Bryan Burke pushed aside his physics book and his slide rule and turned to his father. "How do I go about getting a patent?"
"What on?" said Jim Burke from behind his news tapes.
"Space travel--at speeds faster than light."
"Unpatentable, my boy. Nothing can move faster than light. Einstein settled that centuries ago."
"Einstein was wrong."
"Can you prove it?"
"I think so. All you need is two ships, each traveling toward the other at a speed of more than one-half the speed of light. According to Einstein, all motion is relative. So you can imagine that either ship has zero motion, and the other has all the motion."
"True, I think. But where will you find two such ships?"
"It says here in the shipping news, that Electra, in dock on Joro, sixth planet of Sirius, will convert to your new Burke drive while taking on cargo and passengers, and then take off for Earth. It also mentions that Thor, of Alpha Centauri, will convert to Burke, and drive for Earth. I've just plotted the courses of both ships as part of my homework in Astrogation. Both ships will land here at Washington Terminal on the same day and at practically the same hour, three years from now..."
"...and with my new drive," said Jim, "each ship would have a velocity of six-tenths the speed of light toward Terra, and a total of 1.2 times the speed of light toward each other. Very interesting, and somehow, of course, impossible."
Bryan's face fell.
"Oh well," said Jim, "at least I'll get you a date with Jack Lane. He's a patent attorney who handles some of my private inventions, outside my research at Pan-Stellar."
The boy brightened. "Just one more question. How long would the patent last?"
"Seventeen years, I suppose."
"I know that. I mean, how do you calculate those seventeen years on a ship moving at a substantial fraction of the speed of light? Remember, time slows down on an accelerating body. Seventeen years Earth time might be only five or ten years, ship time."
Jim shrugged. "Nice legal point. Maybe your patent--if you ever get it--would still be in force on such a ship, after seventeen years of Earth time. It would depend on whether the ship time is legal time. That's one for Jack Lane. What difference does it make?"
"Maybe none," said Bryan thoughtfully.
And so the patent application was filed, and Jim Burke pretty much forgot about it.
During this time, Electra and Thor continued to gather speed. They peaked out at 0.6 c on schedule, and toward the end of the third year, they began the long deceleration toward Sol.
And then came the explosion in the research laboratories of Pan-Stellar, which nearly killed Jim Burke, and following which he was hauled off to Washington Central Hospital.
And then there came, during the next months, with a certain horrid rhythm, additional unpleasant events. These included a series of operations on Jim Burke, which finally established that he was probably going to live; but that radiation side effects would prevent competent use of his optic nerves; that all his money was gone; and that Pan-Stellar deeply sympathized, but that the Burkes could not expect any financial help.
In fact, Pan-Stellar sent out their special representative to see Jim and to explain exactly how things stood between Pan-Stellar and Jim Burke. They sent Mr. Slicer.
T. Elliott Slicer, Esq., Chief of the Accident and Claims Section at Pan-Stellar, thought of himself as a kind man. This particular term, however, was rarely foremost in the list of adjectives that other people used when referring to him. Nevertheless (or possibly, therefore) his superiors considered him a brilliant adjuster, whose technique had saved the Line millions of talers. Rather often, when lawyers were contacted to handle accident claims against the Line, they turned down the case when they learned Slicer was on the other end.
Mr. Slicer smiled a lot, and he was smiling when he walked into the hospital room and introduced himself to Jim Burke, who held out his hand. Mr. Slicer put a piece of paper in it and said, "Since you cannot read, Mr. Burke, I will tell you what it is. It is a copy of our complaint, which I have just filed in the Hall of Justice."
"Huh?"
"In summary, Mr. Burke, Pan-Stellar holds you personally responsible for the damage to the new experimental drive and to the building, plus incidentals including the resulting delay in the drive research program."
"But ... but..."
"The claim is in the amount of four hundred eighty-three thousand talers," said Mr. Slicer.
It finally sank in, and Jim began to react. "You've got it all mixed up! I'm here because of what I was doing for Pan-Stellar. Pan-Stellar owes me!"
Mr. Slicer smiled kindly. "I hope you will retain competent counsel, Mr. Burke, who can help you correct these odd misconceptions."
"But my insurance ... terminal pay ... pension ... disability...?"
Mr. Slicer grinned. "We have deducted these, of course, Mr. Burke, from the gross amount of the damage you have done to the laboratory. Our claim represents our net loss, after all deductions. We are fair."
Jim Burke was silent.
Mr. Slicer pursed his lips, then continued. "You have a magnificent reputation with the Line, Mr. Burke. I am informed that you invented the basic drive now being installed in the newer ships. The Line has asked me to take this into consideration, and I will. Under the circumstances, we are willing to drop our suit if you will waive all claims, past, present, and future, against Pan-Stellar. I have the waiver, here."
Jim Burke heard the rustle of paper.
"Couldn't you throw in a small pension?" he asked in a low voice.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Burke."
"Something for my son's college education?"
"Quite out of the question."
"My hospital bill?"
"My dear Mr. Burke. Are you being deliberately difficult? Well, never mind. Perhaps I can help you see things our way, after our next legal step. It distresses me to inform you that I shall have to attach all your property, real and personal, including your house, your cars, furniture, books, instruments ... everything."
"Why should that distress you, Mr. Slicer?" Jim was genuinely curious.
"Because the expenses of attachment are not taxable to the defendant, but must be borne by Pan-Stellar."
"My heart goes out to the Line," murmured Jim.
"I'll leave the waiver on the night table," said Mr. Slicer cheerfully.
)
