Big Book of Science Fiction by Groff Conklin Read Free Book Online Page A

in
that thing than work? Brother, you got it. But I’m afraid I have to—”
     
    Mewhu circled his arm, pointing
all around the hole in the roof, and pointed again to the pogo-chute,
indicating one of the jet motors.
     
    “I don’t get it,” said Jack.
     
    Mewhu apparently understood, and
an expression of amazement crossed his mobile face. Kneeling, he placed his
good hand around one of the little jet motors, pressed two tiny studs, and the
casing popped open. Inside was a compact, sealed, and simple-looking device,
the core of the motor itself, apparently. There seemed to be no other fastening.
Mewhu lifted it out and handed it to Jack. It was about the size and shape of
an electric razor. There was a button on the side. Mewhu pointed at it, pressed
the back; and then moved Jack’s hand so that the device was pointed away from
them both. Jack, expecting anything, from nothing at all to the “blinding bolt
of searing, raw energy” so dear to the science-fiction world, pressed the
button.
     
    The gadget hissed, and snuggled
back into his palm in an easy recoil.
     
    “That’s fine,” said Jack, “but what
do I do with it?”
     
    Mewhu pointed at Jack’s saw cut,
then at the device.
     
    “Oh,” said Jack. He bent close,
aimed the thing at the end of the saw cut, and pressed the button. Again the
hiss, and the slight, steady recoil; and a fine line appeared in the wood. It
was a cut about half as thick as the saw cut, clean and even and, as long as he
kept his hand steady, very straight. A fine cloud of pulverized wood rose out
of the hole in the roof, carried on a swirl of air.
     
    Jack experimented, holding the
jet close to the wood and away from it. He found that it cut finer the closer
he go to it. As he drew it away from the wood, the slot got wider and the
device cut slower until at about eighteen inches it would not cut at all.
Delighted, Jack quickly cut and trimmed the hole. Mewhu watched, grinning. Jack
grinned back, knowing how he would feel if he introduced a saw to some
primitive who was trying to work wood with a machete.
     
    When he was finished, he handed
the jet back to the silver man, and slapped his shoulder. “Thanks a million,
Mewhu.”
     
    “Jeek,” said Mewhu, and reached
for Jack’s neck. One of his thumbs lay on Jack’s collarbone, the other on his
back, over the scapula. Mewhu squeezed twice, firmly.
     
    “That the way you shake hands
back home?” smiled Jack. He thought it likely. Any civilized race was likely to
have a manual greeting. The handshake evolved from a raised palm, indicating
that the saluter was unarmed. It was quite possible that this was an extension,
in a slightly different direction, of the same sign. It would indeed be an
indication of friendliness to have two individuals present their throats, each
to the other.
     
    Mewhu, with three deft motions,
slipped the tiny jet back into its casing, and holding the rod with one hand,
stepped off the roof, letting himself be lowered in that amazing thistledown
fashion to the ground. Once there, he tossed the rod back. Jack was started to
see it hurtle upward like any earthly object. He grabbed it and missed. It
reached the top of its arc, and as soon as it started down again the jets cut
in, and it sank easily to him. He put it on and floated down to join Mewhu.
     
    The silver man followed him to
the garage, where he kept a few pieces of milled lumber. He selected some
one-inch pine boards and dragged them out, to measure them and mark them off to
the size he wanted to knock together a simple trapdoor covering for the useless
stair well; a process which Mewhu watched with great interest.
     
    Jack took up the flying belt and
tried to open the streamlined shell to remove the cutter. It absolutely defied
him. He pressed, twisted, wrenched, and pulled. All it did was to hiss gently
when he moved it toward the floor.
     
    “Eek, Jeek,” said Mewhu. He took
the jet from Jack, pressed it. Jack watched closely. Then