” When he was done, he handed the new-formed impulse spinner to Barlow.
“There she is, Dr. Barlow. Correct to a thousandth of a millimeter. Next, she’ll go in a similar machine for final polishing, and she’ll be done.”
“Beautiful,” Barlow said in honest admiration.
“Thank you, sir. Was that all you wanted, Fred?”
“That’s all. Thanks a lot, Than. Unless Dr. Barlow has some questions.”
“The only question I can think of is: How did you do it? It’s all I can do to control two arms and ten fingers. The thought of trying to control eight arms and forty fingers appalls me.”
Than’s shark-tiger face grinned widely. “Just takes practice, Dr. Barlow. And I’ll tell you, I don’t see ’ow you people do such delicate work with all those bones inside forcing you to bend only at certain places and in certain directions. I saw a man do a steel engraving by ’and once, and I’ll never understand ’ow ’e did it. Putting pressure on a burin takes internal bracing w’ich I ’aven’t got. It would be like running this machine with my feet, it seems to me.”
Barlow glanced at the Daroth’s sandaled feet. There were no toes, properly speaking. Each foot came to a point, reminding Barlow of the mail-shod feet of a medieval knight. At the tip was a single, heavy, curving claw.
“He keeps his feet folded in like that for walking on land,” Fred said, noticing Barlow’s glance. “Dr. Barlow’s never met a Daroth before, Than. Show him how your feet unfold for swimming.”
“Sure.” With three tentacles, he braced himself lightly against the lathe. Two other tentacles pulled the sandal from his right foot. He lifted his leg up and doubled it at the knee, so that Barlow could see the “sole” of the foot. A crease ran from just forward of the heel to the base of the front claw. “W’en I’m in the water, I open out, like this.”
The crease widened and the foot folded out, so that the two halves of what had been the sole were now on the upper side of a wide, splayed foot, making a ridge of callous on each side of the upper part. The new sole thus exposed looked membranous and tender.
“Then you can’t walk with your feet unfolded that way?” Barlow asked.
“Oh, I could,” Than said, refolding his foot and putting it back in the sandal. “But not for very far before my feet ’urt so bad I couldn’t take it. That’s on solid land, I mean. Walking through swamps, like the brackish swamps down around the Delta Cape, a fellow can unfold ’is feet for walking across thick mud so ’e doesn’t sink in. But if the mud is that soft, it doesn’t ’urt, you see.”
“Very handy,” said Barlow. “Or should I say, ‘footy’?” “Ooh!” said Fred, wincing.
Than chuckled. “Nothing’s ’andy for a Daroth.”
“Puns aside,” Fred said, “a skilled and trained Daroth comes in handy for running a multiplex lathe. No Earth-man could do it. Not even four Earthmen working together could do it. It’s been tried. Not only is the coordination lousy, but they get in each other’s way. Back on Earth, they use a computer that costs more than the lathe and is damn near as massive. We just bought the lathes and then designed and built the controls ourselves. That saved the cost of the computer and the high interstellar freight charges. It also saves the cost of repairs and of reprogramming the computer when you set up for a different size or type of impulse spinner. We pay standard wages for all our employees, Earther or Daroth, so the labor costs run high, but you have to have a certain amount of labor anyway to set up and break down the check-blocks and tools and for maintenance and so on. Besides, the machines are a lot more flexible this way. To set up a computer to make just one piece would cost the same as setting it up for a full run, while a Daroth can 90
