THE VARIABLE MAN
He fixed thingsāclocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and destinies. But he had no business in the future, where the calculators could not handle him. He was Earthās only hopeāand its sure failure!
Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front steps and entered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside and he entered the familiar place of great whirring machines. His thin face rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up at the central SRB computer, studying its reading.
āStraight gain for the last quarter,ā observed Kaplan, the lab organizer. He grinned proudly, as if personally responsible. āNot bad, Commissioner.ā
āWeāre catching up to them,ā Reinhart retorted. āBut too damn slowly. We must finally go overāand soon.ā
Kaplan was in a talkative mood. āWe design new offensive weapons, they counter with improved defenses. And nothing is actually made! Continual improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can stop designing long enough to stabilize for production.ā
āIt will end,ā Reinhart stated coldly, āas soon as Terra turns out a weapon for which Centaurus can build no defense.ā
āEvery weapon has a defense. Design and discord. Immediate obsolescence. Nothing lasts long enough toāā
āWhat we count on is the lag,ā Reinhart broke in, annoyed. His hard gray eyes bored into the lab organizer and Kaplan slunk back. āThe time lag between our offensive design and their counter development. The lag varies.ā He waved impatiently toward the massed banks of SRB machines. āAs you well know.ā
At this moment, 9:30 AM, May 7, 2136, the statistical ratio on the SRB machines stood at 21-17 on the Centauran side of the ledger. All facts considered, the odds favored a successful repulsion by Proxima Centaurus of a Terran military attack. The ratio was based on the total information known to the SRB machines, on a gestalt of the vast flow of data that poured in endlessly from all sectors of the Sol and Centaurus systems.
21-17 on the Centauran side. But a month ago it had been 24-18 in the enemyās favor. Things were improving, slowly but steadily. Centaurus, older and less virile than Terra, was unable to match Terraās rate of technocratic advance. Terra was pulling ahead.
āIf we went to war now,ā Reinhart said thoughtfully, āwe would lose. Weāre not far enough along to risk an overt attack.ā A harsh, ruthless glow twisted across his handsome features, distorting them into a stern mask. āBut the odds are moving in our favor. Our offensive designs are gradually gaining on their defenses.ā
āLetās hope the war comes soon,ā Kaplan agreed. āWeāre all on edge. This damn waitingā¦.ā
The war would come soon. Reinhart knew it intuitively. The air was full of tension, the elan. He left the SRB rooms and hurried down the corridor to his own elaborately guarded office in the Security wing. It wouldnāt be long. He could practically feel the hot breath of destiny on his neckāfor him a pleasant feeling. His thin lips set in a humorless smile, showing an even line of white teeth against his tanned skin. It made him feel good, all right. Heād been working at it a long time.
First contact, a hundred years earlier, had ignited instant conflict between Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Flash fights, sudden eruptions of fire and energy beams.
And then the long, dreary years of inaction between enemies where contact required years of travel, even at nearly the speed of light. The two systems were evenly matched. Screen against screen. Warship against power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Terra, an iron ring that couldnāt be broken, rusty and corroded as it was. Radical new weapons had to be conceived, if Terra was to break out.
Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could see endless buildings and streets, Terrans hurrying back and forth. Bright specks that were commute ships, little eggs that carried businessmen and white-collar workers around. The huge transport tubes that shot masses of workmen to factories and labor camps from their housing units. All these people, waiting to break out. Waiting for the day.
Reinhart snapped on his vidscreen, the confidential channel. āGive me Military Designs,ā he ordered sharply.
He sat tense, his wiry body taut, as the vidscreen warmed into life. Abruptly he was facing the hulking image of Peter Sherikov, director of the vast network of labs under the Ural Mountains.
Sherikovās great bearded features hardened as he recognized Reinhart. His bushy black eyebrows pulled up in a sullen line. āWhat do you want? You know Iām busy. We have too much work to do, as it is. Without being bothered byāpoliticians.ā
āIām dropping over your way,ā Reinhart answered lazily. He adjusted the cuff of his immaculate gray cloak. āI want a full description of your work and whatever progress youāve made.ā
āYouāll find a regular departmental report plate filed in the usual way, around your office someplace. If youāll refer to that youāll know exactly what weāā
āIām not interested in that. I want to see what youāre doing. And I expect you to be prepared to describe your work fully. Iāll be there shortly. Half an hour.ā
Reinhart cut the circuit. Sherikovās heavy features dwindled and faded. Reinhart relaxed, letting his breath out. Too bad he had to work with Sherikov. He had never liked the man. The big Polish scientist was an individualist, refusing to integrate himself with society. Independent, atomistic in outlook. He held concepts of the individual as an end, diametrically contrary to the accepted organic state Weltansicht.
But Sherikov was the leading research scientist, in charge of the Military Designs Department. And on Designs the whole future of Terra depended. Victory over Centaurusāor more waiting, bottled up in the Sol System, surrounded by a rotting, hostile Empire, now sinking into ruin and decay, yet still strong.
Reinhart got quickly to his feet and left the office. He hurried down the hall and out of the Council building.
A few minutes later he was heading across the mid-morning sky in his high-speed cruiser, toward the Asiatic land-mass, the vast Ural mountain range. Toward the Military Designs labs.
Sherikov met him at the entrance. āLook here, Reinhart. Donāt think youāre going to order me around. Iām not going toāā
āTake it easy.ā Reinhart fell into step beside the bigger man. They passed through the check and into the auxiliary labs. āNo immediate coercion will be exerted over you or your staff. Youāre free to continue your work as you see fitāfor the present. Letās get this straight. My concern is to integrate your work with our total social needs. As long as your work is sufficiently productiveāā
Reinhart stopped in his tracks.
āPretty, isnāt he?ā Sherikov said ironically.
āWhat the hell is it?ā
āIcarus, we call him. Remember the Greek myth? The legend of Icarus. Icarus flewā¦. This Icarus is going to fly, one of these days.ā Sherikov shrugged. āYou can examine him, if you want. I suppose this is what you came here to see.ā
Reinhart advanced slowly. āThis is the weapon youāve been working on?ā
āHow does he look?ā
Rising up in the center of the chamber was a squat metal cylinder, a great ugly cone of dark gray. Technicians circled around it, wiring up the exposed relay banks. Reinhart caught a glimpse of endless tubes and filaments, a maze of wires and terminals and parts criss-crossing each other, layer on layer.
āWhat is it?ā Reinhart perched on the edge of a workbench, leaning his big shoulders against the wall. āAn idea of Jamison Hedgeāthe same man who developed our instantaneous interstellar vidcasts forty years ago. He was trying to find a method of faster than light travel when he was killed, destroyed along with most of his work. After that ftl research was abandoned. It looked as if there were no future in it.ā
āWasnāt it shown that nothing could travel faster than light?ā
āThe interstellar vidcasts do! No, Hedge developed a valid ftl drive. He managed to propel an object at fifty times the speed of light. But as the object gained speed, its length began to diminish and its mass increased. This was in line with familiar twentieth-century concepts of mass-energy transformation. We conjectured that as Hedgeās object gained velocity it would continue to lose length and gain mass until its length became nil and its mass infinite. Nobody can imagine such an object.ā
āGo on.ā
āBut what actually occurred is this. Hedgeās object continued to lose length and gain mass until it reached the theoretical limit of velocity, the speed of light. At that point the object, still gaining speed, simply ceased to exist. Having no length, it ceased to occupy space. It disappeared. However, the object had not been destroyed. It continued on its way, gaining momentum each moment, moving in an arc across the galaxy, away from the Sol system. Hedgeās object entered some other realm of being, beyond our powers of conception. The next phase of Hedgeās experiment consisted in a search for some way to slow the ftl object down, back to a sub-ftl speed, hence back into our universe. This counterprinciple was eventually worked out.ā
āWith what result?ā
āThe death of Hedge and destruction of most of his equipment. His experimental object, in re-entering the space-time universe, came into being in space already occupied by matter. Possessing an incredible mass, just below infinity level, Hedgeās object exploded in a titanic cataclysm. It was obvious that no space travel was possible with such a drive. Virtually all space contains some matter. To re-enter space would bring automatic destruction. Hedge had found his ftl drive and his counterprinciple, but no one before this has been able to put them to any use.ā
Reinhart walked over toward the great metal cylinder. Sherikov jumped down and followed him. āI donāt get it,ā Reinhart said. āYou said the principle is no good for space travel.ā
āThatās right.ā
āWhatās this for, then? If the ship explodes as soon as it returns to our universeāā
āThis is not a ship.ā Sherikov grinned slyly. āIcarus is the first practical application of Hedgeās principles. Icarus is a bomb.ā
āSo this is our weapon,ā Reinhart said. āA bomb. An immense bomb.ā
āA bomb, moving at a velocity greater than light. A bomb which will not exist in our universe. The Centaurans wonāt be able to detect or stop it. How could they? As soon as it passes the speed of light it will cease to existābeyond all detection.ā
āButāā
āIcarus will be launched outside the lab, on the surface. He will align himself with Proxima Centaurus, gaining speed rapidly. By the time he reaches his destination he will be traveling at ftl-100. Icarus will be brought back to this universe within Centaurus itself. The explosion should destroy the star and wash away most of its planetsāincluding their central hub-planet, Armun. There is no way they can halt Icarus, once he has been launched. No defense is possible. Nothing can stop him. It is a real fact.ā
āWhen will he be ready?ā
Sherikovās eyes flickered. āSoon.ā
āExactly how soon?ā
The big Pole hesitated. āAs a matter of fact, thereās only one thing holding us back.ā
Sherikov led Reinhart around to the other side of the lab. He pushed a lab guard out of the way.
āSee this?ā He tapped a round globe, open at one end, the size of a grapefruit. āThis is holding us up.ā
āWhat is it?ā
āThe central control turret. This thing brings Icarus back to sub-ftl flight at the correct moment. It must be absolutely accurate. Icarus will be within the star only a matter of a microsecond. If the turret does not function exactly, Icarus will pass out the other side and shoot beyond the Centauran system.ā
āHow near completed is this turret?ā
Sherikov hedged uncertainly, spreading out his big hands. āWho can say? It must be wired with infinitely minute equipmentāmicroscope grapples and wires invisible to the naked eye.ā
āCan you name any completion date?ā
Sherikov reached into his coat and brought out a manila folder. āIāve drawn up the data for the SRB machines, giving a date of completion. You can go ahead and feed it. I entered ten days as the maximum period. The machines can work from that.ā
Reinhart accepted the folder cautiously. āYouāre sure about the date? Iām not convinced I can trust you, Sherikov.ā
Sherikovās features darkened. āYouāll have to take a chance, Commissioner. I donāt trust you any more than you trust me. I know how much youād like an excuse to get me out of here and one of your puppets in.ā
Reinhart studied the huge scientist thoughtfully. Sherikov was going to be a hard nut to crack. Designs was responsible to Security, not the Council. Sherikov was losing groundābut he was still a potential danger. Stubborn, individualistic, refusing to subordinate his welfare to the general good...