This throat-clearing exercise was another of Tarrell’s treasured but seldom actually used Perfect Boss effects, and the results were striking. Jeppard leapt like a startled deer, and turned pale. Tarrell became soothing.
“Oh, no, Mr. Jeppard. I didn’t mean to give you that idea. I would just like to study your manuscript for a little longer, if I may. I see some possibilities here. Of course, parts will have to be reworked considerably, and the story line cleaned up, and so forth but, yes, we may have a place for your story. By the way,” he added in an attempt at a casual afterthought, “where did you get your word processor??”
Jeppard blinked, his face glowing.
“My… my word processor, sir?”
“Yes, your word processor. The thing you used to write your story.”
“Oh, that was what I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want you to think I was going on. You see, I found it at the site.”
“Is it a big machine?” Tarrell asked, remembering that some of the early word processing equipment had been quite bulky.
“Oh, no, not at all. It isn’t really a machine at all. It’s a sort of stick, and it makes marks. I have to cut down the end from time to time.”
Fascinated, the two most important Terrans in science fiction publishing stared at the small object which Jeppard drew from his pocket. It was bright yellow and pointed on one end, with something black and greasily shiny at the point. The other end was flat, with a ridged ring of brass striped with the scratched, fading remnants of black paint. The words EBERHARD-FABER MONGOL 482 were printed by some ancient process, likewise in black, on one of the sides of the yellow stick, which was hexagonal in cross-section. A Numeral 2 appeared as yellow in a black lozenge, at right angles to the other letters and numbers. The men stared at it for a long time, and then back at the battered, vibrant manuscript in Tarrell’s hand.
“I can’t tell you just exactly how it works, sir. I just picked it up, and pretty soon I was writing a few words, tracing the letters my pocket jotter prints and… Well, you see what happened.”
Freelander pulled for a long time on his pipe, exhaling at last a long, fragrant cloud of smoke. Finally, he voiced an opinion. “Well, there is a lot of information we have lost about civilization before the Collapse. They probably had technology of which we cannot even begin to dream.”