Where can we get hold of him?
Oh, but you can't. He died last year, poor fellow. A great loss.
Grace refrained from telling him how great a loss and asked, Who stepped into his shoes?
Who what? Oh, you were jesting! I see. You want the name of the present top man in field theory. I would say O'Neil.
Where is he?
I'll have to find out. I know him slightly a difficult man.
Do, please. In the meantime who could coach us a bit on what it's all about?
Why don't you try young Carson, in our engineering department? He was interested in such things before he took a job with us. Intelligent chap I've had many an interesting talk with him.
I'll do that. Thanks, Doc. Call the Chief's office as soon as you have located O'Neil. Speed. She cut off.
Carson agreed with Krathwohl's opinion, but looked dubious. O'Neil is arrogant and noncooperative. I've worked under him. But he undoubtedly knows more about field theory and space structure than any other living man.
Carson had been taken into the inner circle, the problem explained to him. He had admitted that he saw no solution. Maybe we are making something hard out of this, Clare suggested. I've got some ideas. Check me if I'm wrong, Carson.
Go ahead, Chief.
Well, the acceleration of gravity is produced by the proximity of a mass right? Earth-normal gravity being produced by the proximity of the Earth. Well, what would be the effect of placing a large mass just over a particular point on the Earth's surface. Would not that serve to counteract the pull of the Earth?
Theoretically, yes. But it would have to be a damn big mass. No matter.
You don't understand, Chief. To offset fully the pull of the Earth at a given point would require another planet the size of the Earth in contact with the Earth at that point. Of course since you don't want to cancel the pull completely, but simply to reduce it, you gain a certain advantage through using a smaller mass which would have its center of gravity closer to the point in question than would be the center of gravity of the Earth. Not enough, though. While the attraction builds up inversely as the square of the distance in this case the half-diameter the mass and the consequent attraction drops off directly as the cube of the diameter.
What does that give us?
Carson produced a sliderule and figured for a few moments. He looked up. I'm almost afraid to answer. You would need a good-sized asteroid, of lead, to get anywhere at all.
Asteroids have been moved before this.
Yes, but what is to hold it up? No, Chief, there is no conceivable source of power, or means of applying it, that would enable you to hang a big planetoid over a particular spot on the Earth's surface and keep it there.
Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, Clare said pensively.
Grace's smooth brow had been wrinkled as she followed the discussion. Now she put in, I gathered that you could use an extremely heavy small mass more effectively. I seem to have read somewhere about some stuff that weighs tons per cubic inch.
The core of dwarf stars, agreed Carson. All we would need for that would be a ship capable of going light-years in a few days, some way to mine the interior of a star, and a new space-time theory.
Oh, well, skip it.
Wait a minute, Francis observed. Magnetism is a lot like gravity, isn't it?
Well yes.
Could there be some way to magnetize these gazebos from the little planets? Maybe something odd about their body chemistry?
Nice idea, agreed Carson, but while their internal economy is odd, it's not that odd. They are still organic.
I suppose not. If pigs had wings they'd be pigeons.
The stereo annunciator blinked. Doctor Krathwohl announced that O'Neil could be found at his summer home in Portage, Wisconsin. He had not screened him and would prefer not to do so, unless the Chief insisted.
Clare thanked him and turned back to the others. We are wasting time, he announced. After years in this business we should know better than to try to decide technical questions. I'm not a physicist and I don't give a damn how gravitation works. That's O'Neil's business. And Carson's. Carson, shoot up to Wisconsin and get O'Neil on the job.
Me?
You. You're an operator for this job with pay to match. Bounce over to the port there will be a rocket and a credit facsimile waiting for you. You ought to be able to raise ground in seven or eight minutes.
Carson blinked. How about my job here?
The engineering department will be told, likewise the accounting. Get going.
Without replying Carson headed for the door. By the time he reached it he was hurrying.
Carson's departure left them with nothing to do until he reported back nothing to do, that is, but to start action on the manifold details of reproducing the physical and cultural details of three other planets and four major satellites, exclusive of their characteristic surface-normal gravitational accelerations. The assignment, although new, presented no real difficulties to General Services. Somewhere there were persons who knew all the answers to these matters. The vast loose organization called General Services was geared to find them, hire them, put them to work. Any of the unlimited operators and a considerable percent of the catalogue operators could take such an assignment and handle it without excitement or hurry.
Francis called in one unlimited operator. He did not even bother to select him, but took the first available on the ready panel they were all Can do! people. He explained in detail the assignment, then promptly forgot about it. It would be done, and on time. The punched-card machines would chatter a bit louder, stereo screens would flash, and bright young people in all parts of the Earth would drop what they were doing and dig out the specialists who would do the actual work.
He turned back to Clare, who said, I wish I knew what Beaumont is up to. Conference of scientists phooey!
I thought you weren't interested in politics, Jay.
I'm not. I don't give a hoot in hell about politics, interplanetary or otherwise, except as it affects this business. But if I knew what was being planned, we might be able to squeeze a bigger cut out of it.
Well, put in Grace, I think you can take it for granted that the real heavyweights from all the planets are about to meet and divide Gaul into three parts.
Yes, but who gets cut out?
Mars, I suppose.
Seems likely. With a bone tossed to the Venerians. In that case we might speculate a little in Pan-Jovian Trading Corp.
Easy, son, easy, Francis warned. Do that, and you might get people interested. This is a hush-hush job.
I guess you're right. Still, keep your eyes open. There ought to be some way to cut a slice of pie before this is over.
Grace Cormet's telephone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and said, Yes?
A Mrs. Hogbein Johnson wants to speak to you.
You handle her. I'm off the board.
She won't talk to anyone but you.
All right. Put her on the Chief's stereo, but stay in parallel yourself. You'll handle it after I've talked to her.
The screen came to life, showing Mrs. Johnson's fleshy face alone, framed in the middle of the screen in flat picture. Oh, Miss Cormet, she moaned, some dreadful mistake has been made. There is no stereo on this ship.
It will be installed in Cincinnati. That will be in about twenty minutes.
You are sure ?
Quite sure.
Oh, thank you! It's such a relief to talk with you. Do you know, I'm thinking of making you my social secretary.
Thank you, Grace replied evenly, but I am under contract.
But how stupidly tiresome! You can break it.
No, I'm sorry Mrs. Johnson. Good-by. She switched off the screen and spoke again into her telephone. Tell Accounting to double her fee. And I won't speak with her again. She cut off and shoved the little instrument savagely back into her pocket. Social secretary!