Thereafter the Arbiter was allowed complete liberty. It was entirely self-contained, sleepless. It moved as it chose, but usually stayed pretty close to Major City.
Its first decisive action was to subdue to a considerable extent the activities of the restive ones. With an uncanny sense of deduction it unearthed a plot whereby a thousand unscientific insurgents were plotting to seize a territory between Major City and its nearest neighbor one hundred miles away.
The insurgents had hoped to establish a colony for themselves. Had they succeeded they would undoubtedly have been the first to break the unity of a great world-wide nation in which all class distinction and creed had been leveled into one brotherhood.
But the Arbiter sifted the rebels’ plans from top to bottom, and since in this case there was no question of arbitration between parties the mechanical judge took the next most effective step.
One by one the entire thousand met death, ruthlessly, inexplicably—but certainly. The scientists became a little worried. That the first act of the Arbiter should be to slay without question was something of a shock.
If it did nothing else, the action at least quelled all the other restive spirits. They turned in increasing numbers to scientific study.
Thereafter, for a year, the Arbiter had little of importance to do. It sorted out minor disputes with calm, emotionless words and its decision was implicitly obeyed. President Selby Doyle felt satisfied. His first fears had vanished. The Arbiter was a panacea after all. Then came the affair of Grenson, the physicist.
Grenson, a young and ardent man of the New Era, was sure that he had discovered the real meaning of an electron’s wave and particle motion. Working alone in his laboratory he knew that he was on the verge of probing the long sought for secret of fusion power from the atom.
Immediately, he went to the President, stood at the desk and looked for the first time upon the quiet, calm personage who ruled the world.
“Sit down, young man,” Doyle invited at last, eying his visitor steadily and inwardly deciding that he liked him. “Sit down and give me the full details.”
Grenson gathered his courage. President Doyle snapped a recording switch then he sat back to listen to the rush of eager, excited phrases. For fifteen minutes Grenson held forth on the possibilities of his discovery, still theoretical, and through it all the Chief Executive sat in silence, linking up the points in his keen mind, fitting together postulation with postulation.
At last Grenson became silent, flushed with his own energies. Doyle gave him an encouraging smile. “In theory, young man, I shoukd say your scheme is feasible. If so, you may be sure that Major City will fully reward you. But first we must have advice in this very specialized field.” He pressed the switch of his intercom. “Send in the First in Physics,” he ordered.
For ten minutes President and worker sat in silence, the young man looking round the great office and Doyle busy at his desk. Then Horley Dodd, the First in Physics, arrived—a sharp-nosed, scrub-headed man with thick-lens eyeglasses.
“You want me, sir?” His tone was by no means pleasant.
“Yes, Dodd, I do. This young man here, if his theory is as good as it sounds, has the secret of fusion power. Just listen to the playback of his exposition.”
President Doyle flicked a button. There was silence as Grenson’s eager voice came forth from the instrument. The First in Physics stood with his hands locked behind him, biting his lower lip and staring up at the ceiling. The voice ceased at last. An automatic switch started the sound track ribbon reeling back to the start again.
“Well?” the President asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Frankly, I’d say it’s impossible,” Dodd said briefly. “It is at best a mere theory, and as such does not advance us one iota beyond what we already know.”
“That is a very narrow viewpoint,” the President observed. Dodd’s sharp little eyes sparked defiance.
“It’s the only viewpoint, your Excellency.”
“But, sir, I have it all worked out!” Grenson sprang to his feet earnestly. “Naturally, I am a man of only moderate means. I cannot afford the costly apparatus necessary to prove my idea. That is why I brought the scheme to the President. Now you say it’s no good.”
“You had no right to bring it here!” Dodd snapped.
“He had every right,” the President said. “What is more, Dodd, I have neither time nor patience for this unseemly wrangling.” He got to his feet decisively. “We have the Arbiter to decide such things for us. Come into the laboratory, both of you.”
He preceded the pair to a sealed inner door and opened it. They passed within to the monster of legs and nodules occupying the center of the floor.
“Arbiter, a question arises,” President Doyle stated quietly, stopping before the thing’s sensitive pickup. “Is the theory of atomic energy from fusion about to be given to you practical—or not?” He turned aside and switched on a relay of Grenson’s voice-record. Again that silence and Grenson stood with his gaze uncertainly watching the glittering monster that was to determine his life’s ideal.
After long thought at the close of the exposition the Arbiter spoke.
“The theory of Grenson is not practicable! The secret of controllable fusion power will never be found because the very nature of the atom makes it impossible. The judgment is awarded to Horley Dodd.”
The First in Physics smiled acidly and glanced at the President. Doyle was stroking his chin slowly. Then he turned to the dazed Grenson and patted him gently on the shoulder.
“I am sorry, my boy—I really am. I did feel that you had something, but the Arbiter cannot be wrong. The decision is final.”
“Final!” Grenson shouted. “Do you think I am going to take the opinion of a thing like this—this Arbiter? Do you think I shall give up a theory because a few canned brains say so? Not on my life! I’m going on, and on. Yes, I’ll make the money somehow to prove my idea.”
He swung round, red-faced with anger, and vanished through the doorway.
Doyle watched him go, then shrugged.
“You’re too sentimental, Mr. President,” Dodd said brusquely. “You allow too many of these crack-brained theorists to take advantage of you. He has the wrong idea entirely. What he and his sort need is control, not encouragement.”
“As long as I am Chief Magistrate I shall make my own decisions,” Doyle answered quietly. “I shall not need to detain you any longer, Dodd. Thank you for coming.”
The scientist went out and President Doyle returned slowly into his own office, stood by the-desk, thinking. That young man had had a great idea.
It was towards evening when the private wire buzzed. Doyle look up the receiver and Vincent Carfax’s lean, cold visage came onto the screen.
“Your Excellency, I understand from my agents that you had a young man to see you today? Chap named Grenson? And that the decision of the Arbiter went against him?”
“Correct.”
“He died at five thirty this afternoon! He was slain by mind-force from the Arbiter. I thought it would interest you.”
Doyle stared at the screen fixedly. “You are sure?”
“I never make mistakes,” Carfax answered dispassionately. “I don’t like it, this continued display of force!”
“No. Neither do I!”
President Doyle cut off, his jaw set with uncommon hardness. He got to his feet and walked into the adjoining laboratory, stood staring at the metal monster. Even as he stood making his survey he could sense the inhuman aura the thing radiated.