Devon stared at his fellow engineer. "You didn't design it?"
"No — but it works. Somebody may be playing jokes, but that somebody can make our best staff around here look like peanuts. Turn on your gadget. Let's see how it works."
As if doubting Kennely's sanity, Devon plugged in the cords and watched the tubes and meters come to life. He inspected them critically. His Climat Center receiver showed a perfect image of the dials, but it was not colored.
"I guess they figured you didn't need color," said Kennely. "How can we tell if the prognosticator panel is any good?"
"This is ridiculous, Brian! It couldn't possibly work. This thing would indicate exact temperatures, pressures, and so on. A meteorologist would be laughed out of the business if he claimed he could do that."
"But suppose we set the thing to indicate the data for tomorrow at this time and see how well it checks?"
"Great guns, this thing would be worth millions of bucks if it would do what those meters say!"
"Yeah," said Kennely thoughtfully, "But I'm thinking about the guy in the model shop who is responsible for this. He'd be a good guy to offer a full partnership when we open up on our own. Let's go down to the shop. Got those figures on tomorrow's weather?"
Walking towards the model shop again, Chris Devon had the curious feeling that he had stepped off a high precipice during the morning and hadn't quit dropping.
Mac came over as they entered. "Don't tell me," he said. "I know. It isn't any good. We'll have to get out another rush model by Saturday noon. We can't do it, and that's that!"
"We just wanted to compliment you on a fine job," said Kennely.
Mac scratched his head in disbelief. "What do you want, then?"
"Nothing. We want to compliment the ones who worked on our models. Who did it?"
"Parks would know. He's supervisor on them. Parks!"
The supervisor turned. When he saw Kennely he put a hand over his face.
"I'm sorry as heck, Brian, but we just haven't been able to get started on your model. We can't begin work until tomorrow at the earliest. All the parts are on hand, but —"
Mac turned upon him. "Are you crazy? Kennely and Devon both got their models this morning."
"That's impossible! We haven't made them!"
"Somebody did," said Kennely. "They're in our lab."
"I don't believe it," said Parks, "Somebody's —"
"Nuts," Mac said.
"Maybe he didn't see it," suggested Devon. "Maybe some of the crew just went ahead —"
"On a project like those two? It would be about as inconspicuous as four elephants doing a ballet in here."
"Well, how about you, Mac? You know which ones would handle it."
"Well, sure — Lessee, now. Myrtle would do the video circuits. No, wait a minute. She was on Peterson's project. Jane —"
The foreman suddenly looked hard at them. "Come to think of it I don't seem to be able to remember a single one that wasn't on something else. But somebody built those models —"
"Mind if we just wander around and talk to your people?" said Devon.
By noon they had spoken with every member of the shop crew. Every one denied any part of the work on the two models.
Even Kennely's calm began to waver. "Whoever the genius is around here, he's certainly of a retiring nature. Let's go back and dismantle mine. We ought to leave yours as is until we find out just how well the prognosticator circuits are working."
"Suits me," said Devon. "But those circuits can't work!"
Carefully, they dismantled the model of the remote indicator. As they proceeded, they were filled with admiration for the ingenuity of the circuits disclosed. They were so completely unorthodox that it was as if a mind totally unfamiliar with conventional engineering had designed them. They were foreign.
By quitting time they had the color video circuits analyzed and they had encountered a completely new method of achieving color television, one they knew was worth untold amounts commercially.
"There it is," said Kennely as they finished. "Shall we continue our search for the unknown gremlin in our midst or shall we tell Webber we did it and see if the Board of Directors vote us a raise?"
"Why would anybody cook up a thing like this and not come forward to get the medals pinned to his chest?"
"Honestly, I don't know, Chris. This is the biggest, most senseless, and most potent puzzle I've ever seen. But let's call it quits for tonight. We'll see how the meterological forecast for tomorrow makes out."
Devon took the sketches of the circuits home. After dinner that night he spread them out in his study while Kip and Pat, the twin nine-year-olds, hollered from downstairs for him to come and play. It was like standing stupidly by while someone pointed out the obvious, he thought. He would never in the world have conceived those circuit applications, but once he had seen them in use he knew that they were the simplest means of accomplishing their purposes.
There was one factor that neither he nor Kennely had considered sufficiently. Both the models had required several hundred man hours of work in their construction. Why couldn't they find one person who had contributed? Many must have had a part in it.
Where did Mac fit in? Devon wondered. Surely he must know more than he was admitting.
The next morning, Kennely was already at his desk when Devon entered.
He removed his pipe and looked up. "Shall wo check the weather?"
"You check it," said Devon. "I think I'm getting scared of the answer."
"It's not quite time, but maybe it's close enough to interpolate the values. Let's have a look."
They went in and turned Devon's equipment on. The values were markedly different from the ones predicted the day before.
"We'd better wait," said Kennely. "Notice that the temperature readings appear to be of the air outside the building instead of inside."
"There's no sensitive element connected outside."
"Let's check on it with some thermometers."
At that moment, Jackson, a Project Engineer, walked by swearing profusely. "You'd think these dumb solder slingers of Mac's had never seen a blueprint before!" He addressed the air that was sulphurous about his head.
"It's happened again!" said Kennely.
For half an hour they watched the instruments in the weather station. Slowly, the needles approached the values indicated twenty-four hours before on the prognostication panel.
At the exact time Kennely checked his watch.
"Bull's-eye," he announced. The three predicted values of pressure, temperature and relative humidity were right on the nose. It was too much for sheer coincidence.
"Well — any suggestions?" said Kennely, at last.
"Let's go down and look over the model shop again. Maybe we can pick up a clue. There's got to be some answer to this crazy thing."
They had barely stepped into the door of the model shop when Mac saw them. He picked up a bar of cold rolled steel from a bench.
"This place is off bounds for engineers!"
"What's the trouble, Mac?" asked Kennely.
"Trouble! That fool Jackson was in this morning. He swore up and down that we don't know a blueprint from the linoleum on the floor. He said we hadn't made his model according to the prints, same as you."
"Well, look, Mac — those models are a lot better than we designed them. We can't figure out who could build them that good. Why do you think no one will admit working on them?"
"You've got me. As if I didn't have enough trouble trying to build Goldbergs, now I have to put up with screwballs who build stuff and say they never saw it before."