Sam smiled and opened the box, pointing to the precisely wired circuits inside. "My nephew made this, — he has a little I-fix-it shop, but he learned a lot about electronics in the Air Force. I brought him the equations, and we worked out the circuit together."
Charlie thought about a man with electronic training who was forced to run a handyman's shop, but he had the sense not to mention it. "Just what is it supposed to do?"
"It's not really supposed to do anything. I just built it to see if my equations would work out in practice. I suppose you don't know much about Einstein's unified field theory. .?" Charlie smiled ruefully and raised his hands in surrender. "It's difficult to talk about. Putting it the simplest way, there is supposed to be a relation between all phenomena, all forms of energy and matter. You are acquainted with the simpler interchanges, heat energy to mechanical energy as in an engine, electrical energy to light—"
"The light bulb!"
"Correct. To go further, the postulation has been made that time is related to light energy, as is gravity to light, as has been proven, and gravity to electrical energy. That is the field I have been exploring. I have made certain suppositions that there is an interchange of energy within a gravitic field, a measurable interchange, such as the lines of force that are revealed about a magnetic field by iron particles — no, that's not a good simile — perhaps the ability of a wire to carry a current endlessly under the chilled condition of superconductivity—"
"Professor, you have lost me — I'm not ashamed to admit it. Could you maybe give me an example — like what is happening in this little radio here?"
Sam made a careful adjustment, and the music gained the tiniest amount of volume.
"It's not the radio part that is interesting — that stage really just demonstrates that I have detected the leakage. No, we should call it the differential between the earth's gravitic field and that of the lump of lead there in the corner of the box."
"Where is the battery?"
Sam smiled proudly. "That is the point — there is no battery. The input current is derived—"
"Do you mean you are running the radio off gravity? Getting electricity for nothing?"
"Yes. . really, I should say no. It is not like that. ."
"It sure looks like that!" Charlie was excited now, crouching half across the table so he could look into the cigar box. "I may not know anything about electronics, but in economics we learn a lot about power sources. Couldn't this gadget of yours be developed to generate electricity at little or no cost?"
"No, not at once. This is just a first attempt…"
"But it could eventually and that means—"
Sam thought that the young man had suddenly become sick. His face, just inches away, became shades lighter as the blood drained from it. His eyes were staring in horror as he slowly dropped back and down into his seat. Before Sam could ask him what was the matter a grating voice bellowed through the room.
"Anyone here seen a boy by name of Charlie Wright? C'mon now, speak up. Ain't no one gonna get hurt for tellin' me the truth."
"Holy Jesus…" Charlie whispered, sinking deeper in the seat. Brinkley stamped into the bar, hand resting on his gun butt, squinting around in the darkness. No one answered him.
"Anybody try to hide him gonna be in trouble!" he shouted angrily. "I'm gonna find that black granny dodger!"
He started towards the rear of the room, and Charlie, with his airline bag in one hand, vaulted the back of the booth and crashed against the rear door.
"Come back here, you son of a bitch!"
The table rocked when Charlie's flying heel caught it, and the cigar box slid to the floor. Heavy boots thundered. The door squealed open and Charlie pushed out through it. Sam bent over to retrieve the box.
"I'll kill yuh, so help me!"
The circuit hadn't been damaged. Sam sighed in relief and stood, the tinny music between his fingers.
He may have heard the first shot, but he could not have heard the second because the.38 slug caught him in the back of the head and killed him instantly. He crumpled to the floor.
Patrolman Marger ran in from the patrol car outside, his gun ready, and saw Brinkley come back into the room through the door in the rear.
"He got away, damn it, got clear away."
"What happened here?" Marger asked, slipping his gun back into the holster and looking down at the slight, crumpled body at his feet.
"I dunno. He must have jumped up in the way when I let fly at the other one what was running away. Must be another one of them Commonists anyway; he was sittin' at the same table."
"There's gonna be trouble about this…"
"Why trouble?" Brinkley asked indignantly. "It's just anutha ol' dead nigger…"
One of his boots was on the cigar box, and it crumpled and fractured when he turned away.
