Printers -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; Time travel -- Fiction
I was sick when I figured it all out. We had six machines. If we should
run those six machines two shifts a day, our capacity was about three
hundred and sixty galleys a week. Into eighteen hundred that goes
considerably more than two times. We would need five weeks of full
production--and we couldn't possibly give it full production; we had
other jobs, too.
The only hope was Dr. Hudson's new machine.
The next day the electricians hooked it up to a twelve-hundred-volt
feed-line, and by noon it was ready to go. At twelve-thirty, as soon as
the men punched in, I called them together. This was on office time, of
course, so there couldn't be any squawk. Dr. Hudson was there to
explain. I never had fully realized how much of him was nose before I
watched him that day.
"Gentlemen," he said, "this is nothing to be afraid of. This is merely
a modern device to assure continuous production in the composing-room by
eliminating lost time from sickness and accidents. As you know, if a
linotype operator is ill, his machine goes untouched. That day's
production is lost. At a cost per man of around ten dollars an hour,
that represents a considerable loss."
He opened the cabinet and showed them a comfortable leather seat inside.
"There are two compartments in this cabinet," he said. "All this machine
does is to produce, temporarily, an extra man to fill the sick man's
place. One of the men present steps in here; I close the door, see that
the machine is charged here on the other side with plenty of linotype
metal to provide the material of atomic synthesis, press the button, and
lo!--the man in the chair is duplicated on the other side of the
cabinet."
High-Pockets Jones stepped forward with his deep eyes fixed on Dr.
Hudson. "What," High-Pockets asked, "is your theory of this machine?"
Dr. Hudson smiled. "I am glad you asked that, Mr. Jones. Very glad. This
process is in no sense a separation or thinning out of the man in the
chair. It is, in reality; an unusual extension of the well-known fact
that nature tends to follow a pattern. If you want to make a synthetic
sapphire, you start with a seed sapphire, and the artificial process
builds up on that. Now, this machine, which I call an extender, is
merely a far-reaching extension of the synthesis of precious stones."
"By use of a revolutionary type of three-dimensional scanner, which was
invented by myself," he said modestly, "I am able to focus on a certain
object from a certain distance and, if there is material at hand,
synthesize an exact duplicate of the original from the scanner. It
doesn't hurt the original in any way. You merely have two where you had
but one."
The men stood around bug-eyed and stared incredulously--all but
High-Pockets. "Is the second one alive?" he asked. "I mean, would you
say it has a soul?"
"That," said Dr. Hudson crisply, "is out of my field. I suggest you
consult your spiritual adviser."
The chairman stepped up, "You have tried this thing, have you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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