Slowly, two overweight scientists turned to stare at each other, as the implications of what they were saying moved slowly into full mental view. In the late twentieth century people had became obsessed with diet and fitness. As the cost of medical care soared and life spans increased, people began to do what they could to cut doctors’ bills. By the twenty-first century, naturally rotund individuals found themselves under ever more unbearable social pressure. Slimness-obsessed Terrans were propelled into full mania by the arrival of the sleek, trim aliens. The prosperity which those aliens brought allowed even people subsisting in historically famine-afflicted areas the possibility of a good diet, and the money to spend on the “lite” foods needed to trim back to near famine. In the ensuing orgy of guilt several rather nasty tasting “healthy” foods became best sellers, while the manufacture of chocolate was almost stopped entirely.
That same guilt had blinded Ron and Alice to the startling things of which their own bodies were capable, but now they saw clearly the direction their research needed to pursue. The initial work confirmed their ideas. The next two months saw the pair working late into the night on their own time. Finally, they were ready to approach Dr. Biddle.
The night before the momentous, and certainly dreaded, confrontation with the department chairman, they were holding a last minute council of war in a secluded corner of their favorite bar. Anyone who had noticed what they had in front of them might have raised startled eyebrows at what they had ordered: dark beer on draft, potato skins drenched with melted cheese, and a generous bowl of salted nuts. The two hard working researchers would not have cared. They had reason to celebrate.
“Well, Ron, this is it. Tomorrow, we beard the lion in his own den.”
“Alice, I tell you, we can’t miss. The guy might be a class A pain in the ass, but he is a good scientist. He may not like what we are doing to some of his pet theories, but he has no choice but to support our research if he wants any part of the new star drive.”
His enthusiasm was infectious. Alice’s eyes crinkled with pleasure, and beer mugs clinked. No fine champagne glasses ever sounded sweeter.
In the harsh light of morning a bit of the victorious glow had faded. Two somewhat rumpled, slightly hung-over scientists walked slowly up the long, wood paneled corridor leading to the very center of power of the most prestigious department of the greatest university on the face of the Earth. They were painfully aware of the slightly uncrisp nature of their best suits, and the unmistakably battered appearance of their economy model briefcases. The huge, polished mahogany doors, with their gleaming brass handles, swung open smoothly, with the silence indicative of assiduous maintenance. Disdaining a receptionist, Biddle himself sat at a huge desk, facing them impassively. He allowed the silence to continue until Ron grew slightly pink. Then he spoke.
“Well, you said you had some data for me. Let me see them.”
“Yes, sir. Here are our initial results, along with the raw data.”
Alice spoke with crisp authority which belied her appearance, and arranged several papers on the desk. Biddle’s eyebrows rose. He regarded the pair thoughtfully, and then leaned forward to examine the papers spread out before him. After a long silence, he spoke.
“These data are hardly expected, but you do seem to be onto something. Where do you plan to go from here?”
Unhesitatingly, Alice replied.
“The next step is to set up experiments on living organisms. The Galactic technology, combined with Terran Fuzzy Logic and Chaos Theory, are pretty powerful tools, but even so, we’ve gone as far as we can with computer simulations.”
“Virtual rats, I suppose?”
“Virtual humans, with full scan data taken from both of us.”
Biddle was impressed. That glib phrase was enough to let him know that both researchers had endured a full week of Galactic probing throughout their bodies, with extensive tissue sampling. He listened carefully as they continued.
“Perhaps we could do some preliminary studies on rats, but we really need to do most of our work with primates. The greatest disparities between intake and output, in fact, seem to occur in humans.” Biddle wasn’t too happy about the implications of their work, but, as Ron had said, he was too careful a scientist to dismiss it out of hand. Nevertheless, he brooded. He couldn’t help hoping that the figures Ron and Alice had shown would turn out to be a dead end. It would be hard to let go of his cherished idea that slimness equals virtue.
Ron and Alice worked well together, which did much to help their tempers, despite the fact that they ran chronically short on sleep. The precision of Alice’s mind in dealing with the delicate interrelationships involved at the heart of biochemical reactions, added to Ron’s driving enthusiasm and deep knowledge of physics, brought them to the core of the issues with which they were dealing.
The Galactics took such an interest in their research that the pair were finally obliged to put firm Do Not Disturb signs on the lab door. The aliens were never intentionally obstructive, but too many could crowd Ron and Alice out of the room entirely. When the lab doors were locked they were mostly undisturbed, but had to accept the fact that the /klik, too small to be kept out, were going to be with them. At critical junctures in the research the two scientists were coated with tiny, jostling insects. At first barely endured, the /klik came to be welcome evidence that their research was going in the right direction. Ron and Alice realized that by their very interest the /klik were at long last giving hints no Terran had ever received from the inscrutable Galactics. The hints were helpful, but it was not easy to work covered completely by tiny black bugs.
Ron and Alice also ate only sporadically, so immersed in their work that food didn’t interest them. To add to mealtime complications, they were frequently in danger of ingesting several eager /klik. Despite official Hive assurances about individual unimportance, dining, however inadvertently, on sentient entities did not appeal. A new pattern of picky eating emerged. Over the next year, they gained a mere five pounds each.
At the end of the year, the theory was complete. A committee of Galactics was formed to review current research. Grant money suddenly flooded in from Galactic sources. At the end of the second year, the starship was complete. If Biddle had truly understood the sums of money being spent he would have had a fit. As it was, he tolerated the Galactic takeover within the department, while using the prestige conferred by the Galactic interest to raise funds for other projects. He followed Ron and Alice’s research in a general way, but was too busy to give detailed attention to the small starship they were building. After the ship was completed, Dr. Biddle, as nominal head of the project, was invited on board the vessel, named Fat Power, which would carry his highest aspirations to the stars.
Fat Power’s hull was as smooth as Galactic technology would allow. To say she was mirrorlike was an understatement. Full subspace shields were evidenced by an iridescent shimmer over the entire hull. Alice and Ron had been a bit apprehensive about Dr. Biddle’s reaction to the inside of the gleaming starship. This concern was well founded. Although by Galactic standards the craft was a modest, two person model, it did not match Terran ideas of what a spaceship should be. In addition to the spacious navigation and drive area, it boasted two comfortable staterooms, lavishly equipped galley, and a storeroom whose vastness had nearly caused open rebellion among the Terran engineers working on the ship.
Biddle looked around approvingly at the outside, with its flawlessly designed and machined airlock. A sticky silence fell when he surveyed the interior. He inspected the luxurious staterooms. He peered shudderingly into the entertainment area, paling when he saw the film library, holo equipment, and video game his department had funded. Ron proudly pointed out the computer and holo-video recording equipment.
“As you can see, Dr. Biddle, we will be able to provide first class records of our trips. Just think of what quality documentation will do for your reputation.”
At this, Dr. Biddle’s color turned a sickly hue never yet seen on his healthy face. He said nothing. He goggled at the bathroom facilities, which would have done pride to one of the more dissolute Roman emperors. He stared about in horror, his worst fears realized. These two fat buffoons had made a fool of him. When this got out, his reputation would be gone, stripped off in a firestorm of ridicule. An uncomfortable silence fell.
“So this is it.”
The words came out flat, carefully neutral.
“Yes, sir.”
The only strange thing about the ship, apart from the fact that its lush comfort and extravagant areas violated every space and weight restriction which had been respected by ship builders since the first log rafts had been lashed together by adventurous early humans, was what Alice had named proudly as the Drive Chair. They were back in the control room, Dr. Biddle white and shaking, oblivious of the /klik that swarmed over him. He stared at the Drive Chair. Its evident adaptability for naps, and the all-too-handy snack tray, did little to improve his temper. The drive chair was not even a parody of things he had seen on other Terran ships; its only apparent purpose was to annoy Biddle. It succeeded.
“Well, Dr. Geery. This so-called drive chair. This is the fruit of all your research, the thing my department has been funding for the last two years?”
“Yes, sir.” Alice said quietly, not bothering to point out that the main source of the funding had nothing to do with Dr. Biddle. “Oh, by the way, you might note the drive chair coupling. That is what links the space warping entity to the actual star drive.”
“Ron,” she continued, “let’s show Dr. Biddle how it works.”
Ron sat in the chair as Dr. Biddle, furious, glared at Alice, who continued calmly.
“Our research has uncovered the basic principle of the Galactic star drive, which appears to violate several known principles of physics. Our primary breakthrough was the recognition of the unusual metabolic characteristics of specially adapted entities. Such entities have been discovered among almost all Galactic populations, Terrans included.”
“Just what do you think this is?” Biddle sputtered. “A joke?” His temper was not improved by the pair’s visible, fat smugness.
“No sir. No joke. Ron and I just happen to be adapted entities.”
As Dr. Biddle was talking to Alice, Ron, seated in the drive chair, hitched himself into the metabolic coupling system and made some silent adjustments. Now Dr. Biddle looked around and saw him. Biddle drew himself up, looking impressively wrathful.
“Dr. Corcoran.” He said scathingly. “I trust that chair is comfortable enough.”
Dr. Biddle had a way of using one’s hard-earned title to express depths of contempt never imagined by those who have not given years of their life to earn it. Unruffled, Ron replied. “Yes, sir.”
Alice, who had moved quietly into the pilot’s chair, began punching coordinates hurriedly into the navigation console. Unaware of her, Dr. Biddle continued.
“I’m glad you are comfortable. I see you are sitting, too, Dr. Geery. Perhaps it is just as well. You two are fired!”
For the first time, Ron and Alice were not prepared with a rehearsed answer. Alice finally found her voice.
“Ah, Dr. Biddle, um, you might need to talk to President Mariachi.”
“Also, we have to finish out the term with our classes.” Ron added.
Biddle, who had no previous experience with losing control, stared amazed at the two members of his staff. As he realized that he had spoken a favorite fantasy aloud, he sank into one of the other chairs.
“Dr. Biddle.” Alice said, unconsciously ironic. “Please let us table this discussion for now. We have a job to do.”
Dr. Biddle started, and then stared. Both Alice and Ron were pointing to the coordinate readout, which impossibly, perplexingly, showed the ship’s position to be just outside the rings of Saturn. The image shifted disturbingly, clearing again to reveal a pattern of stars never seen from Earth. Dr. Biddle had expected that Ron and Alice would be the primates included in this experiment, but he hadn’t expected himself to be included as well.
“I’ll press charges just as soon as we return to Earth.” Biddle began in tones of quiet menace. “Don’t think you can run forever. You have just kidnapped a Dean of Faculty, and as soon as this crazy ship of yours hits Terran authority, you are under arrest. I hope you are satisfied. When you get out of jail,” he continued, warming to his theme, “that is, if you ever do, you will find that there is no work for you in any institution of learning. You won’t be certified to wipe the runny noses of two-year-olds!”
During this speech, Biddle’s voice had risen, and he ended with a bellow which should have terrified his subordinates. Ron and Alice, however, were too busy with navigation and communication to pay attention. When silence finally fell, they said nothing. They simply pointed to the comm, screen.