FullReads

“Can you do that?” demanded Graves. “We were supposed to work on that–but so far we’ve absolutely nothing to go on!”

The sergeant waved his hand negligently.

“You got something now. Betsy’s a Mahon-modified device. Every receiver that picked up one of those crazy broadcasts broke down before it was through. She takes ’em in her stride–especial with Al and Gus to help her. Wouldn’t it be reasonable to guess that Mahon machines are–uh–especial adapted to handle intertemporal communication?”

“Very reasonable!” said Howell dourly. “Very! The broadcast said that the wave-type produced unpredictable surges of current. Ordinary machines do find it difficult to work with whatever type of radiation that can be.”

“Betsy chokes off those surges,” observed the sergeant. “With Gus and Al to help, she don’t have no trouble. We hadn’t ought to need to make any six transmitters if we put Mahon-unit machines together for the job!”

“Quite right,” agreed Lecky, mildly. “And it is odd–“

“Yeah,” said the sergeant. “It’s plenty odd my great-great-great-grandkids haven’t got sense enough to do it themselves!”

* * * * *

He went to a shelf and brought down a boxed machine,–straight from the top-secret manufactory of Mahon units. It had never been activated. Its standby light did not glow. Sergeant Bellews ripped off the carton and said reflectively:

“You hate to turn off a machine that’s got its own ways of working. But a machine that ain’t been activated has not got any personality. So you don’t mind starting it up to turn it off later.”

He opened the adjustment-cover and turned something on. The standby light glowed. Closely observed, it was not a completely steady glow. There were the faintest possible variations of brightness. But there was no impression of life.

Graves said:

“Why doesn’t it flicker like the others?”

“No habits,” said the sergeant. “No experience. It’s like a newborn baby. It’ll get to have personality after it’s worked a while. But not now.”

He went across the shop again. He moved out a heavy case, and twisted the release, and eased out a communicator of the same type–Mark IV–as Betsy back in the Communications room. Howell went to help him. Graves tried to assist. Lecky moved other things out of the way. They were highly eminent scientists, and Metech Sergeant Bellews was merely a non-commissioned officer in the armed forces. But he happened to have specialized information they had not. Quite without condescension they accepted his authority in his own field, and therefore his equality. As civilians they had no rank to maintain, and they disagreed with each other–and would disagree with the sergeant–only when they knew why. Which was one of the reasons why they were eminent scientists.

Sergeant Bellews brought out yet another box. He unrolled cables. He selected machines whose flickering lights seemed to bespeak eagerness to be of use. He coupled them to the newly unboxed machines, whose lights were vaguely steady.

“Training cables,” he said over his shoulder. “You get one machine working right, and you hook it with another, and the new machine kinda learns from the old one. Kinda! But it ain’t as good as real experience. Not at first.”

* * * * *

Presently the lights of the newly energized machines began to waver in somewhat the manner of the ready-for-operation ones. But they did not give so clear an impression of personality.

“Look!” said Sergeant Bellews abruptly. “I got to check with you. The more I think, the more worried I get.”

“You begin to believe the broadcasts come from the future?” demanded Graves. “And it worries you? But they do not speak of Mahon units–“

“I don’t care where they come from,” said the sergeant. “I’m worryin’ about what they are! The guy in the broadcast–not knowing Mahon units–said we’d have to make half a dozen transmitters so they’d take over one after another as they blew out. You see what that means?”