again.
“George?” his wife called down from the kitchen above. George glanced guiltily around the converted garage that served as his workshop, then continued working without answering.
“George!” his wife yelled again .
“Yes, Martha . What is it?” George finally responded, unable to mask the impatience in his voice.
“ Don’t you take that tone with me, George. Dinner is nearly ready. Finish whatever you’re doing and come up.”
“Be there soon,” George lied.
Although George realized that Martha resented the hours he spent (wasted, as she put it) in his workshop, he also knew she had some justification for her attitude. Until now, excepting a considerable depletion of their savings, he hadn’t accomplished anything with his experiments—a fact she invariably mentioned every time they discussed money. Scowling, George thought back to the numerous occasions she had pointed out that important scientific discoveries weren’t made by someone like him working alone in a garage filled with scav enged electronic odds and ends.
Well, was she in for a surprise!
Carefully, George completed his preparations, regretting that he hadn’t kept better records during his previous trials. When everything lay in readiness, the controls set as close as he could remember to the previous trial, he mentally crossed his fingers and tripped the power switch.
The lights in the room dimmed as current surged through his device. A low hum emanated from the workbench, slowly increasing to a throaty growl. George stared at the roller skate.
At first nothing ha ppened. Abruptly, the skate lurched. Then, slowly, it levitated to the center of the copper coils. George felt sweat gathering under his arms, a thrill of anticipation building in the pit of his stomach. His eyes widened as a blue halo gradually surrounded the skate, sparks snapping from its rusty surface to the encircling copper coils. An instant later the skate began to shimmer, flecks of greenish iridescence playing across its surface.
This is it, George thought, barely able to contain his excitement.
The acrid smell of ozone became overpowering. George held his breath. T he skate began to vibrate—turning translucent, ghostlike, insubstantial. Then, with a dazzling flash of light . . . it disappeared!
Exhilarated, George peered into the coils. Not a trace of the skate remained. It had vanished completely, just as the first skate had minutes earlier.
After turning off the power, George crossed the garage and sat at a small table near the stairs. He leaned back and propped his feet on the table’s wooden surface. It works! he thought with a satisfied grin. It really wo rks! Now, what am I going to do with it?
One by one, George considered possible application s for his invention, soon arriving at the most obviou s—trash disposal. Throwaway items were everywhere, and once used, people needed a place to throw them away . Perhaps he had solved the world’s garbage problem . The ultimate trash disposer— one in every home.
There was a catch, George realized uneasily. Where was the stuff going? It couldn’t simply cease to exist. It had to be reappearing somewhere, and that could pose a problem. It certainly would n’t do to have tons of garbage— or worse yet, s pent nuclear fuel and so forth— reappearing in someone’s backyard.
Hold on, George thought. What if he could get the objects that disappeared in his coils to reemerge someplace else—someplace predictable . Then he would really have something!
George knew what he had to do: more experiments! Whistling happily, he began looking around the garage for something else to place in his device.
* * *
In a region of the galaxy so distant from Earth that conventional measurement lost all meaning, the alien craft hung in the darkness of space .
Though unarmed, the Polem , or Treaty Verification
“George?” his wife called down from the kitchen above. George glanced guiltily around the converted garage that served as his workshop, then continued working without answering.
“George!” his wife yelled again .
“Yes, Martha . What is it?” George finally responded, unable to mask the impatience in his voice.
“ Don’t you take that tone with me, George. Dinner is nearly ready. Finish whatever you’re doing and come up.”
“Be there soon,” George lied.
Although George realized that Martha resented the hours he spent (wasted, as she put it) in his workshop, he also knew she had some justification for her attitude. Until now, excepting a considerable depletion of their savings, he hadn’t accomplished anything with his experiments—a fact she invariably mentioned every time they discussed money. Scowling, George thought back to the numerous occasions she had pointed out that important scientific discoveries weren’t made by someone like him working alone in a garage filled with scav enged electronic odds and ends.
Well, was she in for a surprise!
Carefully, George completed his preparations, regretting that he hadn’t kept better records during his previous trials. When everything lay in readiness, the controls set as close as he could remember to the previous trial, he mentally crossed his fingers and tripped the power switch.
The lights in the room dimmed as current surged through his device. A low hum emanated from the workbench, slowly increasing to a throaty growl. George stared at the roller skate.
At first nothing ha ppened. Abruptly, the skate lurched. Then, slowly, it levitated to the center of the copper coils. George felt sweat gathering under his arms, a thrill of anticipation building in the pit of his stomach. His eyes widened as a blue halo gradually surrounded the skate, sparks snapping from its rusty surface to the encircling copper coils. An instant later the skate began to shimmer, flecks of greenish iridescence playing across its surface.
This is it, George thought, barely able to contain his excitement.
The acrid smell of ozone became overpowering. George held his breath. T he skate began to vibrate—turning translucent, ghostlike, insubstantial. Then, with a dazzling flash of light . . . it disappeared!
Exhilarated, George peered into the coils. Not a trace of the skate remained. It had vanished completely, just as the first skate had minutes earlier.
After turning off the power, George crossed the garage and sat at a small table near the stairs. He leaned back and propped his feet on the table’s wooden surface. It works! he thought with a satisfied grin. It really wo rks! Now, what am I going to do with it?
One by one, George considered possible application s for his invention, soon arriving at the most obviou s—trash disposal. Throwaway items were everywhere, and once used, people needed a place to throw them away . Perhaps he had solved the world’s garbage problem . The ultimate trash disposer— one in every home.
There was a catch, George realized uneasily. Where was the stuff going? It couldn’t simply cease to exist. It had to be reappearing somewhere, and that could pose a problem. It certainly would n’t do to have tons of garbage— or worse yet, s pent nuclear fuel and so forth— reappearing in someone’s backyard.
Hold on, George thought. What if he could get the objects that disappeared in his coils to reemerge someplace else—someplace predictable . Then he would really have something!
George knew what he had to do: more experiments! Whistling happily, he began looking around the garage for something else to place in his device.
* * *
In a region of the galaxy so distant from Earth that conventional measurement lost all meaning, the alien craft hung in the darkness of space .
Though unarmed, the Polem , or Treaty Verification
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