in his whittling and
looked over as if in suddenly piqued interest.
“Now, Ray,” admonished the Professor,
“we’re here to discuss electromagnetism, not politics.”
Vibe chuckled soothingly. “The
Professor’s afraid you’re going to chase me off with radical talk like that.
But I am not that sensitive a soul, I am guided, as ever, by Second
Corinthians.” He had a careful look around the table, estimating the level of
Scriptural awareness.
“Suffering fools is unavoidable,”
said Ray Ipsow, “but don’t ask me to be ‘glad’ about it.”
The guards lounging by the doorway
seemed to grow more alert. Foley got to his feet and strolled over to the
window. Scarsdale squinted, not sure if this should be taken as an affront to
his faith.
Ray gathered his hat and stood. “It’s
all right, I’ll be down at the bar,” as he went through the door, adding,
“praying for wisdom.”
Down
in the elegant Pump Room, Ray ran into Merle Rideout and Chevrolette McAdoo,
who were “out on the town,” owing to a fortunate wager Merle had made earlier
that day.
Couples in boutonnières and
ostrichplume hats paraded selfcomposedly among the dwarf palms or paused by the
Italian Fountain as if thinking about jumping in. Somewhere a small string
orchestra was playing an arrangement of “Old Zip Coon.”
Ray Ipsow regarded the surface of his
beer. “He seems different these days. You notice anything?”
Merle nodded. “Something missing. He
used to get so fired up about everything—we’d be designing something, run
out of paper, he’d take his shirt collar off and just use that to scribble on.”
“Lately he’s been keeping those ideas
pretty much to himself, like he’s finally learned how much they might be worth.
Seen that happen enough, Lord knows. This big parade of modern inventions, all
spirited march tunes, public going ooh and aah, but someplace lurking just out
of sight is always some lawyer or accountant, beating that 2/4 like clockwork
and runnin the show.”
“Anybody feel like dancing?” offered
Chevrolette.
U p
in his penthouse suite , Scarsdale had moved on to the business at hand. “Back in the spring,
Dr. Tesla was able to achieve readings on his transformer of up to a million
volts. It does not take a prophet to see where this is headed. He is already
talking in private about something he calls a ‘WorldSystem,’ for producing huge
amounts of electrical power that anyone can tap in to for free, anywhere in the
world, because it uses the planet as an element in a gigantic resonant circuit.
He is naïve enough to think he can get financing for this, from Pierpont, or
me, or one or two others. It has escaped his mighty intellect that no one can
make any money off an invention like that. To put up money for research into a
system of free power would be to throw it away, and violate—hell,
betray—the essence of everything modern history is supposed to be.”
The Professor was literally having an
attack of nausea. Every time Tesla’s name came up, this was the predictable
outcome. Vomit. The audacity and scope of the inventor’s dreams had always sent
Heino Vanderjuice staggering back to his office in Sloane Lab feeling not so
much a failure as someone who has taken a wrong turn in the labyrinth of Time
and now cannot find his way back to the moment he made it.
“If such a thing is ever produced,”
Scarsdale Vibe was saying, “it will meanthe end of the world, not just ‘as we
know it’ but as anyone knows it. It is a weapon, Professor, surely you see
that—the most terrible weapon the world has seen, designed to destroy not
armies or matériel, but the very nature of exchange, our Economy’s long
struggle to evolve up out of the fishmarket anarchy of all battling all to the
rational systems of control whose blessings we enjoy at present.”
“But,” too much smoke in the air, not
much time before he’d have to excuse himself, “I’m not sure how I can help.”
“Speak
looked over as if in suddenly piqued interest.
“Now, Ray,” admonished the Professor,
“we’re here to discuss electromagnetism, not politics.”
Vibe chuckled soothingly. “The
Professor’s afraid you’re going to chase me off with radical talk like that.
But I am not that sensitive a soul, I am guided, as ever, by Second
Corinthians.” He had a careful look around the table, estimating the level of
Scriptural awareness.
“Suffering fools is unavoidable,”
said Ray Ipsow, “but don’t ask me to be ‘glad’ about it.”
The guards lounging by the doorway
seemed to grow more alert. Foley got to his feet and strolled over to the
window. Scarsdale squinted, not sure if this should be taken as an affront to
his faith.
Ray gathered his hat and stood. “It’s
all right, I’ll be down at the bar,” as he went through the door, adding,
“praying for wisdom.”
Down
in the elegant Pump Room, Ray ran into Merle Rideout and Chevrolette McAdoo,
who were “out on the town,” owing to a fortunate wager Merle had made earlier
that day.
Couples in boutonnières and
ostrichplume hats paraded selfcomposedly among the dwarf palms or paused by the
Italian Fountain as if thinking about jumping in. Somewhere a small string
orchestra was playing an arrangement of “Old Zip Coon.”
Ray Ipsow regarded the surface of his
beer. “He seems different these days. You notice anything?”
Merle nodded. “Something missing. He
used to get so fired up about everything—we’d be designing something, run
out of paper, he’d take his shirt collar off and just use that to scribble on.”
“Lately he’s been keeping those ideas
pretty much to himself, like he’s finally learned how much they might be worth.
Seen that happen enough, Lord knows. This big parade of modern inventions, all
spirited march tunes, public going ooh and aah, but someplace lurking just out
of sight is always some lawyer or accountant, beating that 2/4 like clockwork
and runnin the show.”
“Anybody feel like dancing?” offered
Chevrolette.
U p
in his penthouse suite , Scarsdale had moved on to the business at hand. “Back in the spring,
Dr. Tesla was able to achieve readings on his transformer of up to a million
volts. It does not take a prophet to see where this is headed. He is already
talking in private about something he calls a ‘WorldSystem,’ for producing huge
amounts of electrical power that anyone can tap in to for free, anywhere in the
world, because it uses the planet as an element in a gigantic resonant circuit.
He is naïve enough to think he can get financing for this, from Pierpont, or
me, or one or two others. It has escaped his mighty intellect that no one can
make any money off an invention like that. To put up money for research into a
system of free power would be to throw it away, and violate—hell,
betray—the essence of everything modern history is supposed to be.”
The Professor was literally having an
attack of nausea. Every time Tesla’s name came up, this was the predictable
outcome. Vomit. The audacity and scope of the inventor’s dreams had always sent
Heino Vanderjuice staggering back to his office in Sloane Lab feeling not so
much a failure as someone who has taken a wrong turn in the labyrinth of Time
and now cannot find his way back to the moment he made it.
“If such a thing is ever produced,”
Scarsdale Vibe was saying, “it will meanthe end of the world, not just ‘as we
know it’ but as anyone knows it. It is a weapon, Professor, surely you see
that—the most terrible weapon the world has seen, designed to destroy not
armies or matériel, but the very nature of exchange, our Economy’s long
struggle to evolve up out of the fishmarket anarchy of all battling all to the
rational systems of control whose blessings we enjoy at present.”
“But,” too much smoke in the air, not
much time before he’d have to excuse himself, “I’m not sure how I can help.”
“Speak
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