Mack Reynolds - Compounded Interest

Mr. Smith said, “So I have realized. In short, you have spent my money in investigating me.”

There was little of apology in Piedmont’s voice. “We have faithfully, some of us for all our adult lives, protected The Contract. I will not deny that the pay is the highest in the world; however it is only a job. Part of the job consists of protecting The Contract and your interests from those who would fraudulently appropriate the fortune. We spend millions every year in conducting investigations.”

“You’re right, of course. But your investigations into the possibilities of time travel…?”

“Invariably the answer was that it was impossible. Only one physicist offered a glimmer of possibility.”

“Ah, and who was that?”

“A Professor Alan Shirey who does his research at one of the California universities. We were careful, of course, not to hire his services directly. When first approached he admitted he had never considered the problem but he became quite intrigued. However, he finally stated his opinion that the only solution would involve the expenditure of an amount of power so great that there was no such quantity available.”

“I see,” Mr. Smith said wryly. “And following this period for which you hired the professor, did he discontinue his investigations into time travel?”

Piedmont made a vague gesture. “How would I know?”

John Smith-Winston interrupted stiffly. “Sir, we have all drawn up complete accountings of your property. To say it is vast is an understatement beyond even an Englishman. We should like instructions on how you wish us to continue.”

Mr. Smith looked at him. “I wish to begin immediate steps to liquidate.”

“Liquidate!” six voices ejaculated.

“I want cash, gentlemen,” Smith said definitely. “As fast as it can be accomplished, I want my property converted into cash.”

Warner Voss-Richer said harshly, “Mr. Smith, there isn’t enough coinage in the world to buy your properties.”

“There is no need for there to be. I will be spending it as rapidly as you can convert my holdings into gold or its credit equivalent. The money will be put back into circulation over and over again.”

Piedmont was aghast. “But why? ” He held his hands up in dismay. “Can’t you realize the repercussions of such a move? Mr. Smith, you must explain the purpose of all this...”

Mr. Smith said, “The purpose should be obvious. And the pseudonym of Mr. Smith is no longer necessary. You may call me Shirey—Professor Alan Shirey. You see, gentlemen, the question with which you presented me, whether or not time travel was possible, became consumingly interesting. I have finally solved, I believe, all the problems involved. I need now only a fantastic amount of power to activate my device. Given such an amount of power, somewhat more than is at present produced on the entire globe, I believe I shall be able to travel in time.”

“But, but why? All this, all this… Cartels, governments, wars…” Warren Piedmont’s aged voice wavered, faltered.

Mr. Smith—Professor Alan Shirey—looked at him strangely. “Why, so that I may travel back to early Venice where I shall be able to make the preliminary steps necessary for me to secure sufficient funds to purchase such an enormous amount of power output.”

“And six centuries of human history,” said Rami Mardu, Asiatic representative, sd softly as hardly to be heard. “Its meaning is no more than this…?”

Professor Shirey looked at him impatiently.

“Do I understand you to contend, sir, that there have been other centuries of human history with more meaning?”