High-Pockets Jones stepped forward with his deep eyes fixed on Dr. Hudson. “What,” High-Pockets asked, “is your theory of this machine?”
Dr. Hudson smiled. “I am glad you asked that, Mr. Jones. Very glad. This process is in no sense a separation or thinning out of the man in the chair. It is, in reality; an unusual extension of the well-known fact that nature tends to follow a pattern. If you want to make a synthetic sapphire, you start with a seed sapphire, and the artificial process builds up on that. Now, this machine, which I call an extender, is merely a far-reaching extension of the synthesis of precious stones.”
“By use of a revolutionary type of three-dimensional scanner, which was invented by myself,” he said modestly, “I am able to focus on a certain object from a certain distance and, if there is material at hand, synthesize an exact duplicate of the original from the scanner. It doesn’t hurt the original in any way. You merely have two where you had but one.”
The men stood around bug-eyed and stared incredulously—all but High-Pockets. “Is the second one alive?” he asked. “I mean, would you say it has a soul?”
“That,” said Dr. Hudson crisply, “is out of my field. I suggest you consult your spiritual adviser.”
The chairman stepped up, “You have tried this thing, have you?”
“Thoroughly tested,” said Dr. Hudson.
I refrained from smiling. The printers were flabbergasted; they didn’t know what to do or think. The chairman was trying to get his poor fogged brain together with arguments. The only person besides myself and Dr. Hudson who seemed to be at ease was the barnstormer, High-Pocket Jones.
“In-other words,” High-Pockets said, “if we are short an operator, I can walk in that cabinet and you can in a few minutes make another High-Pockets Jones, who will set type until you put him back into the cabinet and turn him back into a hundred and sixty pounds of linotype metal?”
“Precisely.” Dr. Hudson smiled and showed his teeth. I could see he was losing his patience.
“Well,” said High-Pockets, “I can see about nine hundred legal questions right off the bat. Who is going to draw the duplicate’s pay? Is the duplicate entitled to a union card? Is he entitled to overtime? Is he a man or an automaton?”
“Sorry,” said Dr. Hudson. “I am not a legal expert.”
High-Pockets walked up to the cabinet and looked inside. I’d swear he looked as if he knew what all those wires were there for. His deep eyes took it all in, and then he announced in his booming voice from far above us. “You’re waiting for a volunteer,” he said. “I’ll be first.”
I practically fell over. I think even Dr. Hudson was dumbfounded; we had not expected unconditional surrender. I was elated.
High-Pockets Jones was seated in the cabinet. Dr. Hudson threw the switch. After five minutes’ humming, a relay clicked. Dr. Hudson opened the door. High-Pockets Jones, with a deep smile on his weatherbeaten face, unfolded his long legs and stepped out, holding his head down to keep from hitting the top of the doorframe.
“How do you feel?” asked Dr. Hudson.
“Excellent,” boomed High-Pockets, straightening up.
The physicist went around to the other side, and though I had been watching these experiments for some time, I give you my word I very nearly choked on my own tongue when I saw High-Pockets Jones walk out of the second compartment.
The second High-Pockets produced a worn billfold and extracted a pink union permit.
“I protest this inhuman manipulation of a man’s individuality,” said the chairman indignantly; “this is outrageous.”
I felt better now. I’d been waiting for that. “Let him go to work,” I said. “We need an operator today, anyway; Bill Smith has the flu. I will guarantee to pay a man’s wages to whomever you say, if this is found to be illegal.”
Under the law, there wasn’t much they could do. And I had already taken the precaution of retaining the best legal counsel in the city.
I was elated when they went to work. I pumped Dr. Hudson’s hand and assured him that we had indeed made spectacular history, and together we could make millions.
The first trouble came an hour later. One of the High-Pocketses—I couldn’t tell which one—came into the office. “The foreman sent me up to get some work,” he said in his booming voice.
I frowned. What was going on back there? I went back, High-Pockets Jones was working on his own machine. High-Pockets Jones was also working on Bill Smith’s machine. I looked up quickly. High-Pockets Jones was also standing beside me.
He smiled. “Catching, isn’t it?”
I swallowed, but I knew they were playing tricks. High-Pockets Jones had walked into the cabinet a second time, and his double had worked the controls and produced a third. Well, this could get confusing, but I stayed calm. “You’re a floor-man, too, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. You go back to the Monotype room and get a bunch of slugs and leads and saw them up to fill the cases. They’re getting pretty low.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned and went away.
When I got back to the office I thought I’d just turn on the lucite and see what they might be up to next. I had an uneasy feeling.
Sure enough, a High-Pockets Jones was stepping out of the second compartment of the cabinet. I gulped and quickly checked the others. This was the fourth one.
I went back to raise hell, but High-Pockets—well, one of them—was quite calm about it. “Two men can do it faster than one,” he said.
I licked my lips and beat
