“And you’re about to tell us exactly when that was,” Herb quipped. “Now that Tom has lectured us on chemistry, I suppose that you’re going to hold forth on the history of technology.”
“I can see that you’re tired and impatient at the moment. But, believe me, the story is worth telling. Just think of it. We’ve been thrown back into the Stone Age, six thousand years in the past, yet we intend to leap across those millennia in a flash.”
“Leapin’ lizards, History Man! Why don’t you tell the kids all about it?” Everyone laughed, but it was clear they were fascinated in spite of themselves.
“Sure. There are really two stories, one, the saga of experimentation, the centuries of trial and error during which technologists learned to smelt iron—separate it from the stone in which it is found—and combine it with carbon to make steel. The other wonderful tale is the latter-day exploits of scientists who explained the magical processes that the artisans had developed. We tend to forget that the science that we call chemistry didn’t come into being until the 1770s—three thousand years after the beginning of the so-called Iron Age. Yes, the 1770s. That’s when Antoine Lavoisier suggested, and went a long way toward showing, that all things are composed of a number of simple substances, namely, the elements, as Tom has pointed out.
“Then, in the first decade of the 1800s, John Dalton put forward the idea that elements consist of atoms, and that each element consists of its own distinctive variety of atom. I may be telling you more than you want to know, but just think of what a giant imaginative leap this was. A simple concept; yet how sublime. Dalton didn’t know the exact ways in which the atoms differed. But he perceived that there was a regular steplike progression from one to another.
“For awhile, it looked as if this sequence was correlated with atomic weight, each atom being one unit heavier than another. This was almost right, since as each different atom has one more electron than the one preceding it on the spectrum, it also has one more proton in the nucleus, which determines the weight. It turned out to be somewhat more complicated, since there are also neutrons in the nucleus, and they also contribute to the weight—but without changing the number of electrons. And it’s the electrons that mainly determine each atom’s behavior. In any event, Mendeleyev’s periodic table, which demonstrated the existence of ‘families’ of elements, appeared in 1869. The modern model of the atom, with electrons orbiting the nucleus in a series of ‘shells,’ was advanced by Niels Bohr in 1913. That’s practically yesterday in the history of technology. So you can see that if technologists had waited upon chemical theory, the making of iron would have been a long time in coming.”
“Are you saying that science doesn’t matter?” Herb prodded.
“No, of course that’s not what I’m saying,” Wil replied. “The history of chemistry is a super story of discovery. And there are lots of things that we can now do with metals that we couldn’t do before we knew their chemical composition. But there are lots of things that technologists have done—and continue to do—far in advance of scientific explanation. In fact, I believe one could say that technology has done at least as much for science as science has done for technology. Maybe more.
“I’m thinking in particular about the precise metal instruments and glass lenses that made it possible for Galileo and Newton and company to do their thing. I suppose we ought to say that the relationship between engineering and science is one of mutual benefit. But my father has a fit when he hears engineering defined simply as applied science. That isn’t the way things work. And the story of iron is a case in point.”
All of a sudden, Herb stood up and made a gesture of annoyance. He turned to Tom Swift and spoke in a loud voice: “I’ve heard more than enough about iron and steel. You’re making it sound as if we’re talking about the Holy Grail.”
“Maybe more important than the Holy Grail,” Tom replied.
“No need to be sacrilegious, sweetheart,” Mary said. “We can make our point about technology without blaspheming.”
“You know,” Sarah said, “some scholars suggest that the legend of the Holy Grail—the cup that Christ drank from at the Last Supper—was inspired by Celtic myths about the horn of plenty, the source of never-ending abundance. So, artistically at least, the search for salvation is related to the search for material well-being.”
“I like that,” Tom said; “but I think that the development of iron goes beyond just ‘searching’ for anything. This was not a treasure hunt. The iron was always there—in the stone—and we had to devise a way to get it out.”
“Oh,” said Sarah. “Then let’s change our fable. What we want is the sword of Arthurian legend, driven through the anvil and into the stone. That’s apt. The most powerful knights in the kingdom were unable to dislodge it. But along came young Arthur, virtuous and noble, and drew it forth as nicely as you please.”
“That’s a really wonderful story,” said Roxy. “But I could never understand why anybody would want to go to so much trouble to pull out a sword that’s stuck so tight in such a place.”
“Because,” Sarah said, “of what was inscribed along its blade. In Thomas Malory’s words, ‘Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England.’ I guess Tom wants us to believe that whoso wrenches iron from the stone becomes a prince and saviour of his people.”
“No offense, Sarah,” Herb cut in, obviously about to say some thing offensive, “but don’t you feel a little foolish coming up with these high-falutin’ quotations all the time? We’re going to have to start calling you Madam Bartlett.”
Sarah flushed, but then gave back as good as she got. “No. I’ll tell you what makes me feel foolish, Mr. Attorney. Tarty of the first part’ makes me feel foolish. ‘In consideration of the mutual covenants herein contained’ makes me feel foolish. All legalese, accounting jargon, and technocratic gobbledygook makes me feel diminished as a human being. Also stupid cliches: ‘Have a nice day,’ ‘No problem,’ ‘Whatever.’
“But the beautiful, insightful words of our creative geniuses—they make me feel the opposite of foolish. They make me feel inspired and exhilarated. Particularly at a time when most of humanity’s literature, music, and art seems to have been totally obliterated, with only a precious remnant being carefully preserved in our small library.”
It had been a long day, starting with a gala parade and ending with an engineering seminar that apparently had lasted too long. For the moment, there was not anything more to be said—about iron and steel, or anything else.
Herb, as a token of an affectionate truce, asked Sarah if he could give the final quote of the day. Sarah smiled and nodded consent.
“From the diaries of Samuel Pepys,” Herb said. “‘And so to bed.’”
11
When the Joint Planning Subcommittee reconvened the next day, there were many smiles and sighs of relief. After five days of doubt and second-guessing, they had come through with their plans practically unscathed. A feeling of positive energy was palpable in the air. They were ready to proceed with their industrial revolution, and it was high time to turn their attention to metals. As Ichiro Nagasaka took the floor, he wasted no time on preliminaries.
“There is a most pressing need,” Ichiro began, “most pressing indeed, as we all know, for metal tools— especially tools for farming and building. Therefore, it is essential to get blacksmiths working at the earliest possible moment. It shouldn’t take long to construct simple forges, little more than a barbecue pit plus a hand-operated bellows. And I don’t doubt that we’ll be able to gather enough fuel to get these rudimentary shops operative. We can start by burning wood. At the same time, we’ll get busy making charcoal. In a month or two the miners should have some coal for us.
“We also need iron to work with; but we can’t afford to wait until we start smelting our own. Fortunately, the Scavengers are already bringing in lots of scrap metal, and I’m sure they’ll find enough for our immediate requirements. What we need most of all is competent blacksmiths, and here I think we’re in luck.”
Ichiro had inquired among the hobbyists, museum specialists, and Inlander metalworkers, and had found enough skilled or semiskilled artisans to operate ten forges. At least that was his hope and expectation based on hasty interviews with the selected smiths. He had decided that four forges should be located at each of the two
