Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

- GALLEGHER PLUS “I don’t have it. And this is important.” Gallegher argued. At last he got his way. The only DU man whose initials were J. W. was someone named Jackson Wardell, who was on Callisto at the moment. ‘““How long has he been there “He was born there,” said the secretary unhelpfully. “He’s never been to Earth in his life. ’'m sure Mr. Wardell can’t be your man.” Gallegher agreed. There was no use ask- ing for Fatty, he decided, and broke the beam with a faint sigh. Well, what now? The visor shrilled. On the screen appeared the face of a plump-cheeked, bald, pudgy man who was frowning worriedly. He broke into a relieved chuckle at sight of the scientist. 99 “Oh, there you are, Mr. Gallegher,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. Something’s wrong with the beam. My goodness, I thought I’d certainly hear from you before this! ’” Gallegher’s heart stumbled. Fatty—of course! Thank Heaven, the luck was beginning to turn! Fatty—eight hundred credits. On ac- count. On account of what? The machine? Was it the solution to Fatty’s problem, or to J.W.’s? Gallegher prayed with brief fer- vency that Fatty had requested a device that ate dirt and sang “St James Infirmary.” The image blurred and flickered, with a faint crackling. Fatty said hurriedly, “Some- thing’s wrong with the line. But—did you do it, Mr. Gallegher? Did you find a method?” “Sure,” Gallegher said. If he could lead the man on, gain some hint of what he had ordered— “Oh, wonderful! DU’s been calling me for days. I’ve been putting them off, but they won’t wait forever. Cuff’s bearing down hard, and I can’t get around that old statute—” The screen went dead. Gallegher almost bit off his tongue in im- potent fury. Hastily he closed the circuit and began striding around the lab, his nerves tense with expectation. In a second the visor would ring. Fatty would call back. Naturally. And this time the first question Gallegher would ask would be, “Who are you?” Time passed. Gallegher groaned and checked back, asking the operator to trace the call. “I’m sorry, sir. It was made from a dial visor. We cannot trace calls made from a dial visor.” 53 Ten minutes later Gallegher stopped cursing, seized his hat from its perch atop an iron dog that had once decorated a lawn, and whirled to the door. “I’m going out,” he snapped to Narcissus. “Keep an eye on that machine.” “All right. One eye.” The robot agreed. “Tl need the other to watch my beautiful insides. Why don’t you find out who Cuff is?” “What? 99 “Cuff. Fatty mentioned somebody by that name. He said he was bearing down hard—” “Check! He did, at that. And—what was it?—he said he couldn’t get around an old statue—” “Statute. It means a law.” “I know what statute means,” Gallegher growled. “I’m not exactly a driveling idiot. Not yet, anyhow. Cuff, eh? I'll try the visor again.” There were six Cuffs listed. Gallegher eliminated half of them by gender. He crossed off Cuff-Linx Mig. Co., which left two—Max and _ Fredk. He televised Frederick, getting a pop-eyed, scrawny youth who was obviously not yet old enough to vote. Gallegher gave the lad a murderous glare of frustration and flipped the switch, leaving Frederick to spread the next half- hour wondering who had called him, grim- aced like a demon, and blanked out without a word. But Max Cuff remained, and that, cer- tainly, was the man. Gallegher felt sure of it when Max Cuff’s butler transferred the call to a downtown office, where a receptionist said that Mr. Cuff was spending the after- noon at the Uplift Social Club. “That so. Say, who is Cuff, anyhow?” “I beg your pardon?” “What’s his noise? mean?” “Mr. Cuff has no business,” the girl said frigidly. ““He’s an alderman.” That was interesting. Gallegher looked for his hat, found it on his head, and took leave of the robot, who did not trouble to answer. “If Fatty calls up again,” the scientist com- manded, “‘get his name. See? And keep your eye on that machine, just in case it starts having mutations or something.” That seemed to tie up all the loose ends. Gallegher let himself out of the house. A cool autumn wind was blowing, scattering crisp leaves from the overhead parkways. A few taxiplanes drifted past, but Gallegher hailed a street cab; he wanted to see where he was going. Somehow he felt that a tele- call to Max Cuff would produce little of comiclbooks His business, I (©)