Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

tA nd WHAT THIN any of this stall about further research, testing, difficulties, all that folderol. Just put it into production.” “It’s a custom made job,” I said, trying to slow him down. “Only an experimental model.” “Custom made today, production line tomorrow,” he shook his head in exasperation. “‘Well, what’s holding you up?” “Money, for one thing,” I clutched at the first excuse I could think of, and wished it were as simple as that. He grabbed the phone again. ‘“Get me the controller,” he barked, and waited. “Tim! What took you so long? Give Kennedy all the money he wants!” He listened for a moment and then turned to me. “He wants to know if you'll need more than a hundred dollars. He’s got systems, or something.” He turned back to the phone without waiting for my reply. “Well,” he conceded, “I didn’t actu- ally mean all the money he wants. Let me know if he draws over a million dollars.”’ He took the receiver away from his ear and looked at it in puzzlement. ““Must have fainted,’? he com- mented dryly, and hung up. “But,” I tried to object, thinking how the organization would be split wide open if I went out into the plant and started carrying out his instruc- tions—all the noses out of joint, the toes stepped on. “I’m just the personnel director. I’m not a plant superinten- dent. I can’t go around building buildings, setting up production lines —even if I knew how.” “Get going,” he said. “I don’t want any more alibis. All I want is a steady stream of antigravity units. That’s not too much to ask for, I’m sure!’ *“Maybe a million dollars won’t do it,” I said hopefully, and truthfully, as I reached for the door. “Well, all right,” he almost shouted. “We'll get a billion, then. We’ll get PARTITIONS 17 a hundred billion. What do you think we got taxpayers for?”’ ‘““You’ve been spending too much time in Washington,” I commented, as I went through the door. “You're beginning to talk like them.” Maybe Old Stone Face hadn’t heard about things which money can’t buy— such as a little girl who looks at you from behind strings of black hair. Maybe he hadn’t heard about frame- works where money wasn’t a con- sideration. Maybe he hadn’t heard about a matrix where the question, “If you’re so smart, why ain’t you rich?’ was on the order of the ques- tion, “If it’s alive, why don’t it breathe air?”” Maybe he hadn’t heard about frameworks, period. I hoped I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell him about them. Annie Malasek was waiting for me in the outer personnel waiting room. She had little Jennie by the hand. Annie looked stern, Jennie looked penitent. Annie stopped me as I started past her. “TI just came over to tell you, Mr. Kennedy,” she began, “I found out what Jennie did to your nice office last night. I whipped her good. Tell Mr. Kennedy you’re sorry, Jennie.” She looked down at Jennie sternly, and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry,” Jennie mumbled. “Tell Mr. Kennedy you won’t do it again,’ Annie went on remorselessly. “TI won’t do it again,’ Jennie re- peated dutifully. “Tell Mr. Kennedy you’re going to be a good little girl from now on, and not burn things up or throw things,” Annie pursued with a determined gleam in her eye. “Good girl,’ Jennie murmured, and rubbed the arch of one foot with the toe of the other. I looked at them both, and for once I didn’t have anything to say. Conmicloolkks.e@ im