is heavy, but small, and a balance will be struck between the air going from you and the air returning. The winds between stations may disturb your weather, but not seriously, we hope. That which the ruler is is yours. A lovely passing.”
It touched their shoulders, and they were back briefly in the transmitter, to be almost instantly in the Chicago Branch. Vic was still shaking his head.
“It won’t work. The ruler didn’t allow for the way our gravity falls off faster and our air thins out higher up. We’d end up with maybe four pounds pressure, which isn’t enough. So both planets die—two worlds on my shoulders instead of one. Hell, we couldn’t take that offer from them, anyhow. Pat, how’d you convince them to let me go?”
She had shucked out of the pressure suit and stood combing her hair. “Common sense, as Amos says. I figured engineers consider each other engineers first, and aliens second, so I went to the head engineer instead of the ruler. He fixed it up somehow. I guess I must have sounded pretty desperate, at that, knowing your air would give out after an hour.”
They went through the local intercity teleport to Bennington and on into Vic’s office, where Flavin met them with open relief and a load of questions. Vic let Pat answer, while he mulled over her words. Somewhere, there was an idea—let the rulers alone and go to the engineers. Some obvious solution that the administrators would try and be unable to use? He shoved it around in his floating memory, but it refused to trigger any chain of thought.
P at was finishing the account of the Ecthindar offer, but Flavin was not impressed. Ptheela came in, and it had to be repeated for her, with much more enthusiastic response.
“So what?” Flavin asked. “They have to die, anyhow. Sure, it’s a shame, but we have our own problems. Hey—wait! Maybe there’s something to it. It’d take some guts and a little risk, but it would work.”
Flavin considered it while Vic sat fidgeting, willing to listen to any scheme. The politician took a cigar out and lit it carefully, his first since the accident; he’d felt that smoking somehow used up air. “Look, if they work their transmitter, we end up with a quarter of what we need. But suppose we had
four
sources. We connect with several oxygen-atmosphere worlds. Okay, we load our transmitters with atom bombs, and send one capsule to each world. After that, they either open a transmitter to us with air, or we let them have it. They can live—a little poorer, maybe, but still live. And we’re fixed for good. Congress and the President would jump at it.”
“That all?” Vic asked.
F lavin nodded. Vic’s fist caught him in the mouth, spilling him onto the floor. The politician lay there, feeling his jaw and staring up at Vic. Then the anger was gone, and Vic reached down to help him up.
“You’re half a decent guy and half a louse,” Vic told him. “You had that coming, but I should have used it on some of the real lice around. Besides, maybe you have part of an idea.”
“All right, no teeth lost—just the first cigar I’ve enjoyed in days.” Flavin rubbed his jaw, then grinned ruefully. “I should have known how you feel. I just happen to believe in Earth first. What’s this big idea of yours?”
“Getting our air through other planets.
Our
air. It’s a routing job. If we can set up a chain so the air going out of one transmitter in a station is balanced by air coming from another in the same station, there’d be a terrific draft. But most of it would be confined in the station, and there wouldn’t be the outside whirlwind to keep us from getting near. Instead of a mad rush of air in or out of the building, there’d be only eddy currents outside of the inner chamber. We’d keep our air, and maybe have time to figure out some way of getting at that hunk of glass.”
“Won’t work,” Flavin said gloomily. “Suppose Wilkes was asked to route through for another planet.
It touched their shoulders, and they were back briefly in the transmitter, to be almost instantly in the Chicago Branch. Vic was still shaking his head.
“It won’t work. The ruler didn’t allow for the way our gravity falls off faster and our air thins out higher up. We’d end up with maybe four pounds pressure, which isn’t enough. So both planets die—two worlds on my shoulders instead of one. Hell, we couldn’t take that offer from them, anyhow. Pat, how’d you convince them to let me go?”
She had shucked out of the pressure suit and stood combing her hair. “Common sense, as Amos says. I figured engineers consider each other engineers first, and aliens second, so I went to the head engineer instead of the ruler. He fixed it up somehow. I guess I must have sounded pretty desperate, at that, knowing your air would give out after an hour.”
They went through the local intercity teleport to Bennington and on into Vic’s office, where Flavin met them with open relief and a load of questions. Vic let Pat answer, while he mulled over her words. Somewhere, there was an idea—let the rulers alone and go to the engineers. Some obvious solution that the administrators would try and be unable to use? He shoved it around in his floating memory, but it refused to trigger any chain of thought.
P at was finishing the account of the Ecthindar offer, but Flavin was not impressed. Ptheela came in, and it had to be repeated for her, with much more enthusiastic response.
“So what?” Flavin asked. “They have to die, anyhow. Sure, it’s a shame, but we have our own problems. Hey—wait! Maybe there’s something to it. It’d take some guts and a little risk, but it would work.”
Flavin considered it while Vic sat fidgeting, willing to listen to any scheme. The politician took a cigar out and lit it carefully, his first since the accident; he’d felt that smoking somehow used up air. “Look, if they work their transmitter, we end up with a quarter of what we need. But suppose we had
four
sources. We connect with several oxygen-atmosphere worlds. Okay, we load our transmitters with atom bombs, and send one capsule to each world. After that, they either open a transmitter to us with air, or we let them have it. They can live—a little poorer, maybe, but still live. And we’re fixed for good. Congress and the President would jump at it.”
“That all?” Vic asked.
F lavin nodded. Vic’s fist caught him in the mouth, spilling him onto the floor. The politician lay there, feeling his jaw and staring up at Vic. Then the anger was gone, and Vic reached down to help him up.
“You’re half a decent guy and half a louse,” Vic told him. “You had that coming, but I should have used it on some of the real lice around. Besides, maybe you have part of an idea.”
“All right, no teeth lost—just the first cigar I’ve enjoyed in days.” Flavin rubbed his jaw, then grinned ruefully. “I should have known how you feel. I just happen to believe in Earth first. What’s this big idea of yours?”
“Getting our air through other planets.
Our
air. It’s a routing job. If we can set up a chain so the air going out of one transmitter in a station is balanced by air coming from another in the same station, there’d be a terrific draft. But most of it would be confined in the station, and there wouldn’t be the outside whirlwind to keep us from getting near. Instead of a mad rush of air in or out of the building, there’d be only eddy currents outside of the inner chamber. We’d keep our air, and maybe have time to figure out some way of getting at that hunk of glass.”
“Won’t work,” Flavin said gloomily. “Suppose Wilkes was asked to route through for another planet.
Similar Books
