that new power, but he could describe it. Said it would have to have everything that present power sources have, plus one or two more things. It could be cheaper, for instance. It could be more efficient. It might supersede the others by being easier to carry from the power plant to the consumer. See what I mean? Any one of these factors might prove a new source of power competitive to the others. What I'd like to see is a new power with all of these factors. What do you think of it?'
'Not impossible.'
'Think not?'
'I'll try it.'
'Keep me posted.' Conant's transmitter clicked off. The switch was a little piece of false front that Kidder had built into the set, which was something that Conant didn't know. The set switched itself off when Conant moved from it. After the switch's sharp crack, Kidder heard the banker mutter, 'If he does it, I'm all set. If he doesn't, at least the crazy fool will keep himself busy on the isl—'
Kidder eyed the radiophone for an instant with raised eyebrows, and then shrugged them down again with his shoulders. It was quite evident that Conant had something up his sleeve, but Kidder wasn't worried. Who on earth would want to disturb him? He wasn't bothering anybody. He went back to the Neoterics' building, full of the new power idea.
Eleven days later Kidder called Conant and gave specific instructions on how to equip his receiver with a facsimile set which would enable Kidder to send written matter over the air. As soon as this was done and Kidder informed, the biochemist for once in his life spoke at some length.
'Conant—you implied that a new power source that would be cheaper, more efficient and more easily transmitted than any now in use did not exist. You might be interested in the little generator I have just set up.
'It has power, Conant—unbelievable power. Broadcast. A beautiful little tight beam. Here—catch this on the facsimile recorder.' Kidder slipped a sheet of paper under the clips of his transmitter and it appeared on Conant's set. 'Here's the wiring diagram for a power receiver. Now listen. The beam is so tight, so highly directional, that not three- thousandths of one per cent of the power would be lost in a two-thousand-mile transmission. The power system is closed. That is, any drain on the beam returns a signal along it to the transmitter, which automatically steps up to increase the power output. It has a limit, but it's way up. And something else. This little gadget of mine can send out eight different beams with a total horsepower output of around eight thousand per minute per beam. From each beam you can draw enough power to turn the page of a book or fly a superstratosphere plane. Hold on —I haven't finished yet. Each beam, as I told you before, returns a signal from receiver to transmitter. This not only controls the power output of the beam, but directs it. Once contact is made, the beam will never let go. It will follow the receiver anywhere. You can power land, air or water vehicles with it, as well as any stationary plant. Like it?'
Conant, who was a banker and not a scientist, wiped his shining pate with the back of his hand and said, 'I've never known you to steer me wrong yet, Kidder. How about the cost of this thing?'
'High,' said Kidder promptly. 'As high as an atomic plant. But there are no high-tension lines, no wires, no pipelines, no nothing. The receivers are little more complicated than a radio set. Transmitter is— well, that's quite a job.'
'Didn't take you long,' said Conant.
'No,' said Kidder, 'it didn't, did it?' It was the lifework of nearly twelve hundred highly cultured people, but Kidder wasn't going into that. 'Of course, the one I have here's just a model.'
Conant's voice was strained. 'A—model? And it delivers—'
'Over sixty-thousand horsepower,' said Kidder gleefully.
'Good heavens! In a full-sized machine—why, one transmitter would be enough to—' The possibilities of the thing choked Conant for a moment. 'How is it fueled?'
'It isn't,' said Kidder. 'I won't begin to explain it. I've tapped a source of power of unimaginable force. It's— well, big. So big that it can't be misused.'
'What?' snapped Conant. 'What do you mean by that?'
Kidder cocked an eyebrow. Conant had something up his sleeve, then. At this second indication of it, Kidder, the least suspicious of men, began to put himself on guard. ' 'I mean just what I say,'' he said evenly. 'Don't try too hard to understand me—I barely savvy it myself. But the source of this power is a monstrous resultant caused by the unbalance of two previously equalized forces. Those equalized forces are cosmic in quantity. Actually, the forces are those which make suns, crush atoms the way they crushed those that compose the companion of Sirius. It's not anything you can fool with.'
'I don't—' said Conant, and his voice ended puzzledly.
'I'll give you a parallel of it,' said Kidder. 'Suppose you take two rods, one in each hand. Place their tips together and push. As long as your pressure is directly along their long axes, the pressure is equalized; right and left hands cancel each other.
Now I come along; I put out one finger and touch the rods ever so lightly where they come together. They snap out of line violently; you break a couple of knuckles. The resultant force is at right angles to the original forces you exerted. My power transmitter is on the same principle. It takes an infinitesimal amount of energy to throw those forces out of line. Easy enough when you know how to do it. The important question is whether or not you can control the resultant when you get it. I can.'
'I—see.' Conant indulged in a four-second gloat. 'Heaven help the utility companies. I don't intend to. Kidder—I want a full-size power transmitter.'
Kidder clucked into the radiophone. 'Ambitious, aren't you? I haven't a staff out here, Conant—you know that. And I can't be expected to build four or five thousand tons of apparatus myself.'
' Til have five hundred engineers and laborers out there in forty-eight hours.'
'You will not. Why bother me with it? I'm quite happy here, Conant, and one of the reasons is that I've no one to get in my hair.'
'Oh, now, Kidder—don't be like that—I'll pay you—'
'You haven't got that much money,' said Kidder briskly. He flipped the switch on his set. His switch worked.
Conant was furious. He shouted into the phone several times, then began to lean on the signal button. On his island, Kidder let the thing squeal and went back to his projection room. He was sorry he had sent the diagram of the receiver to Conant. It would have been interesting to power a plane or a car with the model transmitter he had taken from the Neoterics. But if Conant was going to be that way about it—well, anyway, the receiver would be no good without the transmitter. Any radio engineer would understand the diagram, but not the beam which activated it. And Conant wouldn't get his beam.
Pity he didn't know Conant well enough.
Kidder's days were endless sorties into learning. He never slept, nor did his Neoterics. He ate regularly every five hours, exercised for half an hour in every twelve. He did not keep track of time, for it meant nothing to him. Had he wanted to know the date, or the year, even, he knew he could get it from Conant. He didn't care, that's all. The time that was not spent in observation was used in developing new problems for the Neoterics. His thoughts just now ran to defense. The idea was born in his conversation with Conant; now the idea was primary, its motivation something of no importance. The Neoterics were working on a vibration field of quasi-electrical nature. Kidder could see little practical value in such a thing—an invisible wall which would kill any living thing which touched it. But still—the idea was intriguing.
He stretched and moved away from the telescope in the upper room through which he had been watching his creations at work. He was profoundly happy here in the large control room. Leaving it to go to the old laboratory for a bite to eat was a thing he hated to do. He felt like bidding it good-by each time he walked across the compound, and saying a glad hello when he returned. A little amused at himself, he went out.
There was a black blob—a distant power boat—a few miles off the island, toward the mainland. Kidder stopped and stared distastefully at it, A white petal of spray was affixed to each side of the black body—it was coming toward him. He snorted, thinking of the time a yachtload of silly fools had landed out of curiosity one afternoon, spewed themselves over his beloved island, peppered him with lame-brained questions, and thrown his nervous equilibrium out for days. Lord, how he hated people!
The thought of unpleasantness bred two more thoughts that played half-consciously with his mind as he
