Imbalance

IMBALANCE By MURRAY LEINSTER

Those peculiar happenings of last August are pretty well explained now. Among other places, they happened in that valley in the Himalayas, and up in the Amazon Basin, and in Sydney, Australia, and Perth Am-boy, New Jersey, and most noticeably in Tres Aguas, Nevada. These were not all the spots where oddities turned up, but they make a representative selection. We know now that the balance of nature had gotten temporarily upset, and that the cosmos reacted dynamically to the situation, in order to restore things to normal. It's a great relief to know that it happens, that things do return to normal. It used to be believed that if the balance of nature were disturbed, that deplorable things would happen until the world went to hell in a hand-basket. But now we know it isn't so.

We're lucky.

The picture is fairly complete. Some phenomena were typical. In a remote valley of the Himalayas, for example, two rocks rolled downhill and came to rest near two other rocks. And then there were five. There'd been this slight disturbance of the balance of nature, and the natural law that two and two make four had slipped a cog at that particular place. Up in the Amazon Basin a Jivaro Indian shot an arrow at a bird in a tree. He missed. The arrow kept on going. Up. It went clean out of sight with no signs of slowing up. Nature being slightly off the beam, the law that says what goes up must come down wasn't working just there just then. In Sydney, Australia, a tea-shop proprietor noticed that two tea-cakes which were equal to a third teacake weren't equal to each other. And in a machine shop in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, for the duration of a coffee-break, the natural law that says every action must have a reaction of equal moment and opposite sign took a coffee-break too. There were such other events. Some people noticed them, and some didn't. But they happened.

The balance of nature was disturbed. The cosmos reacted to restore a proper relationship of forces and events. The laws of chance describe such relationships. So the cosmos tended to arrive at a new balance, in which past improbabilities of one kind were effectively balanced off by present improbabilities of equal moment and opposite sign. Of course the cosmos also tended to operate on the principle of least action. Therefore . . .

MR. George Bedford Gaines, Insurance in All Branches, walked down the street in Tres Aguas, Nevada. The sun shone brightly on paved streets and shade-trees, on distant mountains, on the signs of divorce lawyers and gas stations and slot-machine arcades. It also shone on the Formosa and on Oswald's Club, and the court-house where divorces came off a disassembly line, and on other places where people sought happiness.

George was at once drunk with happiness and sunk in gloom. The trouble, of course, was money. True, he'd recently landed the insurance package on Tres Aguas' newest and lushest hotel, but his commission wouldn't come for weeks. The hotel was owned by a syndicate headed by one Joe the Greek, who rode around town in a large shiny car with four bodyguards. Joe the Greek could change his mind. In George's present state of mind, it seemed likely that he would.

George's bliss and concomitant gloom was due to Janet Dab-ney. George adored her. He'd had a rival, whom he'd been trying to flush down the drain by keeping Janet too busy to notice him.

He'd done pretty well. But keeping her busy cost money. Cash money. She'd no idea that he was being extravagant, for him, but last night he'd bared his heart and his financial status, and she'd accepted the one and dismissed the other. But George was now suffering from the knowledge that a man ought to have some money to get married on. And he didn't. He'd just come from the bank and learned that the only thing to his credit was an overdraft notice. Things looked dim. In his enthusiasm for taking Janet places he'd neglected a--few trivial things like adding up his check-stubs, and contacting prospective insurers, and selling comprehensive coverage on law-suits, fires, storm-damage and other ills to which businesses are heir.

Now his neglect had caught up with him. He wasn't really a good businessman. He was in love; inebriated with emotion. And that goes badly with being broke. Sooner or later he would return to solvency, but right now he'd just discovered that the small silver in his pockets was all his available wealth.

He was engaged, which was bliss, and he was broke, which was not. He gazed morbidly about him. He was then in front of the Rodeo Arcade, whose sign promised thirty-five slot-machines, no waiting. Tres Aguas went in heavily for slot-machines, divorces, expensive nightclub acts, craps, and roulette. All were legal and George usually eschewed them all. People who live in Tres Aguas do. They know better than to indulge. But with under a dollar in silver for capital, George could hardly practice prudence. Until more cash came in he couldn't even take Janet out to a drive-in show, with a hamburger to follow.

HE flipped a quarter. It came heads. He turned into the Rodeo Arcade, where thirty-five metal contraptions posed alluringly. The point was that what he had was not enough to hoard. He could only try to run it up to —say—a frugal lunch. He wouldn't, but he could try. He regarded the slot-machines cynically, but he put a nicbel in a five-cent slot, and pulled down the handle. The machine gulped the coin, rumbled in its inwards, and then was ungratefully silent.

There came a familiar, disliked voiced in his ear.

"George! What are you doing here? Let me congratulate you on getting the Joe the Greek business !"

George did not turn his head. The voice could only be that of Howard Sattlethwait, who was a competitor, a would-be rival, and the only man whose obituary he believed he'd read with genuine pleasure. He ignored the greeting and put in a second nickel. The machine again made digestive noises. But no pay-off.

"I called Janet for a date last night," said Howard with the in-sensitivity of his kind. "I had a pass to the open-air concert. But her mother said she was out with you celebrating the Joe the Greek policy. That's how I heard the news. Splendid! You took Janet to the Formosa, didn't you ?"

George did not nod, but it was true. The Formosa was the most expensive dining-place in Tres Aguas, with the highest-priced floor show. But he was a man in love, and even now he regretted nothing. It had been a wonderful evening!

He put a nickel in another machine, which might be more generous than the first. It gobbled the coin and rumbled within. There was no other result. Howard feigned to be struck by a dreadful suspicion.

"Look here, George," he said hypocritically over George's shoulder, "You playing a nickel slot-machine? You're not broke, are you? The Formosa." When George did not answer he said hopefully; "If you are, I can let you have some money."

George looked at him with quiet loathing. He fumbled in his pocket for his remaining capital.

"Howard," he said mildly, "if I wanted to borrow money I could make better terms with slot-machines. They have more human feelings. More compassion. Go to hell, will you?"

Howard was not a sensitive type. He said reproachfully;

"I'm trying to be a friend to you, George! If you need money, I'll let you have it! Your note's good with me! Or if you don't want to borrow,—why—I'll buy the Joe the Greek business from you! Considering that he might change his mind, I can't offer more than twenty per cent of the commission you've got coming to you from it, but that's fair, isn't it? Nothing could be fairer, eh?"

"I can think of things," said George coldly. "My friends the slot-machines, for example. They're much more 'generous. Much less mercenary."

He moved away. He had no more nickels. He brought out the two quarters he had left. Howard moved quickly and put his hand over the coin-slot by which the next machine would be fed.