Sir Isaac was at the micromanipulator, his tendrils at the controls; down over his head fitted a frame with eight eyepieces. He touched the control rack; the tank rippled and a picture built in it-the ring, in full color and three dimensions. It seemed to be about eight feet across. The boss of the ring faced out, displaying the enamel-filled initial cut into it—a capital “H” framed with a simple circle of white enamel.
The picture flickered and changed. Only a portion of the initial was now visible, but so greatly magnified that the enamel rubbed into the shallow grooves of the letter looked like broken paving blocks. A shadowy pointed cylinder, out of focus save at its very end, moved across the picture; a great oily globe formed on the end of it, detached itself and settled on the enamel. The “paving blocks” started to break up.
Montgomery Phipps climbed the ramp, saw Don and Isobel, and sat down on the edge beside them. He seemed to want to be friendly. “This will be something to tell your grandchildren about,” he remarked. “Old Sir Ike at work. The best microtechnician in the system—can darn near pick out a single molecule, make it sit up and beg.”
“It rather surprises me,” Don admitted. “I hadn’t known that Sir Isaac was a laboratory technician.”
“He’s more than that; he’s a great physicist; hadn’t the significance of his chosen name struck you?”
Don felt foolish He knew how dragons went about picking vocalized names, but he took such names for granted, just as he took his own Venerian name for granted. “His whole tribe tends to be scientific,” Phipps went on. “There’s a grandson who calls himself ‘Galileo Galilei’; have you met him? And there’s a ‘Doctor Einstein’ and a ‘Madame Curie’ and there’s an integrating chemist who calls herself—Egg alone knows why!—’Little Buttercup.’ But old Sir Ike is the boss man, the top brain—he made a trip to Earth to help with some of the work on this project. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
Donald admitted that he had not known why Sir Isaac was on Earth. Isobel put in, “Mr. Phipps, if Sir Isaac was working on this on Earth, why doesn’t he know what is in the ring before he opens it?”
“Well, he does and he doesn’t. He worked on the theoretical end. But what we will find—unless we get a terrific disappointment—will be detailed engineering instructions worked out for man-type tools and techniques. Very different.”
Don thought about it. “Engineering” and “science” were more or less lumped together in his mind; he lacked the training to appreciate the enormous. difference. He changed the subject. “You are a laboratory man yourself, Mr. Phipps?”
“Me? Heavens, no! My fingers are all thumbs. The dynamics of history is my game. Theoretical once—applied now. Well, that’s a dry hole.” His eyes were on the tank; the solvent, sluiced in by what seemed to be hogshead amounts, had washed the enamel out of the groove that defined that part of the initial “H”; the floor of the groove could be seen, bare, amber, and transparent.
Phipps stood up. “I can’t sit still—I get nervous. Excuse me, please.”
“Surely.”
A dragon was lumbering up the ramp. He stopped by them just as Phipps was turning away. “Howdy, Mr. Phipps. Mind if I park here?”
“Not at all. Know these people?”
“I’ve met the lady.”
Don acknowledged the introduction, giving both his names and receiving those of the dragon in turn—Refreshing Rain and Josephus (“Just call me ‘Joe’ “). Joe was the first dragon, other than Sir Isaac, whom Don had met there who was voder trained and equipped; Don looked at him with interest. One thing was certain: Joe had learned English from some master other than the nameless Cockney who had taught Sir Isaac… a Texan, Don felt quite sure.
“I am honored to be in your house,” Don said to him.
The dragon settled himself comfortably, letting his chin come about to their shoulders. “Not my house. These snobs wouldn’t have me around if there wasn’t a job I can do a little better than the next hombre. I just work here.”