The Best of L. Sprague de Camp
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1978
- Язык: английский
- Год: Del Rey / Ballantine
- ISBN: 0-345-25474-0
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Best of L. Sprague de Camp». Краткое содержание книги:
So successful was Ross in restoring order that hardly a ripple of excitement was caused by the arrival of policemen to take Peshkov away.
After it was over, Ballin said: "You sure handled that, Ovid. How did you have nerve to jump on a man with a gun? That was reckless."
Ross made a deprecating movement. "Shucks, just an impulse, I guess. Too bad your show got kind of beat up, though."
"That's all right. We got the publicity."
"The only thing that worries me," said Ross, "is that Mr. Hoolihan's apt to think I got entirely too much publicity and fire me. Maybe you as a big advertiser could bring a little—uh—moral pressure?"
Ballin drew on his cigar and looked sharply at Ross. He said:
"Ovid, I've been thinking. The way things stand, you'll be tempted to try a little gentle blackmail on me because of the Heliac Club."
As Ross started to protest, Ballin held up a hand. "The only way to make sure you don't, as I see it, is to make your interests identical with my own."
"Yes?"
"I've got a little venture capital lying loose, and I've been thinking of starting a new trade journal, something like The Garment Gazette but specializing in sportswear."
"You mean a house organ?"
"God forbid! Nothing's duller than house organs. This would be a regular general-circulation journal, run independently of the Outstanding Knitwear Company. The managing editor would have a free hand to call his shots as he saw them. How would you like the job?"
When Ross got his breath back he could only say: "Gosh, Mr. Ballin!"
"However, your first assignment will have nothing to do with the magazine at all."
"Huh? What then?"
"It will be to accompany me to the Heliac Health Club for a weekend of healthful relaxation. After that, we'll be in the same boat!"
The following morning, Ovid Ross turned in His story and pictures on the bust-beauty contest and gave notice. Timothy Hoolihan grumped about Ross's pay having been wasted, since he had not been on long enough to become useful.
"But Mr. Hoolihan!" said Ross. "Look at the opportunity! If I asked Mr. Baum to wait a month, he'd find somebody else. And didn't the Taylor article say to try to please your employer in all things? And isn't he my future employer?"
"Huh," snorted Hoolihan. "Suppose so. Damn it, I don't know what's the matter with this firm! We have the highest turnover of any trade journal I know of. No sooner get 'em broken in than off they go!"
Ross could have told Hoolihan that his violent power complex might have something to do with it. But he forebore. It would only lead to an argument, and he might want a reference from Hoolihan some day.
Then Ross walked across town to the Telagog Company and told the receptionist: "Uh—send in that salesman, that Mr. Nye."
The salesman came in full of apologies: " ... and while of course you waived damages in your contract, we are so anxious to please you that we're offering a one-year free extension of your three-months' trial telagog subscription. Moreover, Mr. Falck is no longer in our employ."
"What happened?"
"Our Mr. Bundy, whose wires were crossed with Mr. Falck's, suspected something and came in early this morning to find Falck taking out that switch he installed behind his panel. Falck, knowing how complicated hypospatial circuits are, had figured the electricians would get down to tracing the crossover this afternoon. Now about that extension—"
"Never mind. Just take this gadget out of my head, will you?"
"You mean you don't want any more telagog control?"
"That's right. I found I can do well enough by myself."
"But you don't know. Your erythrophobia may take you unawares—"
"I'll worry about that when the time comes. Right now I feel that, with all I've been through in the past week, I can never be embarrassed again."
Nye looked dubious. "That's not psychologically sound."
"I don't care. That's the way it is."
"We're pretty busy today. Couldn't you come in again next week?"
"No. I'm getting married tomorrow and leaving on a two weeks' trip, and starting a new job when I get back."
"Congratulations! Is it that Miss La Motte that Bundy and Falck were talking about?"
"Yes."
"They said she was a pip. How did you manage it with your shyness?"
"When I walked her to the train, I just asked her, and she said yes. Simple as that."
"Fine. But after all, you know, a man's wedding day and the night following it constitute a crisis of the first magnitude. With one of our experts at your personal helm you need not fear—"
"No!" shouted Ovid Ross, smiting the chair arm with his fist. "By gosh, there's some things I'm gonna do for myself! Now get that neurosurgeon out of his office and get to work!"
"THE AMEBA"
JUDGMENT DAY
IT TOOK ME a long time to decide whether to let the earth live. Some might think this an easy decision. Well, it was and it wasn't. I wanted one thing, while the mores of my culture said to do the other.
This is a decision that few have to make. Hitler might give orders for the execution of ten million, and Stalin orders that would kill another ten million. But neither could send the world up in a puff of flame by a few marks on a piece of paper.
Only now has physics got to the point where such a decision is possible. Yet, with due modesty, I don't think my discovery was inevitable. Somebody might have come upon it later—say, in a few centuries, when such things might be better organized. My equation was far from obvious. All the last three decades' developments in flu. clear physics have pointed away from it.
My chain reaction uses iron, the last thing that would normally be employed in such a series. It's at the bottom of the atomic energy curve. Anything else can be made into iron with a release of energy, while it takes energy to make iron into anything else.
Really, the energy doesn't come from the iron, but from the—the other elements in the reaction. But the iron is necessary. It is not exactly a catalyst, as it is transmuted and then turned back into iron again, whereas a true catalyst remains unchanged. But the effect is the same. With iron so common in the crust of the earth, it should be possible to blow the entire crust off with one big poof.
I recall how I felt when I first saw these equations here in my office last month. I sat staring at my name on the glass of the door, "Dr. Wade Ormont," only it appears backwards from the inside. I was sure I had made a mistake. I checked and rechecked and calculated and recalculated. I went through my nuclear equations at least thirty times. Each time my heart, my poor old heart, pounded harder and the knot in my stomach grew tighter. I had enpugh sense not to tell anybody else in the department about my discovery.