If you have any criticism of our actions in that case they are best made to our legal department through the usual channels.
Beaumont pushed a palm in his direction. Oh, no, Mr. Clare please! You misunderstand me. I was not criticizing; I was admiring. Such resource! What a diplomat you would have made!
Let's quit fencing. What do you want?
Mr. Beaumont pursed his lips. Let us suppose that you had to entertain a dozen representatives of each intelligent race in this planetary system and you wanted to make each one of them completely comfortable and happy. Could you do it?
Clare thought aloud. Air pressure, humidity, radiation densities, atmosphere, chemistry, temperature, cultural conditions those things are all simple. But how about acceleration? We could use a centrifuge for the Jovians, but Martians and Titans that's another matter. There is no way to reduce earth-normal gravity. No, you would have to entertain them out in space, or on Luna. That makes it not our pigeon; we never give service beyond the stratosphere.
Beaumont shook his head. It won't be beyond the stratosphere. You may take it as an absolute condition that you are to accomplish your results on the surface of the Earth.
Why?
Is it the custom of General Services to inquire why a client wants a particular type of service?
No. Sorry.
Quite all right. But you do need more information in order to understand what must be accomplished and why it must be secret. There will be a conference, held on this planet, in the near future ninety days at the outside. Until the conference is called no suspicion that it is to be held must be allowed to leak out. If the plans for it were to be anticipated in certain quarters, it would be useless to hold the conference at all. I suggest that you think of this conference as a round-table of leading, ah, scientists of the system, about the same size and makeup as the session of the Academy held on Mars last spring. You are to make all preparations for the entertainments of the delegates, but you are to conceal these preparations in the ramifications of your organization until needed. As for the details
But Clare interrupted him. You appear to have assumed that we will take on this commission. As you have explained it, it would involve us in a ridiculous failure. General Services does not like failures. You know and I know that low-gravity people cannot spend more than a few hours in high gravity without seriously endangering their health. Interplanetary get-togethers are always held on a low-gravity planet and always will be.
Yes, answered Beaumont patiently, they always have been. Do you realize the tremendous diplomatic handicap which Earth and Venus labor under in consequence?
I don't get it.
It isn't necessary that you should. Political psychology is not your concern. Take it for granted that it does and that the Administration is determined that this conference shall take place on Earth.
Why not Luna?
Beaumont shook his head. Not the same thing at all. Even though we administer it, Luna City is a treaty port. Not the same thing, psychologically.
Clare shook his head. Mr. Beaumont, I don't believe that you understand the nature of General Services, even as I fail to appreciate the subtle requirements of diplomacy. We don't work miracles and we don't promise to. We are just the handyman of the last century, gone speed-lined and corporate. We are the latter day equivalent of the old servant class, but we are not Aladdin's genie. We don't even maintain research laboratories in the scientific sense. We simply make the best possible use of modern advances in communication and organization to do what already can be done. He waved a hand at the far wall, on which there was cut in intaglio the time-honored trademark of the business a Scottie dog, pulling against a leash and sniffing at a post. There is the spirit of the sort of work we do. We walk dogs for people who are too busy to walk 'em themselves. My grandfather worked his way through college walking dogs. I'm still walking them. I don't promise miracles, nor monkey with politics.
Beaumont fitted his fingertips carefully together. You walk dogs for a fee. But of course you do you walk my pair. Five minim-credits seems rather cheap.
It is. But a hundred thousand dogs, twice a day, soon runs up the gross take.
The 'take' for walking this 'dog' would be considerable.
How much? asked Francis. It was his first sign of interest.
Beaumont turned his eyes on him. My dear sir, the outcome of this, ah, round-table should make a difference of literally hundreds of billions of credits to this planet. We will not bind the mouth of the kine that tread the corn, if you pardon the figure of speech.
How much?
Would thirty percent over cost be reasonable?
Francis shook his head. Might not come to much.
Well, I certainly won't haggle. Suppose we leave it up to you gentlemen your pardon, Miss Cormet to decide what the service is worth. I think I can rely on your planetary and racial patriotism to make it reasonable and proper.
Francis sat back, said nothing, but looked pleased.
Wait a minute, protested Clare. We haven't taken this job.
We have discussed the fee, observed Beaumont.
Clare looked from Francis to Grace Cormet, then examined his fingernails. Give me twenty-four hours to find out whether or not it is possible, he said finally, and I'll tell you whether or not we will walk your dog.
I feel sure, answered Beaumont, that you will. He gathered his cape about him.
Okay, masterminds, said Clare bitterly, you've bought it.
I've been wanting to get back to field work, said Grace.
Put a crew on everything but the gravity problem, suggested Francis. It's the only catch. The rest is routine.
Certainly, agreed Clare, but you had better deliver on that. If you can't, we are out some mighty expensive preparations that we will never be paid for. Who do you want? Grace?
I suppose so, answered Francis. She can count up to ten.
Grace Cormet looked at him coldly. There are times, Sance Francis, when I regret having married you.
Keep your domestic affairs out of the office, warned Clare. Where do you start?
Let's find out who knows most about gravitation, decided Francis. Grace, better get Doctor Krathwohl on the screen.
Right, she acknowledged, as she stepped to the stereo controls. That's the beauty about this business. You don't have to know anything; you just have to know where to find out.
Dr. Krathwohl was a part of the permanent staff of General Services. He had no assigned duties. The company found it worthwhile to support him in comfort while providing him with an unlimited drawing account for scientific journals and for attendance at the meetings which the learned hold from time to time. Dr. Krathwohl lacked the single-minded drive of the research scientist; he was a dilettante by nature.
Occasionally they asked him a question. It paid.
Oh, hello, my dear! Doctor Krathwohl's gentle face smiled out at her from the screen. Look I've just come across the most amusing fact in the latest issue of Nature. It throws a most interesting sidelight on Brownlee's theory of
Just a second, Doc, she interrupted. I'm kinda in a hurry.
Yes, my dear?
Who knows the most about gravitation?
In what way do you mean that? Do you want an astrophysicist, or do you want to deal with the subject from a standpoint of theoretical mechanics? Farquarson would be the man in the first instance, I suppose.
I want to know what makes it tick.
Field theory, eh? In that case you don't want Farquarson. He is a descriptive ballistician, primarily. Dr. Julian's work in that subject is authoritative, possibly definitive.