"Blowups Happen" is a case in point. This story was written a few months after the first word of fission of uranium reached this country, long before the Manhattan (atom bomb) Project was set up. During the few months between writing and first printing, the story went in and out of dale five times, so rapidly did atomics march. It has now been revised in a few details to bring it in line with present knowledge; it will undoubtedly go out of date in its details soon. But of this we may be sure: the basic idea of the story will never go out of date, for atomic power in many of its aspects will continue to be fantastically dangerous both individually and socially-and men will continue to work with it despite all danger.
Details change; the drama continues. Technology races ahead while people remain stubbornly the same. Recently I counted fourteen different sorts of astrology magazines on one news stand-but not one magazine on astronomy. There were only three hundred years from Plymouth Rock to atomic power; there a~e still more outhouses than flush toilets in the United States, the land of inside plumbing. And the radio will not have changed much on the day when men first walk the silent face of the Moon.
The anomalies of the Power Age are more curious than its wonders.
But it is a great and wonderful age, the most wonderful this giddy planet has yet seen. ~It is sometimes comic, too often tragic, and always wonderful. Our wildest dreams of the future will be surpassed by what lies in front of us. Come bad, come good, I want to take part in the show as long as possible.
ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
Colorado Springs, Cob.
"Let There Be Light"
ARCHIBALD DOUGLAS, Sc.D., Ph.D., B.S., read the telegram with unconcealed annoyance.
"ARRIVING CITY LATE TODAY STOP DESIRE CONFERENCE COLD LIGHT YOUR LABORATORY TEN P M (signed) DR. M. L MARTIN"
He was, was he? He did, did he? What did he think this lab was; a hotel? And did Martin think that his time was at the disposal of any Joe Doakes who had the price of a telegram? He had framed in his mind an urbanely discouraging reply when he noticed that the message had been filed at a mid-western airport. Very well, let him arrive. Douglas had no intention of meeting him.
Nevertheless, his natural curiosity caused him to take down his copy of Who's Who in Science and look up the offender. There it was: Martin, M. L., bio-chemist and ecologist, P.D.Q., X.Y.Z., N.R.A., C.I.O.-enough degrees for six men. Hmmm...-Director Guggenheim Orinoco Fauna Survey, Author; Co-Lateral Symbiosis of the Boll Weevil, and so on, through three inches of fine print The old boy seemed to be a heavyweight.
A little later Douglas surveyed himself in the mirror of the laboratory washroom. He took off a dirty laboratory smock, removed a comb from his vest pocket, and put a careful polish on his sleek black hair. An elaborately tailored checked jacket, a snap-brim hat and he was ready for the street. He fingered the pale scar that stenciled the dark skin of one cheek. Not bad, he thought, in spite of the scar. If it weren't for the broken nose he would look O.K.
The restaurant where he dined alone was only partly filled. It wouldn't become lively until after the theatres were out, but Douglas apprecIated the hot swing band and the good food. Toward the end of his meal, a young woman walked past his table and sat down, facing him, one table away. He sized her up with care. Pretty fancy!
Figure like a strip dancer, lots of corn-colored hair, nice complexion, and great big soft blue eyes. Rather dumb pan, but what could you expect?
He decided to invite her over for a drink. If things shaped up, Dr. Martin could go to the devil. He scribbled a note on the back of a menu, and signalled the wafter.
"Who is she, Leo? One of the entertainers?"
"No, m'sieur, I have not seen her before."
Douglas relaxed, and waited for results. He knew the come-hither look when he saw it, and he was sure of the outcome. The girl read his note and glanced over at him with a little smile. He returned it with interest. She borrowed a pencil from the waiter, and wrote on the menu. Presently Leo handed it to him.
"Sorry,"-it read-"and thanks for the kind offer, but I am otherwise engaged."
Douglas paid his bill, and returned to the laboratory.
His laboratory was located on the top floor of his father's factory. He left the outer door open and the elevator down in anticipation of Doctor Marth's arrival, then he busied himself by tryTag to locate the cause of an irritating vibration in his centrifuge. Just at ten o'clock he heard the whir of the elevator. Ije reached the outer door of his office just as his visitor arrived.
Facing him was the honey-colored babe be had tried to pick up in the restaurant
He was immediately indignant "How the hell did you get here? Follow me?"
She froze up at on‘e. "I have an appointment with Doctor Douglas. Please tell him that I am here."
"The hell you have. What kind of a game is this?"
She c~ntrolled herself, but her face showed the effort
"I think Doctor Douglas is the best judge of that. Tell him Fm here-at once."
"You're looking at him. Fm Doctor Douglas."
"You! I don't believe it. You look more like a-a gangster."
"I am, nevertheless. Now cut out the clowning, sister, and tell me what the racket is. What's your name?"
"I am Doctor M. L. Martin."
He looked completely astounded, then bellowed his amusement. "No foolin'? You wouldn't kid your country cousin, would you? Come in, doe, come in."
She followed him, suspicious as a strange dog; ready to fight at any provocation. She accepted a chair, then addressed him again. "Are you really Doctor Douglas?"
He grinned at her. "In the flesh-and~ I can prove it. How about you? I still think this is some kind of a badger game."
She froze up again. "What do you want-my birth certificate?"
"You probably murdered Dr. Martin in the elevator, and stuffed the old boy's body down the shaft"
She arose, gathered up her gloves and purse, and prepared to leave. "I caine fifteen hundred miles for this meeting. I am sorry I bothered. Good evening, Doctor Douglas."
He was instantly soothing. "Aw, don't get sore-I was just needling you. It just tickled me that the distinguished Doctor Martin should look so much like Betty Grable. Now sit back down"-he gently disengaged her hands from her gloves-"and let me buy you that drink you turned down earlier."
She hesitated, still determined to be angry, then her natural good nature came to his aid, and she relaxed.
"O.K., Butch."
"That's better. What'll it be; Scotch or Bourbon?"
"Make mine Bourbon-and not too much water."~
By the time the drinks were fixed and cigarets lighted the tension was lifted. "Tell me," he began, "to what do I owe this visit? I don't know a damn thing about biology."
She blew a smoke ring 'and poked a carmine finger nail through it. "You remember that article you had in the April Physical Review? The one about cold light, and possible ways~of achieving it?"
He nodded. "Electroluminescence vs. Chemiluminescence: not much in that to interest a biologist."
