The vidiot
case he hauled out the complete circuit blueprint, and set to work.
The next fifteen minutes were spent in sketching in new connections and
bridges and crossing out old ones on the drawings. Then Don carefully
fished out the paper clip spiral and deliberately dropped the heavy
work light into the amplifier. There was the sharp noise of splintering
tubes. Stuffing the corrected circuit blueprints in his pocket Don
hurriedly left the studio minutes before the crew returned to continue
their rehearsal for “The Planeteers.”
Don walked quickly through the mid-day crowd towards the park. Barnes
would have his hide--first for wrecking the matting amplifier and
secondly for walking out on the rehearsal. But he desperately needed
time to think. So what if he was fired! It was a _big_ thing he’d come
across.
He had immediately recognized the tremendous possibilities of his
accidental discovery. It had been simple for him to analyze the circuit
changes produced by the paper clip spiral and to realize that it would
literally be child’s play to construct a single camera which could be
focused on any given area and pick up an image regardless of whatever
obstacles might lay between, unknown to anyone in the area! With this
camera he could reach in anywhere with an invisible, all-seeing eye.
And he was the only one who had this secret. Reflexively he touched the
pocket which held his notes.
He definitely did not want to give this discovery to the network.
He still remembered and resented that objectionable clause in his
employment contract: _I will assign to you irrevocably any and all
rights I may have or get to all “inventions” made by me alone or with
others, whether during or outside of my regular working hours._
Like hell he would! This was one thing that number one boy wasn’t
giving away. There was a mint to be made--and Donny boy was going to
make it!
It was a warm, sunny day. Don hunted up a quiet corner in the park and
relaxed on the grass. He had some tall thinking to do.
Let’s face it. He had a pure uranium mine on his hands. Just imagine
what could be done with it! Entertainment could be plucked right out of
the theaters, sports arenas, ball parks, anywhere. News events could be
covered immediately and wherever they might occur by a spin of a dial.
Even “Person to Person” wouldn’t need all that cumbersome equipment!
The military could watch war games, attacks, any development, in
safety. Why, almost anyone could explore, maybe even discover rich
mineral deposits with his new, penetrating TV camera! You could observe
the bottom of an ocean and the heart of a mountain. Yes, sir! He would
revolutionize TV pick-up and transmission. Maybe even the secrets of
space itself--
He felt dizzy. There was no end to the possibilities. And he was
sitting on top of the gizmo that would do it! The Hartley Penetelecam!
Or simpler still: _The Hartleycam!_
He’d let someone like General Electric handle it. Possibly RCA. And
the right would be his. He’d be a Croesus. Rich as Rothchild. Another
Rockefeller! He’d buy up part of this park and put up Hartley Center.
And he’d have his office on the entire penthouse floor. The inventor
and controller of the Hartleycam! It would be a closely-guarded secret.
Like the government’s Norden Bomb Sight. Or the H-bomb. The Norden Bomb
Sight--the H-bomb--the Hartleycam--the Hartleycam--
“Mr. Hartley! The president will see you now.”
A big man. Round owlish eyes behind thin steel-framed spectacles. Did
he wear a toupee?
“Sir, when I signed contracts with your corporation to develop and
exploit the Hartleycam--”
“Say no more, my boy! I’m with _you!_ But it is beyond my control. It
has been ever since. Certain government factors have taken over, you
know. There is nothing either of us can do. It was too big--too big!”
Of course the president didn’t wear a toupee. He was bald.
It showed when he bowed. But not to Don. He was not there. He bowed to
the _Hartleycam_--the _Hartleycam_--
* * * * *
“Mr. Hartley! The president will see you now.”
A pompous man. A man accustomed to giving orders and having them
obeyed. But not recently?
“Sir! As publisher and president of the leading metropolitan
newspaper--”
“Sshhh, young man! I know who you are. Don’t let too many others find
out! Why did you let your spy camera get into the wrong hands? Don’t
you know it is the unscrupulous, the ruthless who grab power whenever
they can? What happens when that power is unconquerable???”
“But I--”
“You gave them the power to penetrate into all places. No more privacy!
No more privacy--no more successful opposition to ruthless power.”
“Your paper--can’t you--”
“The freedom of the press? It is dead. Like all other
freedoms--completely dead. You must conform, or else--”
They burst in unannounced. They were grim, and tall, and strong. They
had black uniforms with a large silver H on the chest. H?
“I’ve been expecting you,” said the pompous publisher resignedly. “I am
ready!”
“And him?” growled one of Them tossing His head at Don.
“He is only Hartley!”
They shrugged--and left....
The city was not the city. The people were not the people. There were
no smiles, no joy. There were only flesh-and-blood robots with furtive
eyes and haunted looks.
And It was everywhere. Watching! He could feel it. Not the deepest
dungeon nor the farthest corner was safe. It was all over him. Like a
sticky, hot, unbearable beam, stabbing at his closed eyes, burning his
weary brain.
Don sat up with a start. The glaring sun stood overhead. What a fool
he’d been to doze off in the sun like that. He’d probably gotten
himself a nice burn. No wonder he’d had a nightmare.
He gathered himself up and began walking through the park. He felt
sweaty and tired--and disturbed. And he still had to make up his mind.
Where to go?
The Network?
Industrial Exploitation?
The Government?
And that had been twenty-four hours earlier.
A buzzer sounded on the little secretary’s desk. She was kind of cute
at that--for all of her curiosity.
“You may go in now, Mr. Hartley, she announced pleasantly.”
He walked towards the door. There was a black sign with white letters:
V. P. GENL. ENGINEERING W. BARNES.
He entered.
“Hello, Don,” said Barnes seriously, “sit down.”
Don leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette.
“Now--what’s it all about?”
He had to say it fast, or he might not say it at all.
“I guess I lost my head.” He nearly tripped over the words. “I was
hooking up the matting amplifier for Mr. Kenmore on the ‘Planeteer’
show--and I dropped the worklight into it. I thought the whole thing
had blown up. I got scared, and--and I just ran out of there. I don’t
know what came over me. I have no excuse.”
He stopped. It was done. There could be no turning back.
Barnes looked at him for a moment. Then his stern face softened.
“Look, Don,” he said kindly. “We all have accidents. But we can’t
afford to panic after every one. Still, it took courage to come here
and face up to your mistake like this. I’m going to give you another
chance.”
He got up and put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “Just don’t lose your
head again,” he smiled. “And, Don, we’ll take you off ‘The Planeteers’
for a while. I guess they can get along with another vidiot!”
He slapped Don on the back good-naturedly. In the boy’s inside coat
pocket a bunch of papers crackled softly. A bunch of papers which held
the answer to an electronic device the boy had decided was too big. The
world was not ready for the _Hartleycam_. Not yet.
Not quite yet.
Transcriber’s Note:
This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, March 1956 (Vol. 5,
No. 2.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version.