Murray Leinster (Duke Classic SiFi) by Operation: Outer Space Page A
Authors: Operation: Outer Space
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was the one impossible dream
that everybody wanted to believe in. The story spread in a manner that
could only be described as chain-reaction in character. And of course
Dabney—as the scientist responsible for the new hope—became known to
all peoples.
The experts of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe checked on the
publicity given to Dabney. Strict advertising agency accounting figured
that to date the cost-per-customer-mention of Dabney and his discovery
were the lowest in the history of advertising. Surveys disclosed that
within three Earth-days less than 3.5 of every hundred interviews
questioned were completely ignorant of Dabney and the prospect of travel
to the stars through his discovery. More people knew Dabney's name than
knew the name of the President of the United States!
That was only the beginning. The leading popular-science show jumped
eight points in audience-rating. It actually reached top-twenty rating
when it assigned a regular five-minute period to the Dabney Field and
its possibilities in human terms. On the sixth day after Jamison's
calculated indiscretion, the public consciousness was literally
saturated with the idea of faster-than-light transportation. Dabney was
mentioned in every interview of every stuffed shirt, he was referred
to on every comedy show (three separate jokes had been invented, which
were developed into one thousand eight hundred switcheroos, most
of them only imperceptibly different from the original trio) and
even Marilyn Winters—Little Aphrodite Herself—was demanding a
faster-than-light-travel sequence in her next television show.
On the seventh day Bill Holden came into the office where Cochrane
worked feverishly.
"Doctor Cochrane," said Holden, "a word with you!"
"Doctor?" asked Cochrane.
"Doctor!" repeated Holden. "I've just been interviewing my patient.
You're good. My patient is adjusted."
Cochrane raised his eyebrows.
"He's famous," said Holden grimly. "He now considers that everybody in
the world knows that he is a great scientist. He is appreciated. He is
happily making plans to go back to Earth and address a few learned
societies and let people admire him. He can now spend the rest of his
life being the man who discovered the principle by which
faster-than-light-travel will some day be achieved. Even when the furor
dies down, he will have been a great man—and he will stay a great man
in his own estimation. In short, he's cured."
Cochrane grinned.
"Then I'm fired?"
"We are," said Holden. "There are professional ethics even among
psychiatrists, Jed. I have to admit that the guy now has a permanent
adjustment to reality. He has been recognized as a great scientist. He
is no longer frustrated."
Cochrane leaned back in his chair.
"That may be good medical ethics," he observed, "but it's lousy business
practice, Bill. You say he's adjusted to reality. That means that he
will now have a socially acceptable reaction to anything that's likely
to happen to him."
Holden nodded.
"A well-adjusted person does. Dabney's the same person. He's the same
fool. But he'll get along all right. A psychiatrist can't change a
personality! All he can do is make it adjust to the world about so the
guy doesn't have to be tucked away in a straight-jacket. In that sense,
Dabney is adjusted."
"You've played a dirty trick on him," said Cochrane. "You've stabilized
him, and that's the rottenest trick anybody can play on anybody! You've
put him into a sort of moral deep-freeze. It's a dirty trick, Bill!"
"Look who's talking!" said Holden wearily. "I suppose the advertising
business is altruistic and unmercenary?"
"The devil, no!" said Cochrane indignantly. "We serve a useful purpose!
We tell people that they smell bad, and so give them an alibi for the
unpopularity their stupidity has produced. But then we tell them to use
so-and-so's breath sweetener or whosit's non-immunizing deodorant
they'll immediately become the life of every party they attend! It's a
lie, of course, but
that everybody wanted to believe in. The story spread in a manner that
could only be described as chain-reaction in character. And of course
Dabney—as the scientist responsible for the new hope—became known to
all peoples.
The experts of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe checked on the
publicity given to Dabney. Strict advertising agency accounting figured
that to date the cost-per-customer-mention of Dabney and his discovery
were the lowest in the history of advertising. Surveys disclosed that
within three Earth-days less than 3.5 of every hundred interviews
questioned were completely ignorant of Dabney and the prospect of travel
to the stars through his discovery. More people knew Dabney's name than
knew the name of the President of the United States!
That was only the beginning. The leading popular-science show jumped
eight points in audience-rating. It actually reached top-twenty rating
when it assigned a regular five-minute period to the Dabney Field and
its possibilities in human terms. On the sixth day after Jamison's
calculated indiscretion, the public consciousness was literally
saturated with the idea of faster-than-light transportation. Dabney was
mentioned in every interview of every stuffed shirt, he was referred
to on every comedy show (three separate jokes had been invented, which
were developed into one thousand eight hundred switcheroos, most
of them only imperceptibly different from the original trio) and
even Marilyn Winters—Little Aphrodite Herself—was demanding a
faster-than-light-travel sequence in her next television show.
On the seventh day Bill Holden came into the office where Cochrane
worked feverishly.
"Doctor Cochrane," said Holden, "a word with you!"
"Doctor?" asked Cochrane.
"Doctor!" repeated Holden. "I've just been interviewing my patient.
You're good. My patient is adjusted."
Cochrane raised his eyebrows.
"He's famous," said Holden grimly. "He now considers that everybody in
the world knows that he is a great scientist. He is appreciated. He is
happily making plans to go back to Earth and address a few learned
societies and let people admire him. He can now spend the rest of his
life being the man who discovered the principle by which
faster-than-light-travel will some day be achieved. Even when the furor
dies down, he will have been a great man—and he will stay a great man
in his own estimation. In short, he's cured."
Cochrane grinned.
"Then I'm fired?"
"We are," said Holden. "There are professional ethics even among
psychiatrists, Jed. I have to admit that the guy now has a permanent
adjustment to reality. He has been recognized as a great scientist. He
is no longer frustrated."
Cochrane leaned back in his chair.
"That may be good medical ethics," he observed, "but it's lousy business
practice, Bill. You say he's adjusted to reality. That means that he
will now have a socially acceptable reaction to anything that's likely
to happen to him."
Holden nodded.
"A well-adjusted person does. Dabney's the same person. He's the same
fool. But he'll get along all right. A psychiatrist can't change a
personality! All he can do is make it adjust to the world about so the
guy doesn't have to be tucked away in a straight-jacket. In that sense,
Dabney is adjusted."
"You've played a dirty trick on him," said Cochrane. "You've stabilized
him, and that's the rottenest trick anybody can play on anybody! You've
put him into a sort of moral deep-freeze. It's a dirty trick, Bill!"
"Look who's talking!" said Holden wearily. "I suppose the advertising
business is altruistic and unmercenary?"
"The devil, no!" said Cochrane indignantly. "We serve a useful purpose!
We tell people that they smell bad, and so give them an alibi for the
unpopularity their stupidity has produced. But then we tell them to use
so-and-so's breath sweetener or whosit's non-immunizing deodorant
they'll immediately become the life of every party they attend! It's a
lie, of course, but
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