I’ll go to Europe. Check my prospectus, folks—I’ve already got Commerce Department clearance to sell overseas. Time is money, guys, and this technology is ready to go
now.
If I don’t do this for you now, I’ll do it for Airbus tomorrow.”
Fenton could feel all eyes move from the monitor to him at that moment. No one in the aerospace industry or the airlines really liked Jon Masters, the genius with the attitude of a smart-ass seven-year-old, but everyone knew that he represented the cutting edge in aerospace technology. A license for one of Masters’s new gadgets could be worth billions. No one liked the federal Aviation Administration, either. It was an agency that could be tolerated only as long as its authority didn’t hamper business. Masters was being rude and crude as usual, but if Fenton walked out, he’d probably cost all or some of them billions. They all knew that Masters had Commerce Department authority to export this technology, whatever it was, and that fact alone made this presentation important.
Fenton felt their icy stares and silent sit-down commands, scowled? at the video monitor, and said angrily, “We don’t like threats, Dr. Masters.”
“Sorry, sir,” Masters said. “But I’m just excited. You know what it’s like. I guarantee, you’re really going to like this.
Really.”
The aerospace execs breathed a sigh of relief. If Masters kept up his punk attitude, Fenton would walk. But the apology showed Fenton the proper, if minimum, amount of respect, and Fenton returned to his seat. His aide scrambled to rearrange his papers and notes before him.
“Thanks, Ed,” said Masters. The execs concealed their chuckles. Masters went on: “Folks, I’ve been building gadgets for twenty years to help the military find and blow things up, but now I’ve developed a technology that will help
prevent
something from being blown up. It’s called ballistic electro-reactive process, or BERP for short.” Helen Kaddiri swallowed her irritation—it was just like Jon to give his inventions ridiculous names like “BERP.” “Let me explain how I discovered this technology.”
Jon Masters held up a square wire frame, then dipped it into a pan of liquid on the seat next to him and held it up to the camera. “We’ve all played with soap bubbles as kids, right?” He poked the bubble on the wire frame, and it promptly burst. “The film is less than three-thousandths the thickness of a human hair. Held together by simple chemical bonds, negligible surface tension. Easy to break—obviously. But while I was experimenting, I touched a couple of hot wires to the frame that a bubble was on, then shined a laser light on it. Here’s what I saw.”
The lights in the cabin dimmed, and a beam of green laser light emanated from somewhere just off camera and shined on a new bubble Masters formed in the frame. The surface of the bubble continued to shimmer and undulate. “Watch.” Masters flipped a switch, then moved his finger against the bubble. The surface of the bubble changed—the undulations and shimmering stopped, replaced by a solid green color. “See that? All the light refractions and surfaceeddies on the bubble disappear. Now check this put.” Masters turned the frame horizontally, then carefully placed a paper clip on the bubble. It did not break—the paper clip appeared to float in midair. Masters even waved the wire frame, and the paper clip held fast.
“I know what you’re thinking—the paper clip is suspended by a magnetic field formed by the wire frame, or by surface tension. Not so fast, Sherlock!” Masters withdrew a regular wooden pencil from a pocket and dropped it on the bubble—and it too was supported in midair. “That bubble is three-thousandths the width of a human hair, yet it’s supporting millions of times its own weight. Surface tension? Chemical properties of the soap solution? Yes and yes—but properties that were changed by an application of a small electric
now.
If I don’t do this for you now, I’ll do it for Airbus tomorrow.”
Fenton could feel all eyes move from the monitor to him at that moment. No one in the aerospace industry or the airlines really liked Jon Masters, the genius with the attitude of a smart-ass seven-year-old, but everyone knew that he represented the cutting edge in aerospace technology. A license for one of Masters’s new gadgets could be worth billions. No one liked the federal Aviation Administration, either. It was an agency that could be tolerated only as long as its authority didn’t hamper business. Masters was being rude and crude as usual, but if Fenton walked out, he’d probably cost all or some of them billions. They all knew that Masters had Commerce Department authority to export this technology, whatever it was, and that fact alone made this presentation important.
Fenton felt their icy stares and silent sit-down commands, scowled? at the video monitor, and said angrily, “We don’t like threats, Dr. Masters.”
“Sorry, sir,” Masters said. “But I’m just excited. You know what it’s like. I guarantee, you’re really going to like this.
Really.”
The aerospace execs breathed a sigh of relief. If Masters kept up his punk attitude, Fenton would walk. But the apology showed Fenton the proper, if minimum, amount of respect, and Fenton returned to his seat. His aide scrambled to rearrange his papers and notes before him.
“Thanks, Ed,” said Masters. The execs concealed their chuckles. Masters went on: “Folks, I’ve been building gadgets for twenty years to help the military find and blow things up, but now I’ve developed a technology that will help
prevent
something from being blown up. It’s called ballistic electro-reactive process, or BERP for short.” Helen Kaddiri swallowed her irritation—it was just like Jon to give his inventions ridiculous names like “BERP.” “Let me explain how I discovered this technology.”
Jon Masters held up a square wire frame, then dipped it into a pan of liquid on the seat next to him and held it up to the camera. “We’ve all played with soap bubbles as kids, right?” He poked the bubble on the wire frame, and it promptly burst. “The film is less than three-thousandths the thickness of a human hair. Held together by simple chemical bonds, negligible surface tension. Easy to break—obviously. But while I was experimenting, I touched a couple of hot wires to the frame that a bubble was on, then shined a laser light on it. Here’s what I saw.”
The lights in the cabin dimmed, and a beam of green laser light emanated from somewhere just off camera and shined on a new bubble Masters formed in the frame. The surface of the bubble continued to shimmer and undulate. “Watch.” Masters flipped a switch, then moved his finger against the bubble. The surface of the bubble changed—the undulations and shimmering stopped, replaced by a solid green color. “See that? All the light refractions and surfaceeddies on the bubble disappear. Now check this put.” Masters turned the frame horizontally, then carefully placed a paper clip on the bubble. It did not break—the paper clip appeared to float in midair. Masters even waved the wire frame, and the paper clip held fast.
“I know what you’re thinking—the paper clip is suspended by a magnetic field formed by the wire frame, or by surface tension. Not so fast, Sherlock!” Masters withdrew a regular wooden pencil from a pocket and dropped it on the bubble—and it too was supported in midair. “That bubble is three-thousandths the width of a human hair, yet it’s supporting millions of times its own weight. Surface tension? Chemical properties of the soap solution? Yes and yes—but properties that were changed by an application of a small electric
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