Raymond F. Jones - This Island Earth (Forrest J Ackerman Presents)

Chapter 1

The offices of Joe Wilson, purchasing agent for Ryberg Instrument Corporation, looked out over the companys private landing field. Joe stood by the window now, wishing they didnt, because it was an eternal reminder that hed once had hopes of becoming an engineer instead of an office flunky.

He saw the silver test ship of the radio lab level off at bullet speed, circle once and land. That would be Cal Meacham, Joe thought. Nobody but a radio engineer would fly an aeroplane that way.

He chomped irritably on his cigar and turned away. From his desk he picked up a letter and read it through slowly for the fourth time. It was in answer to an order he had placed for condensers for Cals hot transmitter job Cals stuff was always hot.

Joe Wilson put the letter down slowly and took up the box of beads that had come with it.

He picked up one bead by a lead wire sticking out of it. The bead was about a quarter of an inch in diameter and there seemed to be a smaller concentric shell inside. Between the two was some reddish liquid. Another wire connected to the inner shell, but for the life of him Joe couldnt see how that inner wire came through the outer shell.

It made him dizzy to concentrate on the spot where it came through. The spot seemed to shift and move.

Ten thousand volts! he muttered. Four mikes!

He tossed the bead back into the box. Cal would be hotter than the transmitter job when he saw these.

Joe heard the door of his secretarys office open and glanced through the glass panel. Cal Meacham burst in with a breeze that ruffled the letters on Joes desk.

See that landing I made, Joe? Markus says I ought to be able to get my license to fly that crate in another week.

Ill bet, he added, if you live that long.

Just because you dont recognise a hot pilot when you see one , what are you so glum about, anyway? And whats happened to those condensers we ordered three days ago? This jobs hot.

Joe held out the letter silently. Cal scanned the page and flipped it back to the desk.

Well try them out. Give me an order and Ill pick them up from Receiving on my way to the lab.

They arent in receiving. They came in the envelope with the letter.

What are you talking about? How could they send sixteen mikes of 10 kV condensers in an envelope?

Joe held up one of the beads by a wire. Guaranteed one hundred percent voltage safety factor.

What screwballs idea of a joke is this? Did you call Receiving?

Joe nodded. I checked good. These beads are all that came.

Cal grasped one by the lead wire and held it up to the light. He saw the faint internal structure that Joe had puzzled over.

It would be funny if thats what these things actual were, wouldnt it? he said.

You could build a 50 kW transmitter in a suitcase, provided you had other corresponding components.

Cal dropped the rest of the beads in his shirt pocket. Call them on the teletype. Tell them this job is plenty hot and weve got to have those condensers right away.

What are you going to do with the beads?

I might put ten thousand volts across them and see how long it takes to melt them down. See if you can find out who pulled this gag.

For the rest of the morning Cal checked over the antenna on his new ground transmitter, which wasnt putting out power the way it should. He forgot about the glass beads until late in the afternoon.

Then, as he bent his head down into the framework of the set, one of the sharp leads of the alleged condensers stuck through his shirt.

He jerked sharply and bumped his head on the iron framework. He cursed the refractory transmitter, the missing condensers and the practical joker who had sent the beads. He pulled the things out of his shirt pocket and was about to hurl them across the room.

But a quirk of curiosity halted his hand in midair. Slowly he lowered it and looked again at the beads that seemed to glare at him like eyes in the palm of his hand.

He called across the lab to a junior engineer. Hey, Max, come here. Put these things on voltage breakdown and see what happens.

Sure. The junior engineer rolled them over in his palm. What are they?

Just some gadgets we got for test. I forgot about them until now.

He resumed checking the transmitter. Crazy notion, that. As if the beads actually were anything but glass beads. There was only one thing that kept him from forgetting the whole matter. It was the way that one wire seemed to slide around on the bead when you looked at it.

In about five minutes Max was back. I shot one of your gadgets all to pieces. It held up until thirty-three thousand volts and not a microamp of leakage. Whatever they are theyre good. Want to blow the rest?

Cal turned slowly. He wondered if Max were in on the game, too. A few hundred volts would jump right around the glass from wire to wire without bothering to go through!

Thats what the meter read.

Come on, said Cal. Lets check the capacity.

First he tried another on voltage test. He watched it behind the glass shield as he advanced the voltage in steps of 5 kV. The bead held at thirty and vanished at thirty-five.

His lips compressed tightly, Cal took the third bead to a standard capacity bridge. He adjusted the plugs until it balanced at just four microfarads.

Maxs eyes were slightly popped. Four mikes they cant be!

No. They cant possibly be, can they?

Back in the Purchasing Office Cal found Joe Wilson sitting morosely at the desk, staring at a yellow strip of teletype paper.

Just the man Im looking for, said Joe. I called the Continental Electric and they said

I dont care what they said. Cal laid the remaining beads on the desk in front of Joe. Those are four-mike condensers that dont break down until more than thirty thousand volts. Theyre everything Continental said they were and more. Where did they get them? Last time I was over there Simon Forrest was in charge of the condenser department. He never

Will you let me tell you? Joe interrupted. They didnt come from Continental. Continental says no order for condensers has been received from here in the last six weeks. I sent a recorder by TWX.

I dont want their order then. I want more of these! Cal held up a bead. But where did they come from if not from Continental?

Thats what I want to know.

What letterhead came with these? Lets see it again.

It just says, Electronic Service-Unit Sixteen. I thought that was some subsection of Continental. Theres no address on it.

Cal looked intently at the sheet of paper. Youre sure this came back in answer to an order you sent Continental?

Wearily, Joe flipped over a file. Theres the duplicate of the order I sent.

Continental always was a screwball outfit, but they must be trying to top themselves. Write them again. Give the reference on this letter. Order a gross of these condensers. While youre at it ask for a new catalogue. Ours may be obsolete. Id like to see what else they list besides condensers.

Okay, said Joe. But I tell you Continental says they didnt even get our order.