“You said there’ll be a demonstration tomorrow?”
“Sure, we’re all ready to go. We’ve already run complete tests; works like a charm. You’d swear it was the real thing.”
“I suppose there’ll be representatives from the leading universities here—and maybe the FBI and the Secret Service—”
“Huh? Heck, no, Barney. This is a hush-hush deal. Goober Industries stands to clean up on this one. The only ones invited are Hashflash Associates, Tosscookie & Wilt, and Earp, Earp, Earp & Earp—”
“Why, those are all advertising agencies!” Barnaby frowned. “What interest would they have in an Environmental Simulator?”
“Are you kidding? Talk about market research! With this setup, the advertiser can penetrate right into the innermost secrets of the American scene! No more wondering what brand underarm the typical family uses; just plug in the data, and take a look!”
“But—but, Horace! He couldn’t! That’s invasion of privacy! And it’s a perversion of the intent of the device! I meant to make a lasting contribution to human knowledge.”
“You, Barney? What’ve you got to do with it?”
“What? Look, Horace, this is my invention—the one Mr. Goober just turned down.”
“Huh? Hey, wait a minute, Barney! Are you kind of hinting around that Mr. Goober would—well—swipe your idea?”
“It looks that way—and it also looks like he’s planning to use it to sell more Gooberjunk. I intended the Simulator to be used for human betterment—not for prying into people’s personal business.”
“Personal business? What personal business? After all, with everybody on the Government payroll—”
“We’re not on the Government payroll; you work for Goober Enterprises and I’m in business for myself.”
“Uh-huh, same difference; Goober Enterprises does all its work on Government contract and you’re registered under the Poverty Act. After all, since the hundred percent income tax went through, a fellow doesn’t really have much chance on his own, does he?” Horace chuckled. “No, Barney, if you want to have a Great Society, you’ve got to give up a few luxuries like privacy.”
“But people have some rights.”
Horace wagged a finger. “Now, Barney, you can’t work for Uncle Sam, live in Government housing, subsist on Government handouts, and still babble about rights, now can you?”
“Look, Horace—could you give me a demonstration?”
“Not a chance, Barney! I shouldn’t even have let you on the lot. Like I said, this is under wraps.”
“But I’ve got to see how it works! After all, it’s my invention.”
“You want to get me fired? Let’s go, Barney. I got to lock up.”
* * *
An hour later, in his cubicle on Shelf One-oh-two, Slice Six Hundred and Fifty-five, Stratum Nine, Block Seventeen of Number Forty-two Bachelors’ Barracks, Barnaby looked around in annoyance at a buzz from the Gooberscope. He flipped a lever; a pert girl’s face appears on the foot-square screen.
“Oh, hi, Gigi, what do you want?”
“Barnaby! Is that polite? How did the conference go? Is old Gooberpuss going to finance your invention?”
“Hah! He already has! It’s ready for a big demonstration in a day or so.”
“Barnaby! That’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“The only trouble is he’s squeezed me out of the picture. He’s passed out the word that it’s all his own idea; and when I tried to go back and demand an explanation, they told me he was in Patagonia on a big Gooberblubber negotiation.”
“Why, the old crook!”
“Look out, Gigi, these Gooberscopes may be Gooberbugged. You’ll lose your job, and then there’ll be two of us on relief.”
“Barnaby, he can’t do this! You can go to court, make him pay you—”
“Sure—if I had the price of a couple of high-powered legal firms. Goober has a hundred and forty-five of the top shysters in the country on the payroll, with nothing to do but sit around inserting fine print in contracts and fighting damage suits. Anyway, I’m not really sure it’s my Simulator; I didn’t see it working.”
“What are you going to do, Barnaby?” Gigi’s voice rose to a wail. “You’ve worked on this for three years! This was going to be your big prize! We were going to g-get m-m-married . . . ”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t cry, Gigi!”
“All these years you’ve slaved, and old Gooberface has gotten rich off your ideas!”
“No, he hasn’t; his whole salary goes for taxes, just like everybody else’s.”
“I don’t mean his silly old salary! What about his expense account, and his representational allowance, and his Government bonuses and—”
“Sure, he lives like a king—but I’m not interested in that. All I want is to prove a man can still make it on his own. Every time I think about Goober stealing my ideas and then giving me the brushoff, I see red!”
“Now, Barnaby, don’t do anything hasty.”
“Hasty? After three years’ work? I’m going over there and make him pay up if I have to sit on him and pound his head on the Gooberug in his own office!”
“Barnaby! Wait!”
“I’m going. So long, Gigi!”
“Then I’m going with you. I’ll be down in five minutes!”
* * *
The vast Executive Tower was dark when Barnaby and Gigi left the subway at the Gooberdilly Circus stop and emerged into the wan light of early evening.
“See? I told you we’d be too late,” Gigi said. “The executives never work during prime TV time.”
“There are lights over at the Experimental Complex; maybe Goober’s there, gloating over how he robbed me.” He led the way across to the gate, spoke to the guard on duty.
“Sure, Barney, no harm in letting you look around. Hi, Gigi.” He waved them past. Inside, they headed toward the shed that housed the Goobernetic Goobereality Simulator.
“Barnaby, you can’t go in there,” she cautioned. “You know these sheds are top secret.”
“Naturally! Goober doesn’t want to advertise stolen goods.”
“Please, Barnaby, come back tomorrow, and discuss the matter in a gentlemanly way with Mr. Goober. Maybe he didn’t mean—”
“How can I, when he’s in Patagonia?” Barnaby reached for the door.
“We’re trespassing!” Gigi wailed. “Let’s go now, before somebody sees us . . . ”
Barnaby twisted the knob; the door swung in; he stepped into the darkened interior of the shed.
Gigi’s voice echoed in the wide gloom. “Barnaby! We have no business in here!”
“There’s nobody here, Gigi; relax.”
“Where’s your invention? All I see if a big open space . . . ”
“Over there; that’s the computer console and the synthesizing units. You see the wires strung around the shed? They tie the whole space into a closed field. I must say, he did a first-class job of installation. All I had in mind was a little thing about the size of a phone booth.”
“Do you know how to work it?”
“Naturally; it’s a dead steal from my drawings.” He stepped inside the control booth. “All you do is set up the coordinates you want; the Simulator does the rest.”
“Barnaby! You wouldn’t! Mr. Goober would be furious!”
“Not any more furious than I am.”
“But—but it’s all set up for tomorrow’s demonstration!”
“Sure, that makes it simpler. I’d better check out the instrument readings first . . . ” Barnaby studied the panel. “Looks okay; all we need to do is punch that button.” He pointed.
“Barnaby, wait!”
He stepped past her and closed the switch.
* * *
For a moment nothing happened; then a dim light sprang up all across the enclosed space under the luminous Gooberplast ceiling; a deep humming sound was audible, rumbling from some subterranean chamber.
“Boy, look at those power drain figures,” Barnaby breathed.
“What’s happening, Barnaby?” Gigi said breathlessly.
“The field is energizing. It’s soaking up power like a sponge; that’s to be expected, of course. Energy/matter conversion isn’t an easy proposition.”
There was a deafening boom! followed by a whistling of air. The door to the control booth rattled in its frame. Suddenly an opaque, gray blanket seemed to hang over the observation window.
“Barnaby! Is everything all right?”
He peered out into the mist. “I think so. Readings are all normal.”
“Why is it so—so foggy out there?”
“The field shuts off incident light; it’s a sort of closed space effect. The simulated environment has to be segregated from outside influences, of course, or its validity will be compromised.”
“Barnaby, you’ve done enough for now. Let’s go. We can come back some other time—”
“Go? We haven’t even looked at it yet.”
“That’s all right; we can go up to my place and I’ll make you a nice cup of coffee substitute and—”
“We can’t leave now, without even seeing what kind of effect we’ve gotten.” Barnaby stepped to the door marked authorized goobermen only and opened it. He stared out. Gigi came to his side. Where the plain concrete floor had been, a city street was visible, lined with bright shop fronts thronged with people.
“Wow!” Barnaby breathed.
“Where—where did the people come from?” Gigi whispered. “And those shops—”