in the transmitted output. By raster scanning an object with a trio
of synchronized, intersecting beams, he had devised a method of
extracting enough information to generate a 3-D color hologram,
visually indistinguishable from the original solid. Moreover, since
the beams scanned right through, it was almost as easy to conjure
up views of the inside as of the out. These capabilities, combined
with that of high-power magnification that was also inherent in the
method, yielded possibilities not even remotely approached by
anything else on the market. From quantitative cell metabolism and
bionics, through neurosurgery, metallurgy, crystallography, and
molecular electronics, to engineering inspection and quality
control, the applications were endless. Inquiries were pouring in
and shares were soaring. Removing the prototype and its originator
to the USA-totally disrupting carefully planned production and
marketing schedules-bordered on the catastrophic. Borlan knew this
as well as anybody. The more Hunt turned these things over in his
mind, the less plausible the various possible explanations that had
at first occurred to him seemed, and the more convinced he became
that whatever the answer turned out to be, it would be found to lie
far beyond even Felix Borlan and IDCC.
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice issuing from somewhere in
the general direction of the cabin roof.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Mason
speaking. I would like to welcome you aboard this Boeing 1017 on
behalf of British Airways. We are now in level flight at our
cruising altitude of fifty-two miles, speed 3,160 knots. Our course
is thirty-five degrees west of true north, and the coast is now
below with Liverpool five miles to starboard. Passengers are free
to leave their seats. The bars are open and drinks and snacks are
being served. We are due to arrive in San Francisco at ten
thirty-eight hours local time; that’s one hour and fifty minutes
from now. I would like to remind you that it is necessary to be
seated when we begin our descent in one hour and thirty-five
minutes time. A warning will sound ten minutes before descent
commences and again at five minutes. We trust you will enjoy your
journey. Thank you.”
The captain signed himself off with a click, which was drowned out
as the regulars made their customary scramble for the vi-phone
booths.
In the seat next to Hunt, Rob Gray, Metadyne’s chief of
Experimental Engineering, sat with an open briefcase resting on his
knees. He studied the information being displayed on the screen
built into its lid.
“A regular flight to Portland takes off fifteen minutes after we
get in,” he announced. “That’s a bit tight. Next one’s not for over
four hours. What d’you reckon?” He punctuated the question with a
sideways look and raised eyebrows.
Hunt pulled a face. “I’m not arsing about in Frisco for four hours.
Book us an Avis jet-we’ll fly ourselves up.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index,
consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a
directory. Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed
it silently to himself as he tapped it in. A copy of the number
appeared near the bottom of the screen with a request for him to
confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen went blank for a few
seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color, which
stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde,
who radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste
commercials.
“Good morning. Avis San Francisco, City Terminal. This is Sue
Parker. Can I help you?”
Gray addressed the grille, located next to the tiny camera lens
just above the screen.
“Hi, Sue. Name’s Gray-R. J. Gray, airbound for SF, due to arrive
about two hours from now. Could I reserve an aircar, please?”
“Sure thing. Range?”
“Oh-about five hundred. . .” He glanced at Hunt.
“Better make it seven,” Hunt advised.
“Make that seven hundred miles minimum.”
“That’ll be no problem, Mr. Gray. We have Skyrovers, Mercury
Threes, Honeybees, or Yellow Birds. Any preference?”
“No-any’ll do.”
“I’ll make it a Mercury, then. Any idea how long?”
“No-er-indefinite.”
“Okay. Full computer nav and flight control? Automatic VTOL?”