Allen paused and swabbed at his forehead. His face shone with grease, sweat and excitement. 'I've been working on this thing ever since I finished college. It's a modification of something we have on Earth - but it's no end improved. It's a mechanical bloom picker.'
He had fished a much-folded square of heavy paper from his pocket and talked steadily as he spread it on the plotway before them, 'Up to now, bloom-picking has been the bottleneck of production, to say nothing of the 15 to 20% loss due to picking under- and over-ripe blooms. After all, human eyes are only human eyes, and the blooms - Here, look!'
The paper was spread flat and Allen squatted before it. George leaned over his shoulder, with frowning watchfulness.
'You see. It's a combination of fluoroscope and photo-electric cell. The ripeness of the bloom can be told by the state of the spores within. This machine is adjusted so that the proper circuit is tripped upon the impingement of just that combination of light and dark formed by ripe spores within the bloom. On the other hand, this second circuit - but look, it's easier to show you.'
He was up again, brimming with enthusiasm. With a jump, he was in the low seat behind the picker and had pulled the lever.
Ponderously, the picker turned toward the blooms and its 'eye' travelled sideways six inches above the ground. As it passed each fungus bloom, a long spidery arm shot out, lopping it cleanly half an inch from the ground and depositing it neatly in the downward-sloping slide beneath. A pile of blooms formed behind the machine.
'We can hook on a binder, too, later on. Do you notice those blooms it doesn't touch? Those are unripe. Just wait till it comes to an over-ripe one and see what it does.'
He yelled in triumph a moment later when a bloom was torn out and dropped on the spot.
He stopped the machine. 'You see? In a month, perhaps, we can actually start putting it to work in the fields.'
George Carter gazed sourly upon his twin, 'Take more 'n a month, I rackon. It'll take foraver, more likely.'
'What do you mean, forever. It just has to be sped up -'
'I don't care if 't just has t' be painted pairple. 'Tisn't going t' appear on my fields.'
'Your fields?'
'Yup, mine,' was the cool response. 'I've got veto pow'r here same as you have. Y' can't do anything 'thout my say-so - and y' won't get it f'r this. In fact, I want y' t' clear that thing out o' here, altogether. Got no use f r 't.'
Allen dismounted and faced his brother, 'You agreed to let me have this plot to experiment on, veto-free, and I'm holding you to that agreement.'
'All right, then. But keep y'r domned machine out o' the rest o' the fields.'
The Earthman approached the other slowly. There was a dangerous look in his eyes. 'Look, George, I don't like your attitude - and I don't like the way you're using your veto power. I don't know what you're used to running on Ganymede, but you're in the big time now, and there are a lot of provincial notions you'll have to get out of your head.'
'Not unless I want to. And if y' want t' have 't out with me, we'd batter go t' y'r office. Spatting before the men 'd be bad for discipline.'
The trip back to Central was made in ominous silence. George whistled softly to himself while Allen folded his arms and stared with ostentatious indifference at the narrow, twisting plotway ahead. The silence persisted as they entered the Earthman's office. Allen gestured shortly toward a chair and the Ganymedan took it without a word. He brought out his ever-present green-leaf cigar and waited for the other to speak.
Allen hunched forward upon the edge of his seat and leaned both elbows on his desk. He began with a rush.
'There's lots to this situation, George, that's a mystery to me. I don't know why they brought up you on Ganymede and me on Earth, and I don't know why they never let us know of each other, or made us co-managers now with veto-power over one another - but I do know that the situation is rapidly growing intolerable.
'This corporation needs modernization, and you know that. Yet you've been wielding that veto-power over every trifling advance I've tried to initiate. I don't know just what your viewpoint is, but I've a suspicion that you think you're still living on Ganymede. If you're still in the sticks, - I'm warning you - get out of them fast. I'm from Earth, and this corporation is going to be run with Earth efficiency and Earth organization. Do you understand?'
George puffed odorous tobacco at the ceiling before answering, but when he did, his eyes came down sharply, and there was a cutting edge to his voice.
'Airth, is it? Airth efficiency, no less? Well, All'n, I like ye. I can't help it. Y'r so much like me, that disliking y' would be like disliking myself, I rackon. I hate t' say this, but y're upbringing's all wrong.'
His. voice became sternly accusatory, 'Y'r an Airthman. Well, look at y'. An Airthman's but half a man at best, and naturally y' lean on machines. But d' y' suppose / want the corporation to be run by machines - just machines'} What're the men t' do?'
'The men run the machines,' came the clipped, angry response.
The Ganymedan rose, and a fist slammed down on the desk, 'The machines run the men, and y' know it. Fairst, y' use them; then y' depend on them; and finally y'r slaves t' them. Over on y'r pracious Airth, it was machines, machines, machines - and as a result, what are y'? I'll tell y'. Half a man!'
He drew himself up, 'I still like y'. I like y' well enough t' wish y'd lived on Gannie with me. By Jupe 'n' domn, 'twould have made a man o' y'.'
'Finished?' said Allen.
'Rackon so!'
'Then I'll tell you something. There's nothing wrong with you that a life time on a decent planet wouldn't have fixed. As it is, however, you belong on Ganymede. I'd advise you to go back there.'
George spoke very softly, 'Y'r not thinking o' taking a punch at me, are y'?'
'No. I couldn't fight a mirror image of myself, but if your face were only a little different, I would enjoy splashing it about the premises a bit.'
'Think y' could do it - an Airthman like you? Here, sit down. We're both getting a bit too excited, I rackon. Nothing'll be settled this way.'
He sat down once more, puffed vainly at his dead cigar, and tossed it into the incinerator chute in disgust.
'Where's y'r water?' he grunted.
Allen grinned with sudden delight, 'Would you object to having a machine supply it?'
'Machine? What d' y' mean?' The Ganymedan gazed about him suspiciously.
'Watch! I had this installed a week ago.' He touched a button on his desk and a low click sounded below. There was the sound of pouring water for a second or so and then a circular metal disk beside the Earthman's right hand slid aside and a cup of water lifted up from below.
'Take it,' said Allen.
George lifted it gingerly and drank it down. He tossed the empty cup down the incinerator shaft, then stared long and thoughtfully at his brother, 'May I see this water feeder o' y'rs?'
'Surely. It's just under the desk. Here, I'll make room for you.'
The Ganymedan crawled underneath while Allen watched uncertainly. A brawny hand was thrust out suddenly and a muffled voice said, 'Hand me a screwdriver.'
'Here! What are you going to do?'
'Nothing. Nothing 't all. Just want t' investigate this contraption.'
The screw-driver was handed down and for a few minutes there was no other sound than an occasional soft scraping of metal on metal. Finally, George withdrew a flushed face and adjusted his wrinkled collar with satisfaction.
'Which button do I press for the water?'
Allen gestured and the button was pressed. The gurgling of water sounded. The Earthman stared in mystification from his desk to his brother and back again. And.then he became aware of a moistness about his feet.
He jumped, looked downwards and squawked in dismay, 'Why, damn you, what have you done?' A snaky stream of water wriggled blindly out from under the desk and the pouring sound of water still continued.