metallic click, and the gate swungopen. Rodriguez came back to the car, got in, and drove on through thegate. Elshawe twisted his head to watch the big gate swing shut behindthem.
After another ten minutes, Rodriguez swung off the road onto anotherside road, and ten minutes after that the station wagon went over asmall rise and headed down into a small valley. In the middle of it,shining like bright aluminum in the sun, was a vessel.
_Now I know Porter is nuts_, Elshawe thought wryly.
Because the vessel, whatever it was, was parallel to the ground, lookinglike the fuselage of a stratojet, minus wings and tail, sitting on itslanding gear. Nowhere was there any sign of a launching pad, with itsgantries and cranes and jet baffles. Nor was there any sign of a rocketmotor on the vessel itself.
As the station wagon approached the cluster of buildings a hundred yardsthis side of the machine, Elshawe realized with shock that the thing_was_ a stripped-down stratojet--an old Grumman _Supernova_, _circa_1970.
"Well, Elijah got there by sitting in an iron chair and throwing amagnet out in front of himself," Elshawe said, "so what the hell."
"What?" Rodriguez asked blankly.
"Nothing; just thinking out loud. Sorry."
Behind Elshawe, Mr. Skinner chuckled softly, but said nothing.
When the station wagon pulled up next to one of the cluster of whiteprefab buildings, Malcom Porter himself stepped out of the wide door andwalked toward them.
Elshawe recognized the man from his pictures--tall, wide-shouldered,dark-haired, and almost handsome, he didn't look much like a wild-eyedcrackpot. He greeted Rodriguez and Skinner rather peremptorily, but hesmiled broadly and held out his hand to Elshawe.
"Mr. Elshawe? I'm Malcom Porter." His grip was firm and friendly. "I'mglad to see you. Glad you could make it."
"Glad to be here, Dr. Porter," Elshawe said in his best manner. "It'squite a privilege." He knew that Porter liked to be called "Doctor"; allhis subordinates called him that.
But, surprisingly, Porter said: "Not 'Doctor,' Mr. Elshawe; just'Mister.' My boys like to call me 'Doctor,' but it's sort of a nickname.I don't have a degree, and I don't claim one. I don't want the publicthinking I'm claiming to be something I'm not."
"I understand, Mr. Porter."
Bill Rodriguez's voice broke in. "Where do you want me to put all thisstuff, Doc?" He had unloaded Elshawe's baggage from the station wagonand set it carefully on the ground. Skinner picked up his singlesuitcase and looked at Porter inquiringly.
"My usual room, Malcom?"
"Yeah. Sure, Sam; sure." As Skinner walked off toward one of the otherbuildings, Porter said: "Quite a load of baggage you have there, Mr.Elshawe. Recording equipment?"
"Most of it," the reporter admitted. "Recording TV cameras, 16mm moviecameras, tape recorders, 35mm still cameras--the works. I wanted to getgood coverage, and if you've got any men that you won't be using duringthe take-off, I'd like to borrow them to help me operate this stuff."
"Certainly; certainly. Come on, Bill, let's get this stuff over to Mr.Elshawe's suite."
* * * * *
The suite consisted of three rooms, all very nicely appointed for aplace as far out in the wilderness as this. When Elshawe got hisequipment stowed away, Porter invited him to come out and take a look athis pride and joy.
"The first real spaceship, Elshawe," he said energetically. "The firstreal spaceship. The rocket is no more a spaceship than a rowboat is anocean-going vessel." He gestured toward the sleek, shining, metal ship."Of course, it's only a pilot model, you might say. I don't havehundreds of millions of dollars to spend; I had to make do with what Icould afford. That's an old Grumman _Supernova_ stratojet. I got itfairly cheap because I told 'em I didn't want the engines or the wingsor the tail assembly.
"But she'll do the job, all right. Isn't she a beauty?"
Elshawe had his small pocket recorder going; he might as well get allthis down. "Mr. Porter," he asked carefully, "just how does this vesselpropel itself? I understand that, at the trial, it was said that youclaimed it was an antigravity device, but that you denied it."
"Those idiots!" Porter exploded angrily. "Nobody understood what I wastalking about because they wouldn't listen! Antigravity! _Pfui!_ Whenthey learned how to harness electricity, did they call itanti-electricity? When they built the first atomic reactor, did theycall it anti-atomic energy? A rocket works against gravity, but theydon't call _that_ antigravity, do they? My device works _with_ gravity,not against it."
"What sort of device is it?" Elshawe asked.
"I call it the Gravito-Inertial Differential Polarizer," Porter saidimportantly.
Elshawe was trying to frame his next question when Porter said: "I knowthe name doesn't tell you much, but then, names never do, do they? Youknow what a transformer does, but what does the name by itself convey?Nothing, unless you know what it does in the first place. A cyclotroncycles something, but what? A broadcaster casts something abroad--what?And how?"
"I see. And the 'how' and 'what' is your secret, eh?"
"Partly. I can give you a little information, though. Suppose there wereonly one planet in all space, and you were standing on its surface.Could you tell if the planet were spinning or not? And, if so, how fast?Sure you could; you could measure the so-called centrifugal force. Thesame thing goes for a proton or electron or neutron or even a neutrino.But, if it _is_ spinning, what is the spin relative to? To the particleitself? That's obvious nonsense. Therefore, what is commonly called'inertia' is as much a property of so-called 'empty space' as it is aproperty of matter. My device simply utilizes spatial inertia bypolarizing it against the matter inertia of the ship, that's all."
"Hm-m-m," said Elshawe. As far as his own knowledge of science went,that statement made no sense whatever. But the man's manner waspersuasive. Talking to him, Elshawe began to have the feeling thatPorter not only knew what he was talking about, but could actually dowhat he said he was going to do.
"What's that?" Porter asked sharply, looking up into the sky.
Elshawe followed his gaze. "That" was a Cadillac aircar coming over aridge in the distance, its fans making an ever-louder throaty hum as itapproached. It settled down to an altitude of three feet as it neared,and floated toward them on its cushion of air. On its side, Elshawecould see the words, UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, and beneath that, insmaller letters, _Civil Aeronautics Authority_.
"Now what?" Porter muttered softly. "I haven't notified anyone of myintentions yet--not officially."
"Sometimes those boys don't wait for official notification," Elshawesaid.
Porter glanced at him, his eyes narrowed. "You didn't say anything, didyou?"
"Look, Mr. Porter, I don't play that way," Elshawe said tightly. "As faras I'm concerned, this is your show; I'm just here to get the story. Youdid us a favor by giving us advance notice; why should we louse up yourshow for you?"
"Sorry," Porter said brusquely. "Well, let's make a good show of it."
The CAA aircar slowed to a halt, its fans died, and it settled to itswheels.
* * * * *
Two neatly dressed, middle-aged men climbed out. Both were carryingbriefcases. Porter walked briskly toward them, a warm smile on his face;Elshawe tagged along behind. The CAA men returned Porter's smile withsmiles that could only be called polite and businesslike.
Porter performed the introductions, and the two men identifiedthemselves as Mr. Granby and Mr. Feldstein, of the Civil AeronauticsAuthority.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Porter asked.
Granby, who was somewhat shorter, fatter, and balder than his partner,opened his briefcase. "We're just here on a routine check, Mr. Porter.If you can give us a little information...?" He let the half-questionhang in the air as he took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.
"Anything I can do to help," Porter said.
Granby, looking at the papers, said: "In 1979, I believe you purchased aGrumman _Supernova_ jet powered aircraft
from Trans-American Airlines?Is that correct?"
"That is correct," Porter agreed.
Granby handed one of the papers to Porter. "That is a copy of theregistration certificate. Is the registration number the same as it ison your copy?"
"I believe so," Porter said, looking at the number. "Yes, I'm sure itis."
Granby nodded briskly. "According to our records, the machine was soldas scrap. That is to say, it was not in an airworthy