heat, air, energy. For the worlds of the Jovian confederacy, every single one of them, depended for their life upon the accumulators freighted outward from the Sun.
Talk of revolt was in the air, but, lacking a leader, it would get nowhere. John Moore Mallory was imprisoned on one of the prison spaceships that plied through the Solar System. Mallory, months ago, had been secretly transferred from the Callisto prison to the spaceship, but in a week’s time the secret had been spread in angry whispers. If there had been riots and bloodshed, they would have been to no purpose. For revolution, even if successful, would gain nothing. It would merely goad Interplanetary Power into withdrawing, refusing to service the domed cities on the moons.
* * * *
Ben Wrail stirred restlessly in his chair. The cigar had gone out. The radio program blared unheard. His eyes still looked out the window without seeing Jupiter.
“Damn,” said Ben Wrail. Why did he have to go and spoil an evening thinking about this damned political situation? Despite his part in the building of the confederacy, he was a businessman, not a politician. Still, it hurt to see something torn down that he had helped to build, though he knew that every pioneering strike in history had been taken over by shrewd, ruthless, powerful operators. Knowing that should have helped, but it didn’t. He and the other Jovian pioneers had hoped it wouldn’t happen and, of course, it had.
“Ben Wrail,” said a voice in the room.
Wrail swung around, away from the window.
“Manning!” he yelled, and the man in the center of the room grinned bleakly at him. “How did you come in without me hearing you? When did you get here?”
“I’m not here,” said Greg. “I’m back on Earth.”
“You’re what?” asked Wrail blankly. “That’s a pretty silly statement, isn’t it, Manning? Or did you decide to loosen up and pull a gag now and then?”
“I mean it,” said Manning. “This is just an image of me. My body is back on Earth.”
“You mean you’re dead? You’re a ghost?”
The grin widened, but the face was bleak as ever.
“No, Ben, I’m just alive as you are. Let me explain. This is a television image of me. Three-dimensional television. I can travel anywhere like this.”
Wrail sat down in the chair again. “I don’t suppose there’d be any use trying to shake hands with you.”
“No use,” agreed Manning’s image. “There isn’t any hand.”
“Nor asking you to have a chair?”
Manning shook his head.
“Anyhow,” said Wrail, “I’m damn glad to see you — or think I see you. I don’t know which. Figure you can stay and talk with me a while?”
“Certainly ,” said Manning. “That is what I came for. I want to ask your help.”
“Listen,” declared Wrail, “you can’t be on Earth, Manning. I say something to you and you answer right back. That isn’t possible. You can’t hear anything I say until 45 minutes after I say it, and then I’d have to wait another 45 minutes to hear your answer.”
“That’s right,” agreed the image, “if you insist upon talking about the velocity of light. We have something better than that.”
“We?”
“Russell Page and myself. We have a two-way television apparatus that works almost instantaneously. To all purposes, so far as the distance between Earth and Callisto is concerned, it is instantaneous.”
Wrail’s jaw fell. “Well, I be damned. What have you two fellows been up to now?”
“A lot,” said Manning laconically. “For one thing we are out to bust Interplanetary Power. Bust them wide open. Hear that, Wrail?”
Wrail stared in stupefaction. “Sure, I hear. But I can’t believe it.”
“All right then,” said Manning grimly, “we’ll give you proof. What could you do, Ben, if we told you what was happening on the stock market in New York . . . without you having to wait the 45 minutes it takes the quotations to get here ?”
Wrail sprang to his feet.
Talk of revolt was in the air, but, lacking a leader, it would get nowhere. John Moore Mallory was imprisoned on one of the prison spaceships that plied through the Solar System. Mallory, months ago, had been secretly transferred from the Callisto prison to the spaceship, but in a week’s time the secret had been spread in angry whispers. If there had been riots and bloodshed, they would have been to no purpose. For revolution, even if successful, would gain nothing. It would merely goad Interplanetary Power into withdrawing, refusing to service the domed cities on the moons.
* * * *
Ben Wrail stirred restlessly in his chair. The cigar had gone out. The radio program blared unheard. His eyes still looked out the window without seeing Jupiter.
“Damn,” said Ben Wrail. Why did he have to go and spoil an evening thinking about this damned political situation? Despite his part in the building of the confederacy, he was a businessman, not a politician. Still, it hurt to see something torn down that he had helped to build, though he knew that every pioneering strike in history had been taken over by shrewd, ruthless, powerful operators. Knowing that should have helped, but it didn’t. He and the other Jovian pioneers had hoped it wouldn’t happen and, of course, it had.
“Ben Wrail,” said a voice in the room.
Wrail swung around, away from the window.
“Manning!” he yelled, and the man in the center of the room grinned bleakly at him. “How did you come in without me hearing you? When did you get here?”
“I’m not here,” said Greg. “I’m back on Earth.”
“You’re what?” asked Wrail blankly. “That’s a pretty silly statement, isn’t it, Manning? Or did you decide to loosen up and pull a gag now and then?”
“I mean it,” said Manning. “This is just an image of me. My body is back on Earth.”
“You mean you’re dead? You’re a ghost?”
The grin widened, but the face was bleak as ever.
“No, Ben, I’m just alive as you are. Let me explain. This is a television image of me. Three-dimensional television. I can travel anywhere like this.”
Wrail sat down in the chair again. “I don’t suppose there’d be any use trying to shake hands with you.”
“No use,” agreed Manning’s image. “There isn’t any hand.”
“Nor asking you to have a chair?”
Manning shook his head.
“Anyhow,” said Wrail, “I’m damn glad to see you — or think I see you. I don’t know which. Figure you can stay and talk with me a while?”
“Certainly ,” said Manning. “That is what I came for. I want to ask your help.”
“Listen,” declared Wrail, “you can’t be on Earth, Manning. I say something to you and you answer right back. That isn’t possible. You can’t hear anything I say until 45 minutes after I say it, and then I’d have to wait another 45 minutes to hear your answer.”
“That’s right,” agreed the image, “if you insist upon talking about the velocity of light. We have something better than that.”
“We?”
“Russell Page and myself. We have a two-way television apparatus that works almost instantaneously. To all purposes, so far as the distance between Earth and Callisto is concerned, it is instantaneous.”
Wrail’s jaw fell. “Well, I be damned. What have you two fellows been up to now?”
“A lot,” said Manning laconically. “For one thing we are out to bust Interplanetary Power. Bust them wide open. Hear that, Wrail?”
Wrail stared in stupefaction. “Sure, I hear. But I can’t believe it.”
“All right then,” said Manning grimly, “we’ll give you proof. What could you do, Ben, if we told you what was happening on the stock market in New York . . . without you having to wait the 45 minutes it takes the quotations to get here ?”
Wrail sprang to his feet.
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