while secondary power stations on Earth burned a safe fuel manufactured by
the bomb.
He announced the discovery of the Harper-Erickson technique and dwelt on
what it meant to them commercially. Each point was presented as
persuasively as possible, with the full power of his engaging personality.
Then he paused and waited for them to blow off steam.
They did. “Visionary — ” “Unproved — ” No essential change in the situation
— ” The substance of it was that they were very happy to hear of the new
fuel, but not particularly impressed by it. Perhaps in another twenty
years, after it had been thoroughly tested and proved commercially, and
provided enough uranium had been mined to build another bomb, they might
consider setting up another power station outside the atmosphere. In the
meantime there was no hurry.
Lentz patiently and politely dealt with their objections. He emphasized the
increasing incidence of occupational psychoneurosis among the engineers and
grave danger to everyone near the bomb even under the orthodox theory. He
reminded them of their insurance and indemnity-bond costs, and of the
“squeeze” they paid State politicians.
Then he changed his tone and let them have it directly and brutally.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we believe that we are fighting for our lives — our
own lives, our families and every life on the globe. If you refuse this
compromise, we will fight as fiercely and with as little regard for fair
play as any cornered animal.” With that he made his first move in attack.
It was quite simple. He offered for their inspection the outline of a
propaganda campaign on a national scale, such as any major advertising firm
could carry out as matter of routine. It was complete to the last detail,
television broadcasts, spot plugs, newspaper and magazine coverage and —
most important — a supporting whispering campaign and a letters-to-Congress
organization. Every businessman there knew from experience how such things
worked.
But its object was to stir up fear of the bomb and to direct that fear, not
into panic, but into rage against the Board of Directors personally, and
into a demand that the government take action to have the bomb removed to
outer space.
“This is blackmail! We’ll stop you!”
“I think not,” Lentz replied gently. “You may be able to keep us out of
some of the newspapers, but you can’t stop the rest of it. You can’t even
keep us off the air — ask the Federal Communications Commission.” It was
true Harrington had handled the political end and had performed his
assignment well; the President was convinced.
Tempers were snapping on all sides; Dixon had to pound for order. “Dr.
Lentz,” he said, his own temper under taut control, “you plan to make every
one of us appear a black-hearted scoundrel with no other thought than
personal profit, even at the expense of the lives of others. You know that
is not true; this is a simple difference of opinion as to what is wise.”
“I did not say it was true,” Lentz admitted blandly, “but you will admit
that I can convince the public that you are deliberate villains. As to it
being a difference of opinion — you are none of you atomic physicists; you
are not entitled to hold opinions in this matter.
“As a matter of fact,” he went on callously, “the only doubt in my mind is
whether or not an enraged public will destroy your precious power plant
before Congress has time to exercise eminent domain and take it away from
you!”
Before they had time to think up arguments in answer and ways of
circumventing him, before their hot indignation had cooled and set as
stubborn resistance, he offered his gambit. He produced another layout for
a propaganda campaign — an entirely different sort.
This time the Board of Directors was to be built up, not torn down. All of
the same techniques were to be used; behind-the-scenes feature articles
with plenty of human interest would describe the functions of the company,
describe it as a great public trust, administered by patriotic, unselfish
statesmen of the business world. At the proper point in the campaign, the