Zucco heads a body of opinion, an overwhelming body, I may add, which holds that the dynamics of the firebelt are such that it is self-canceling. It would seem that Admiral Nelson’s proposal to seed the Van Allen field with charged carbon particles is directly opposed to Dr. Zucco’s theory.” The announcer’s voice issued a polite chuckle. “Dr. Zucco is—ah—not usually opposed.”
The Assembly president was whanging away with his gavel; cries of “Quiet” and “Order” were themselves enough to make his cries for quiet and order inaudible. The camera returned to Admiral Nelson, who filled his lungs and shouted in what was called, by his crew, the Old Old Man’s “hurricane” voice, “Mr. President! Let Dr. Zucco speak! I have no objections!”
The president rose and spread out his arms, pounded twice, spread his arms again. The chamber rumbled to something like quiet.
“Admiral Nelson yields to Dr. Zucco,” called the President.
“For a question,” amended the Admiral.
Zucco came snorting and steaming up to the rostrum. He was a black-browed, black-haired man, with burning, deep-set eyes and, under a nose as straight and sharp as an axe-blade, a wide, lipless mouth so cast that it showed a row of straight, white, strong lower teeth and the uppers not at all. His voice was as heavy and, in its way, as black as his hair and his suit. He spoke with the suggestion of an Austrian accent, or the lack or accent: the too-perfect sound of the acquired tongue and a brain behind it which did all things perfectly.
“Go right ahead,” invited the Admiral, and one could see the wind leave the scientist’s sails. The momentum of some as yet unexplained fury had carried him up here, and it took a moment for him to readjust to something like politeness.
“Well,” he said at length. He looked the Admiral up and down and said it again. Then he turned to the Assembly and spoke.
“Mr. President. Members of this distinguished gathering. Admiral Nelson: You will forgive any words I choose, knowing that they are not directed at you personally, but at the pre . . . pos —terous suggestion you have just made. Is it possible, Admiral, is it possible, Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, is it remotely possible that I, Emilio Zucco, might have overlooked the possibility the Admiral suggests? It is not possible! I too have studied the Van Allen belt and its constitution; I agree perfectly, as you all know, with the Admiral’s conclusions as to what this firebelt is and how it began. I too made the hypotheses made by the admiral about seeding and collapsing the belt. And I have given these considerations the treatment they deserve: I have lined my waste-basket with them.”
He paused dramatically and shot a glance of fire at the Admiral, who smiled pleasantly and cocked his big head to one side.
“If,” continued Dr. Zucco, “there was any merit in such a ludicrous procedure, who here would dare suggest that it would have been discarded? Further: if the Admiral’s preoccupation with military toys and games had led him to such an experiment, and if it were only useless, and if, oh especially this: if it pleased him, for he is a worthy gentleman deserving of some pleasures, if it pleased him to take his large shining submarine into the far Pacific in this rendezvous with his nonsensical theory, in order to delight himself with his expensive pyrotechnical displays, I would be all for it. It is a basic premise, gentlemen, of human freedom that the pursuit of happiness is a desideratum, and all of us, even our admirals, should be permitted, even encouraged, to take what pleasure we may find, wherever and however it may be found—providing only that no one else is hurt by it. [Laughter, moderate.] This premise of ethical behavior was clearly enunciated by one of your American savants, I believe it was Mr. Will Rogers, who said, ‘Your freedom to swing your fists ends where my nose begins.’ [Laughter, immoderate.]
The Assembly president was whanging away with his gavel; cries of “Quiet” and “Order” were themselves enough to make his cries for quiet and order inaudible. The camera returned to Admiral Nelson, who filled his lungs and shouted in what was called, by his crew, the Old Old Man’s “hurricane” voice, “Mr. President! Let Dr. Zucco speak! I have no objections!”
The president rose and spread out his arms, pounded twice, spread his arms again. The chamber rumbled to something like quiet.
“Admiral Nelson yields to Dr. Zucco,” called the President.
“For a question,” amended the Admiral.
Zucco came snorting and steaming up to the rostrum. He was a black-browed, black-haired man, with burning, deep-set eyes and, under a nose as straight and sharp as an axe-blade, a wide, lipless mouth so cast that it showed a row of straight, white, strong lower teeth and the uppers not at all. His voice was as heavy and, in its way, as black as his hair and his suit. He spoke with the suggestion of an Austrian accent, or the lack or accent: the too-perfect sound of the acquired tongue and a brain behind it which did all things perfectly.
“Go right ahead,” invited the Admiral, and one could see the wind leave the scientist’s sails. The momentum of some as yet unexplained fury had carried him up here, and it took a moment for him to readjust to something like politeness.
“Well,” he said at length. He looked the Admiral up and down and said it again. Then he turned to the Assembly and spoke.
“Mr. President. Members of this distinguished gathering. Admiral Nelson: You will forgive any words I choose, knowing that they are not directed at you personally, but at the pre . . . pos —terous suggestion you have just made. Is it possible, Admiral, is it possible, Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, is it remotely possible that I, Emilio Zucco, might have overlooked the possibility the Admiral suggests? It is not possible! I too have studied the Van Allen belt and its constitution; I agree perfectly, as you all know, with the Admiral’s conclusions as to what this firebelt is and how it began. I too made the hypotheses made by the admiral about seeding and collapsing the belt. And I have given these considerations the treatment they deserve: I have lined my waste-basket with them.”
He paused dramatically and shot a glance of fire at the Admiral, who smiled pleasantly and cocked his big head to one side.
“If,” continued Dr. Zucco, “there was any merit in such a ludicrous procedure, who here would dare suggest that it would have been discarded? Further: if the Admiral’s preoccupation with military toys and games had led him to such an experiment, and if it were only useless, and if, oh especially this: if it pleased him, for he is a worthy gentleman deserving of some pleasures, if it pleased him to take his large shining submarine into the far Pacific in this rendezvous with his nonsensical theory, in order to delight himself with his expensive pyrotechnical displays, I would be all for it. It is a basic premise, gentlemen, of human freedom that the pursuit of happiness is a desideratum, and all of us, even our admirals, should be permitted, even encouraged, to take what pleasure we may find, wherever and however it may be found—providing only that no one else is hurt by it. [Laughter, moderate.] This premise of ethical behavior was clearly enunciated by one of your American savants, I believe it was Mr. Will Rogers, who said, ‘Your freedom to swing your fists ends where my nose begins.’ [Laughter, immoderate.]
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