Sorrowfully, Colin had to tell him that, although they could grow an animal with short legs or long legs or even transplant a developing leg, their science could not yet do what he asked of it.
Then there was the usual scattering of requests from biology and genetics students for the results of their most recent work sent quickly, please, by return vac-tube because there was only this weekend coming up in which to get the papers completed and turned in.
And the one solid order Ed had mentioned. From a down-country milk manufacturer. Four heifers. All identical and matching perfectly their trademark. To be sent around to die various slate and bureau food exhibits to promote the name of their company and product. It was not a particularly difficult assignment. A great deal of research and gene mapping had already been done by associations and others interested in food animals so that it was chiefly a case of bringing together what he and Ed needed, and filling in the gaps to produce me animal they wanted. Matching an animal to one in the picture of a trademark was not difficult because you had only to look at it to know how well you'd succeeded. It was the intangible qualities that made for a challenge.
As for identical animals, nature had been producing them for centuries. It was simply a case of splitting the egg once, and then splitting each of the daughter halves again..
It was the heifer order that gave Colin his idea, and staring at the pile of due-chits on his desk made the tussle with his conscience a brief one. "Ed," he said, "we have to do something to call attention to ourselves."
"That's not hard. Let's go out and blow up the Sub-Capital building."
"I'm not joking. You remember the heifer people?"
"Of course. Our one solitary contact with that great world of commerce out there beyond the laboratory walls. We were going to sweep it off its collective feet with our brilliance- I remember.'' "They paid us for four animals whose only purpose was to promote their company name and advance the sale of their product. Right?"
"Yes, but that money is long gone and the rent is due in …" Ed counted on his fingers. "… four days. What are you getting at?"
"Simply this," and now Colin spoke slowly, the excitement in him growing. "What we did for them, we can do for ourselves."
"Build four heifers…?" Ed was patently puzzled.
"Of course not. I mean use our skills to build for ourselves an animal to do for us what the heifers are doing for the milk people. Call us to the attention of the public in general, and of our potential customers in particular.
Ed was pulling his lower lip. "An animal for the express purpose of getting publicity…" And then his head came up. "Hey, TV coverage, wire services, the sport commentators… the Sport of…"
Colin finished it for him. "Exactly, the Sport of Kings. A horse."
And now Ed's eyes were shining. "Great! We'll build the greatest, the fastest racehorse to come down the pike since…*' "No," Colin shook his head. "Not a racing horse."
"Not a racehorse?" Ed looked puzzled again.
"No. The people we want to notice us don't have racing connections- Besides," and he smiled wryly again, "we can't ethically afford to be that obvious. This has got to look like a labor of love. We'll build a horse to enter in the next international showing at the New Arena."
"Wait a minute." Ed said. "Doesn't the Dean's brother raise horses?"
Colin shook his head. "Not Harrison Bullitt… his wife.
But do you know who is honorary president of the horse show association?"
It was Ed's turn to shake his head. "No."
"Commodore Joshua E. Wall."
"Commodore Joshua E… Not Commodore Wall of NavAir?"
Colin nodded, the smile on his face broad now. "That's right. Commodore Joshua E. Wall, Chief of Procurement for NavAir… and the man we've been trying to get in touch with since we first started."
"Don't keep the club so exclusive. He's only one of a long roster of people who haven't responded to our maidenlike overtures."
"True, but if we can get him to give us a contract, then we don't need to worry about many of the others."
Ed pushed back his chair and stood up. "What are we waiting for then, let's get started… When is the next show scheduled for?" he added.
"Early November, but entries usually close in October."
"October! That's cutting it close for a full-grown animal."
"Closer than you think. We've got to get him out and picking up a fistful of first ribbons before that, else he won't be able to even qualify for the big show. But tell me, Ed, can we wait until next year?'' "My head can, but my stomach knows better. I repeat, what are we waiting for? There's only four days' rental left on the analyzer." The electron analyser. The rental on the unit dug deep into their credit fund, but it was indispensable in their work.
Offspring of the early instrument packets shot off to Earth's neighboring planets to analyze and report back by radio on their life forms, it had also done away with much of the time and tedious labor cost needed to map a gene pattern when all the researchers had to work with before its advent were bits of absorbent paper and a photographic plate exposed to a diffracted X-ray.
He and Ed might have used the University unit, but then its rigid rules would have compelled them to be researchers working for the University, and not the co-establishers of Animals to Order, their independent and commercial enterprise.
And now the months of work, of lost sleep, of going back to the making of tutor-tapes for the University to earn the money to live on, to keep open the skeleton of their office, to pay for the hauling of Ato's Pride from show to show around the country and the professional riders required, for fees; all of it looked now to have been worth it. From the sound of the Arena crowd's reaction to their first glimpse of the black stallion, it was plain that his snowballing reputation had reached here before him, and that their gamble was at long last about to pay off.
He fell Ed's elbow in his side, Ed's voice, over the sound of the crowd, excited in his ear. "The Commodore! Over there, on the other side of the ring. 1 think that's the Commodore coming toward us.** There were many figures in bright blue formal clothes below them across the arena, but Colin had no trouble making out the Commodore's white hair and beefy shoulders.
And it did look as though he was working his way through the assembled officials and others in their direction. Well beyond the Commodore, Colin noticed another man, also white haired but built small, like a jockey, who looked to be following the Commodore toward them.
He called him to Ed's attention. "The little man, just coming around the left side of the judge's table. Do you know him?"
"No…," Ed said after a moment, "but he seems to be trying to give the Commodore a race. 1 hope it's a tie."
"You hope it's a tie?"
"Right. If you've got something to sell, there's nothing wrong with having two bargainers on the grounds at the same time to sort of encourage each other to make you more and more extravagant offers. After all, who is the girl in town that everybody wants to date? Why the one who has the most boyfriends already, that's who."
The Commodore went out of Colin's line of sight, going underneath their overhang, and in a moment, the little man as well. If they really were coming to them then they'd be at the head of the ramp behind them in seconds. Colin forced himself to keep his eyes away from the spot, And then the Commodore was bearing down on them,
"Mr. Colin Hall?"
Colin turned his head toward the big, white-haired man.
"I'm Colin Hall," he said and did not go on to introduce Ed, stopped by a strangeness in the the Commodore's manner.
Somehow, the big man looked oddly embarrassed.
"Mr. Hall," the Commodore said, "there's been a question raised…"
"Hall? West?"
The voice, not loud, but penetrating, cut in on the Commodore. It was the small, white-haired man.
"Just a minute," Colin snapped, irked by the man's abrupt manner and anxious to hear what the Commodore had been about to say to him.