Prescription for Chaos (31 page)

"Yes, sir." His secretary looked baffled for a moment, then struggled to match his look of indignation.

"And," said Heyden, reaching for an earlier note, "before that, we had
this
business:

"'. . . too bad, but the bottom has gone out the way it can only go out when Uncle pulls the plug, and now instead of cruising along in ten fathoms of deep green sea, all of a sudden we're grinding on the rocks. We're going to have to shorten sail and throw the ballast overboard, or we're ended right here. We're top heavy with hypertechnical stuff that nobody wants but Uncle—when he wants it. And now he doesn't want it. So get rid of it. Junk the heavy projects. What we need is a money-maker, fast . . .'"

Heyden shoved that aside, glared up at his secretary, who swallowed nervously, and then he reached for the earliest sheet of paper, settled back, and read aloud:

"'. . . the opportunity of the century, boy. We can get in there on the ground floor. The public is screaming for action. Congress is boiling over with urgency. It's "Get results! Damn the expense!" I don't need to tell you that in an atmosphere like this, the streets are paved with golden opportunity. Now's the time to beef up your technical staff, build for the future, get in on the ground floor, and . . .'"

Heyden slapped the papers down. "And so on, for pages. Well, there we are. Just what do you think of that?"

His secretary scanned his face quickly and looked indignant again.

"You see," said Heyden angrily, "just what happens here. We're like a damn-fool rocket that wastes half its thrust decelerating. Now we're supposed to unload people we pirated away from other outfits six months ago. Twelve to eighteen months from now, we'll be scrambling to get these very same people back again. We set up a winning team, then when we get a few points ahead in the international game, we have to disband it. The other team, over across the ocean, keeps on playing, and all of a sudden there comes a howl from the fans. The opposition is wiping us all over the field. Then,
quick
, we've got to put together a winning team again. And then, again, when we get a few points ahead—" His face changed expression, and for a moment he looked boiling mad. Then he blew out his breath, and shrugged. "It's like a manic-depressive psychosis. The wasted energy is terrific. And when we're on the 'down' half of the cycle, if the other side should just get far enough ahead—"

"Yes, sir," said his secretary agreeably. "That's just what you said the last time, sir. Did you want to see Mr. Benning, or should I—"

Heyden scowled. "What does Benning want?"

"He says it's about that advanced 'High-G' project. I knew you'd be busy reading Mr. Grossrad's letter, so I had Mr. Benning wait."

Heyden shrugged. "It's all academic now. But send him in."

"Yes, sir." She went out. A moment later, a tall intense man with blue eyes that seemed to be lit from within walked through the doorway, carrying under one arm a bundle wrapped in dark green paper. He shut the door, walked directly to Heyden's desk and set the bundle down. There was a faint light crackle of paper, and then the bundle tipped lightly back and forth, resting on the desk with all the solidity of a piece of hollow balsa wood.

Having set the bundle down, Benning now glanced all around furtively, then nodded to Heyden. "Well," he said, in a low secretive voice, "we got it."

Heyden was glancing from the bundle to Benning. He'd never seen Benning like this before.

Benning, blue eyes glowing, repeated, "We
got
it." He turned, glanced around the room, put his finger to his lips, and reached across the stupefied Heyden's desk to pick up a scratch pad. He scribbled rapidly as Heyden, with fast-growing uneasiness, moved his chair back so he'd have freedom of action if it suddenly developed that Benning had gone off the deep end.

Benning sat down across the desk, and slid the pad to Heyden. Heyden read:

High-G total success. Working model right there across the desk from you. Don't talk about it out loud. Have reason to think your office here is bugged
.

Heyden glanced rapidly from the pad to Benning to the green-wrapped package. For a moment he considered what it would mean if Benning was telling the truth. The package immediately looked like a huge bundle of big green banknotes. He came back to earth and reminded himself that Benning might be out of his head. He wrote rapidly on the pad:
Bugged by who, the Russians?
and said aloud. "When you come in here with that pretentious look, Ben, you better have something to back it up. You say you 'got it.' Don't just sit there looking happy. You got
what
?"

Benning could now do any of a number of things, and Heyden sat on the edge of his chair, watching intently to see what came next.

Benning looked at the pad, glanced at places where a "bug" might be hidden, and crossed his fingers to show he spoke for the benefit of uninvited listeners. "What we've got is a damn good gimmick to get us a government contract on this, boy. We've run into a little glimmer of pay dirt on this one. I can see just how to start the golden flood pouring in, and keep it flowing for years."

He wrote rapidly on the pad, and shoved it across the desk. Heyden read:

Not the Russians. I. I
.

Heyden winced and glanced around. "M'm," he said aloud. "Well, I don't know. I got quite a note from Stu Grossrad."

Benning sat up. "No kidding."

"No kidding."

"What did Stu say?"

"What does he ever say. It's either 'Full speed ahead!' or 'Emergency reverse!' The last time we were supposed to go all out, shoot the works. Naturally, this time we're supposed to chop off all the deadwood, shove everything we're working on now onto the back burner, and pull that toy kit idea off the back burner and put it onto the front burner. Whenever we're eager to do something, we're supposed to let it congeal on the back burner. When we couldn't care less about the thing,
then
we're supposed to work on it. How does this fit in with your bright new idea?"

"Not so hot. What toy kit is that?"

Heyden wrote
I. I. You mean Interdisciplinary Intellectronetics? Or Interspatial Ionics?

He shoved the pad across the desk, then handed over the note from Grossrad. "Read it. You'll remember."

Benning crackled the paper, glanced at the pad, wrote briefly, looked back at the note, wrote some more, glanced at the note and groaned.

"Ye gods. Hasn't somebody else got a Moon Krawler out by now? This thing was a bright idea when we thought of it. It's stale now." He slid the pad across, and Heyden read:

I mean Interdis-, etc.-Jawbreaker Electronics, Inc.

Heyden wrote,
Where did you learn this?
Aloud, he said, "Naturally, we'll be supposed to gimmick it up with flashing lights, clicking noises, and a recorded voice like a talking doll, only more mechanical. No doubt the thing should have claws that open and shut, a power scoop for, quote, taking samples of the lunar surface, end-quote, and maybe a guide-wire to control it with as it crawls across the living-room rug waving its claws."

"Boy," said Benning. "From the sublime to the ridiculous in one easy jump." He shoved the pad back. "What's this business about the $29.95 item? What toy could we make that anyone would be crazy enough to buy at that price?"

Heyden was reading:
Right from the horse's mouth. Their Industrial Intelligence chief. They're in some kind of financial cramp, want to cut his salary and slash his staff, "temporarily."

Heyden said, "Take a look through some recent toy catalog. You'll get a shock." He wrote,
Is he reliable?

Benning had been rapidly scanning Grossrad's note, but was now reading it more carefully. He glanced up in exasperation. "Listen to this: '. . . of course, it shouldn't fall apart before the holidays are over . . .' Isn't
that
nice?" He glanced at the pad, wrote rapidly, and said, "What kind of sleezy junk are we supposed to turn out, anyway?"

"Just so it sells," grunted Heyden. He took the pad, and read:
That guy is as reliable as a rusted-out two-buck hair-trigger Spanish automatic. He just figures I. I. is double-crossing him, and he never lets anybody get ahead of him in that game.

"You realize," said Heyden, frowning, "we're going to have to let some people go and that we'll wish we'd kept them about eighteen months from now."

"Agh," growled Benning, still reading the note. "Listen to this: 'Introduction of any new and revolutionary gimcrack at this time would, therefore, be most unwelcome and inexpedient.' Just suppose we
should
hit on something new and revolutionary?" He tipped his head toward the green-wrapped bundle. "Then what? Are we supposed to think you can actually put it in cold storage, and keep it like frozen fish? Suppose somebody else gets it? What's the
point
of this whole thing, anyway?"

Heyden wrote:
What's in that bundle?
He slid the pad across the desk, and said, "Let's get back to the question of those people we're going to have to let go."

Benning wrote on the pad, then said aloud, "This is crazy."

"Do you think," said Heyden dryly, "that you're telling
me
something?" He glanced at the pad:
Lift off the paper and see
.

Heyden felt a tightness in his chest. He said, "Let's have that note from Grossrad. I've been reading some of his previous stuff here—" He stood up, gently pulled off the green paper—"and nobody can tell me anything new about how crazy—" He stared at the short length of board with square box attached, and slide-wire rheostat beside the box. Beneath the rheostat was a penciled arrow pointing to the right, and marked "Up".

Heyden felt a brief spasm of irritation. What was this supposed to be? Antigravity? He felt a brief wave of dizziness as he thought, Ye gods, what if it
is
?

Belatedly, he finished his sentence: "—how crazy a thing like this really is."

"But," said Benning sourly, "we're stuck with it? Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah." Heyden pulled the board toward him, noting its weird lightness, despite the fact that it felt solid enough to the fingers. "We're stuck with it, and we better figure out who to let go."

"I should think," said Benning, "that would be
your
job."

Heyden shoved the rheostat slider in the direction of the arrow. The board drifted up out of his hands, and started accelerating toward the ceiling. A hasty grab brought it down, but it continued to tug toward the sky.

"My
responsibility
," said Heyden, eyeing the board, "but I need
your
suggestions."

"As to who to fire?"

"Say, as to who to
keep
." He slid the rheostat slider in the opposite direction, and the board sagged so heavily that it seemed to Heyden that it must be made out of solid lead. Frowning, he said, "Take Magnusson, for instance. We could unload him to start with, I suppose."

"He's had a lot of expenses. His bank balance is pretty feeble."

Heyden was experimenting with the slider. He got the impression that as he approached either end, the weight or lift of the concealed device went off toward infinity. He paused to glance at the connections to the rheostat.

"Not our fault," he grunted.

"No, but—"

"The point is, that's
his
worry."

The board was headed for the ceiling again, and it felt as if it would tear Heyden's arm out by the roots. Scowling, he pulled the slider back toward the center.

Benning said, "I think we ought to be decent enough to give Magnusson enough time to get back on his feet."

"How about Simms?"

The board was so heavy Heyden had to rest it on the corner of his desk. As he pushed the slider further, the board settled immovably in place, as if spiked down.

"Well," said Benning evasively, "Simms has had a little streak of bad luck, too."

"What have we got," said Heyden, carefully pulling the slider back, "nothing but hard-luck cases?"

"Well, you know how it is"

"We've got to start
somewhere
."

"Sure, but poor Simms."

"We aren't going to get anywhere this way. Make out a list of the people you think are essential. I want them in groups, the most essential at the top of the list." He wrote on the pad:
Did I. I.'s spy-chief say there was a visual pickup anywhere in here?

Benning glanced at the pad. "What the heck, Jim. I can't
know
which men are essential till I know what we'll have to do later."

"Just assume it's the usual thing, Ben. We've been through this before." He pulled the pad over, and read:

He didn't say. Personally, I doubt it
.

Heyden wrote:
We better explain this package, in case there's something outside
.

Benning read it, and nodded.

Heyden said, "Well, forget that for now. What have you got over there in that paper?"

Benning shrugged. "A little promotion gizmo." He rattled the paper. "See, you look in these portholes, and you're inside the spaceship. Shows our control panel, amongst other things, for the Genie Project."

"Cute," conceded Heyden, smiling wryly. "Well that's down the drain now. Wrap it up and forget it."

"Based on the old-time stereoscope," said Benning, putting the actual board with its box and rheostat inside the paper wrapper. "Too bad. It seemed like a good—"

Heyden wrote on the pad,
Let's go somewhere where we can talk
. Aloud, he said sourly, "Put it on the back burner. Now, I've had enough of this for a while. Where are you headed?"

Benning glanced at the pad. "Back to my lab. You want to come along?"

Heyden put Grossrad's latest note in his pocket. "Sure."

They went out, walked down a lengthy corridor, went into a big airy structure built on the general lines of a hangar for dirigibles, walked along the wall to the right, and finally arrived at a door marked, "Private—Danger—Keep Out."

Heyden followed Benning inside, and down a short hall. Benning did something complicated at the door, then they stepped in. Benning snapped on the lights, then flipped another switch, and the room filled with sounds of laughing voices, the clink of glasses, cars starting up somewhere in the background, and a close-at-hand murmur and mumble that seemed to include every tone of voice conceivable.