The future makers v1 0, p.2
The Future Makers (v1.0), page 2
“I haven’t been making any definite plans,” explained Pete, “until I talked to you. Just getting things in line. But I’ve looked after Arthur carefully. You know how he loves cigarettes. He eats them, and though it may be eccentric in a kangaroo, they seem to agree with him. I’ve used the demon-•trator to lay up a huge supply of cigarettes for him—his favorite brand, too. And “I’ve been trying to build up a bank account I thought it would seem strange if we bought a house on Park Avenue and just casually offered a trunkful of bank notes in payment. It might look as if we’d been running a snatch racket.”
“Stupid!” said Daisy.
“What?”
“You could be pyramiding those bills like you did the quarters,” said Daisy. “Then there’d be lots more of them!”
“Darling,” said Pete fondly, “does it matter how much you have when I have so much?”
“Yes,” said Daisy. “You might get angry with me.”
“Never!” protested Pete. Then he added reminiscently, “Before we thought of the bank note idea, Thomas and I filled up the coal bin with quarters and half dollars. They’re still there.”
“Gold pieces would be nice,” suggested Daisy, thinking hard, “if you could get hold of some. Maybe we could.”
“Ah!” said Pete. “But Thomas had a gold filling in one tooth. We took it out and ran it up to half a pound or so. Then we melted that into a little brick and put it on the demonstrator. Darling, you’d really be surprised if you looked in the woodshed.”
“And there’s jewelry,” said Daisy. “It would be faster still!”
“If you feel in the mood for jewelry,” said Pete tenderly, “just look in the vegetable bin. We’d about run out of storage space when the idea occurred to us.”
“I think,” said Daisy enthusiastically, “we’d better get married right away. Don’t you?”
“Sure! Let’s go and do it now! I’ll get the car around!”
“Do, darling,” said Daisy. “I’ll watch the demonstrator.” Beaming, Pete kissed her ecstatically and rushed from the laboratory. He rang for Thomas, and rang again. It was not until the third ring that Thomas appeared. And Thomas was very pale. He said agitatedly:
“Beg pardon, sir, but shall I pack your bag?”
“I’m going to be—Pack my bag? What for?”
“We’re going to be arrested, sir,” said Thomas. He gulped. “I thought you might want it, sir. An acquaintance in the village, sir, believes we are among the lower-numbered public enemies, sir, and respects us accordingly. He telephoned me the news.”
’Thomas, have you been drinking?”
“No, sir,” said Thomas pallidly. “Not yet, sir. But it is a splendid suggestion, thank you, sir.” Then he said desperately: “It’s the money, sir—the bank notes. If you recall, we never changed but one lot of silver into notes, sir. We got a one, a five, a ten and so on, sir.”
“Of course,” said Pete. “That was all we needed. Why not?”
“It’s the serial number, sir! All the one-dollar bills the demonstrator turned out have the same serial number—and all the fives and tens and the rest, sir. Some person with a hobby for looking for kidnap bills, sir, found he had several with the same number. The secret service has traced them back. They’re coming for us, sir. The penalty for counterfeiting is twenty years, sir. My—my friend in the village asked if we intended to shoot it out with them, sir, because if so he’d like to watch.”
Thomas wrung his hands. Pete stared at him.
“Come to think of it,” he said meditatively, “they are counterfeits. It hadn’t occurred to me before. We’ll have to plead guilty, Thomas. And perhaps Daisy won’t want to marry me if I’m going to prison. I’ll go tell her the news.”
Then he stared. He heard Daisy’s voice, speaking very angrily. An instant later the sound grew louder. It became a continuous, shrill, soprano babble. It grew louder yet. Pete ran.
He burst into the laboratory and was stunned. The demonstrator was still running. Daisy had seen Pete piling up the bills as they were turned out, pyramiding to make the next pile larger. She had evidently essayed the same feat But the pile was a bit unwieldly, now, and Daisy had climbed on the glass plate. She had come into the scope of the demonstrator’s action.
There were three of her in the laboratory when Pete first entered. As he froze in horror, the three became four. The demonstrator clucked and hummed what was almost a hoot of triumph. Then it produced a fifth Daisy. Pete dashed frantically forward and turned off the switch just too late to prevent the appearance of a sixth copy of Miss Daisy Manners of the Green Paradise floor show. She made a splendid sister act, but Pete gazed in paralysed horror at this plethora of his heart’s desire.
Because all of Daisy was identical, with not only the same exterior and—so to speak—the same serial number, but with the same opinions and convictions. And all six of Daisy were convinced that they, individually, owned the heap of bank notes now on the glass plate. All six of her were trying to get it. And Daisy was quarreling furiously with herself. She was telling herself what she thought of herself, in fact, and on the whole her opinion was not flattering.
Arthur, like Daisy, possessed a fortunate disposition. He was not one of those kangaroos who go around looking for things to be upset about. He browsed peacefully upon the lawn, eating up the dahlias and now and again hopping over the six-foot hedge in hopes that there might be a dog come along the lane to bark at him. Or, failing to see a dog, that somebody might have come by who would drop a cigarette butt that he might salvage.
At his first coming to this place, both pleasing events had been frequent. The average unwarned passer-by on seeing a five-foot kangaroo soaring toward him in this part of the world, did have a tendency to throw down everything and run. Sometimes, among the things he threw down was a cigarette.
There had been a good supply of dogs, too, but they didn’t seem to care to play with Arthur any more. Arthur’s idea of playfulness with a strange dog—especially one that barked at him—was to grab him with both front paws and then kick the living daylights out of him.
Arthur browsed, and was somewhat bored. Because of his boredom he was likely to take a hand in almost anything that turned up. There was a riot going on in the laboratory, but Arthur did not care for family quarrels. He was interested, however, in the government officers when they arrived. There were two of them and they came in a roadster. They stopped at the gate and marched truculently up to the front door.
Arthur came hopping around from the back just as they knocked thunderously. He’d been back there digging up a few incipient cabbages of Thomas’ planting, to see why they didn’t grow faster. He soared at least an easy thirty feet, and propped himself on his tail to look interestedly at the visitors.
“G-good God!” said the short, squat officer. He had been smoking a cigarette. He threw it down and grabbed his gun.
That was his mistake. Arthur liked cigarettes. This one was a mere fifteen feet from him. He soared toward it.
The government man squawked, seeing Arthur in mid-air and heading straight for him. Arthur looked rather alarming, just then. The officer fired recklessly, missing Arthur. And Arthur remained calm. To him, the shots were not threats. They were merely the noises made by an automobile whose carburetor needed adjustment He landed blandly, almost on the officer’s toes—and the officer attacked him hysterically with fist and clubbed gun.
Arthur was an amiable kangaroo, but he resented the attack, actively.
The short, squat officer squawked again as Arthur grabbed him with his forepaws. His companion backed against the door, prepared to sell his life dearly. But then—and the two things happened at once—while Arthur proceeded to kick the living daylights out of the short, squat officer, Thomas resignedly opened the door behind the other and he fell backward suddenly and knocked himself cold against the doorstep.
Some fifteen minutes later the short, squat officer said gloomily: “It was a bum steer. Thanks for pulling that critter off me, and Casey’s much obliged for the drinks. But we’re hunting a bunch of counterfeiters that have been turning out damn good phoney bills. The line led straight to you. You could have shot us. You didn’t So we got to do the work all over.”
“I’m afraid,” admitted Pete, “the trail would lead right back. Perhaps, as government officials, you can do something about the fourth-dimensional demonstrator. That’s the guilty party. I’ll show you.”
He led the way to the laboratory. Arthur appeared, looking vengeful. The two officers looked apprehensive.
“Better give him a cigarette,” said Pete. “He eats them. Then he’ll be your friend for life.”
“Hell, no!” said the short, squat man. “You keep between him and me! Maybe CaseyTl want to get friendly.”
“No cigarettes,” said Casey apprehensively. **Would a cigar do?”
“Rather heavy, for so early in the morning,” considered Pete, “but you might try.”
Arthur soared. He landed within two feet of Casey. Casey thrust a cigar at him. Arthur sniffed at it and accepted it. He put one end in his mouth and bit off the tip.
“There!” said Pete cheerful. “He likes it. Come on!”
They moved on to the laboratory. They entered—and tumult engulfed them. The demonstrator was running and Thomas—pale and despairing—supervised its action. The demonstrator was turning out currency by what was, approximately, wheelbarrow loads. As each load materialized from the fourth dimension, Thomas gathered it up and handed it to Daisy, who in theory was standing in line to receive it in equitable division. But Daisy was having a furious quarrel among herself, because some one or other of her had tried to cheat.
“These,” said Pete calmly, “are my fiancee.”
But the short, squat man saw loads of greenbacks appearing from nowhere. He drew out a short, squat revolver.
“You got a press turning out the stuff behind that wall, huh?” he said shrewdly. “I’ll take a look!”
He thrust forward masterfully. He pushed Thomas aside and mounted the inch-thick glass plate. Pete reached, horrified, for the switch. But it was too late. The glass plate revolved one-eighth of a revolution. The demonstrator hummed gleefully; and the officer appeared in duplicate just as Pete’s nerveless fingers cut off everything.
Both of the officers looked at each other in flat, incredulous stupefaction. Casey stared, and the hair rose from his head. Then Arthur put a front paw tentatively upon Casey’s shoulder. Arthur had liked the cigar. The door to the laboratory had been left open. He had come in to ask for another cigar. But Casey was hopelessly unnerved. He yelled and fled, imagining Arthur in hot pursuit. He crashed into the model of a tesseract and entangled himself hopelessly.
Arthur was an amiable kangaroo, but he was sensitive.
Casey’s squeal of horror upset him. He leaped blindly, knocking Pete over on the switch and turning it on, and landing between the two stupefied copies of the other officer. They, sharing memories of Arthur, moved in panic just before the glass plate turned.
Arthur bounced down again at the demonstrator’s hoot. The nearest copy of the short, squat man made a long, graceful leap and went flying out of the door. Pete struggled with the other, who waved his gun and demanded explanations, growing hoarse from his earnestness.
Pete attempted to explain in terms of pretty girls stepping on banana peels, but it struck the officer as irrelevant. He shouted hoarsely while another Arthur hopped down from the glass plate—while a third, and fourth, and fifth, and sixth, and seventh Arthur appeared on the scene.
He barked at Pete until screams from practically all of. Daisy made him turn to see the laboratory overflowing with five-foot Arthurs, all very pleasantly astonished and anxious to make friends with himself so he could play.
Arthur was the only person who really approved the course events had taken. He had existed largely in his own society. But now his own company was numerous. From a solitary kangaroo, in fact, Arthur had become a good-sized herd. And in his happy excitement over the fact, Arthur forgot all decorum and began to play an hysterical form of disorganized leapfrog all about the laboratory.
The officer went down and became a take-off spot for the game. Daisy shrieked furiously. And Arthur—all of him—chose new points of vantage for his leaps until one of him chose the driving motor of the demonstrator. That industrious mechanism emitted bright sparks and bit him. And Arthur soared in terror through the window, followed by all the rest of himself, who still thought it part of the game.
In seconds, the laboratory was empty of Arthurs. But the demonstrator was making weird, pained noises. Casey remained entangled in the bars of the tesseract, through which he gazed with much the expression of an inmate of a padded cell. Only one of the short, squat officers remained in the building. He had no breath left And Daisy was too angry to make a sound—all six of her. Pete alone was sanely calm.
“Well,” he said philosophically “things seem to have settled down a bit But something’s happened to the demonstrator.’
‘
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Thomas pallidly, “I’m no hand at machinery.”
One of Daisy said angrily to another of Daisy: “You’ve got a nerve! That money on the plate is mine!”
Both advanced. Three more, protesting indignantly, joined in the rush. The sixth—and it seemed to Pete that she must have been the original Daisy—hastily began to sneak what she could from the several piles accumulated by the others.
Meanwhile, the demonstrator made queer noises. And Pete despairingly investigated. He found where Arthur’s leap had disarranged a handle which evidently controlled the motor speed of the demonstrator. At random, he pushed the hand. The demonstrator clucked relievedly. Then Pete realized in such terror that five of Daisy were on the glass plate. He tried to turn it off—but it was too late.
He closed his eyes, struggling to retain calmness, but admitting despair. He had been extremely fond of one Daisy. But six Daisies had been too much. Now, looking forward to eleven and—
A harsh voice grated in his ear.
“Huh! That’s where you keep the press and the queer, huh—and trick mirrors so I see double? I’m going through that trapdoor where those girls went! And if there’s any funny business on the other side, somebody gets hurt!”
The extra officer stepped up on the glass plate, inexplicably empty now. The demonstrator clucked. It hummed. The plate moved—backward! The officer vanished—at once, utterly. As he had come out of the past, he returned to it, intrepidly and equally by accident. Because one of Arthur had kicked the drive lever into neutral, and Pete had inadvertently shoved it into reverse. He saw the officer vanish and he knew where the supernumerary Daisies had gone—also where all embarrassing bank notes would go. He sighed in relief.
But Casey—untangled from the tasseract—was not relieved. He tore loose from Thomas’ helpful fingers and fled to the car. There he found his companion, staring at nineteen Arthurs playing leapfrog over the garage. After explanations the government men would be more upset stilL Pete saw the roadster drive away, wabbling.
“I don’t think they’ll come back, sir,” and Thomas hopefully.
“Neither do I,” said Pete in a fine, high calm. He turned to the remaining Daisy, scared but still acquisitive. “Darling,” he said tenderly, “all those bank notes are counterfeit, as it develops. We’ll have to put them all back and struggle along with the contents of the woodshed and the vegetable bin.”
Daisy tried to look absent-minded, and failed.
“I think you’ve got nerve!” said Daisy indignantly.
THE WEAPON TOO
DREADFUL TO USE
By Isaac Asimov
Here is a rare orchid indeed: the very first published story by Isaac Asimov—penned at the tender age of 17. Born in 1920 at Petrovich, a Russian suburb, young Isaac moved with his family to America when he was three, and six years later had discovered Science Fiction through the pages of “Amazing Stories”. He was immediately drawn to the genre and once he had begun writing tales himself never looked back. His star now glows brightly in the S.F. heaven—despite the fact that his serious writing on scientific topics has almost brought the flow of his short stories to a standstill—and throughout fandom he is known almost with reverence as “The Good Doctor”. The journey you will undertake in the following pages clearly shows a fine talent beginning to blossom.
Karl Frantor found the prospect a terribly dismal one. From low-hanging clouds, fell eternal misty rain; squat, rubbery vegetation with its dull, reddish-brown colour stretched away in all directions. Now and then a Hopscotch Bird fluttered wildly above them, emitting plaintive squawks as it went.
Karl turned his head to gaze at the tiny dome of Aphrodopolist largest city on Venus.
“God,” he muttered, “even the dome is better than this awful world out here.” He pulled the rubberized fabric of his coat closer about him, “I’ll be glad to get back to Earth again.”
He turned to the slight figure of Antil, the Venusian, “When are we coming to the ruins, Antil?”
There was no answer and Karl noticed the tear that rolled down the Venusian’s green, puckered cheeks. Another glistened in the large, lemur-like eyes; soft, incredibly beautiful eyes.
The Earthman’s voice softened. “Sorry, Antil, I didn’t mean to say anything against Venus.”
Antil turned his green face toward Karl, “It was not that, my friend. Naturally, you would not find much to admire in an alien world. I, however, love Venus, and I weep because I am overcome with its beauty.” The words came fluently but with the inevitable distortion caused by vocal cords unfitted for harsh languages.
“I know it seems incomprehensible to you,” Antil continued, “but to me Venus is a paradise, a golden land—I cannot express my feelings for it properly.”
