Advancement

by Jeff Provine

           Professor Devin Furthar nervously stepped past the open steel door and into the director’s office.  The room was scarcely decorated, but the few artistic objects that were in it showed the wealth of the man to whom they belonged.  The lights were dimmed, causing Furthar to pause and allow his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.  The office’s desk was cleared and the chair behind it was turned backward, facing the window at the far wall of the office.  Outside of the window, rain poured down from the dark sky.  Only a few flashes of lightning brightened the room.  Furthar swallowed, trying to calm himself, and approached the desk at the end of the office.

            A voice suddenly called from behind the high-backed chair.  “Ah, Professor Furthar, how are you?”

            Furthar stopped his slow approach.  He stared at the back of the chair, wondering what the man behind it looked like.  He had heard of Director Jones, but had never seen the man.  Jones was the highest-ranking member of Bisenburg Transport and had contacted Furthar to discuss his idea, though Furthar had never heard of him before.  Furthar hoped that Jones understood, unlike those fools who had called him a fanatic at the university.

            “I’m well, thank you,” Furthar replied finally.  “I have an appointment to speak with you on matters of the future of transportation.”

            “Yes,” Jones said.  “Do sit.”

            Furthar moved to the hard wooden chair in front of the desk and sat.  The chair was far from comfortable, and Jones had probably designed it this way so that he would not be bothered by visitors for long periods of time.

            “So what is this plan of yours?” Jones asked.  He spun the chair around and faced Furthar.  Jones was a middle-aged man, balding, and with glasses, almost the pinnacle of the corporate executive stereotype.  Furthar found the image quite unnerving, though he was not quite sure why.

            Furthar set his briefcase on top of the desk and unlocked it.  He raised the top, went through his mental checklist to make sure that all of his papers were there, and took a breath to begin his pitch.  “I have developed a way to move matter immediately from one point to another.  I believe that this technology will revolutionize the modern world and bring about a whole new era to mankind.”

            “Intriguing,” Jones said dryly.  His face did not move, but he leaned back in his chair and steepled his forefingers.  “How so?”

            “Well, firstly, the material shipment industry would become unbelievably fast and simple.  The materials could be inserted into a gate from a mine or quarry and immediately appear at another gate at a factory ready for refining.  The factory could then soon use the materials to make goods and use the same process to send them immediately to stores and businesses, possibly even peoples’ homes.  It would totally cut out the middle man and the cost of carriers.”

            Jones nodded.  “Anything else?”

            “Probably everything else, Mr. Jones,” Furthar smiled.  “The possibilities are practically endless.  Gates could send people to destinations instantly.  Endless hours driving or flying would no longer be.  There would be no more stopovers or rush hours or anything, just merely instant arrival.”

            Furthar paused, waiting for a reaction from Jones.  Jones said nothing and stared at Furthar with a vague expression.

            Furthar continued.  “Hopefully, the technology could be adapted for space travel as well.  A gate could be built into a probe and sent to the Moon or Mars or who knows where.  Then, astronauts could immediately arrive instead of having to wait for months of travel between planets.”

            “Good thought,” Jones said, just after Furthar finished saying the word ‘planets’.  Furthar wondered if Jones was sincere with his complement or simply wanted to stop him from speaking any more.  Jones unsteepled his fingers and leaned forward onto the desk.  “Tell me how your technology works.”

            “It’s actually quite simple,” Furthar began to explain.  He pulled schematics from his briefcase and handed them to Jones.  “I practically had to patent only a couple of devices.  The ring around the gate spins, generating a magnetic field.  The reality-disruptor (object ‘A’ at the far right) then stimulates the magnetic field into opening a gate into a higher dimension.  I ran into trouble with the math there, but then worked it out when I inserted a coupling pathfinder (object ‘G’, there).  Thanks to the pathfinder, the gate links to another gate and allows the instantaneous travel.”

            “Quite,” Jones muttered.  He set down the schematics and opened the top drawer in his desk.  He pulled out a long piece of legal paper and pushed it toward Furthar.  “I’ve heard enough.  Bisenburg Transport would love to purchase your technology.”

            Furthar read the legal paper over, looking for “small print” clauses.  Though he warned himself to read it more carefully, his excitement overtook him and clouded his thoughts.  Finally, he set it down and grinned, “The agreement is two hundred thousand dollars for the patents and all information pertaining to my technology, plus ten percent of profits for the next twenty years?  I believe this would be very satisfactory.”

            “Good,” Jones smiled back at Furthar.  His bald forehead wrinkled as his lips curled.  He handed Furthar a pen and said, “Sign on the dotted line at the bottom, then.”

            Furthar took the pen and signed quickly.  He began imagining the great world that he had helped to create and the wealth that he would accumulate, not to mention his numerous Nobel prizes.  After he finished, Jones took the contract back from him and nodded slowly.  He then turned away from Furthar and back to the dark window.  “You may go now, Professor.”

            Furthar stood and collected his papers.  “May I schedule another meeting with you?  I have ideas for a terminal at which people could transport, much like at an airport.  And I also have a few drawings on smaller gates which people could install in their homes.  Then there’s the matter of designing models for—”

            Jones cut him off quickly, “No, that is quite all right.  We won’t be using this technology.”

            “What?” Furthar exclaimed.  His mouth dropped open while his heart skipped a beat within his chest in surprise.  “What do you mean you’re not going to use it?”

            “You’re not the first one to invent immediate mass transportation,” Jones replied.  “We’ve been buying up these ideas since the 1970s.  We’re just not ready to have such a revolution yet.”

            “Not ready?” Furthar asked.  He slumped into the chair.  “What?”

            “Bisenburg Transport is not its own company,” Jones said from behind his chair.  “We have many backers in the petroleum business and our unions of truckers, train engineers, and airplane staff own a good amount of stock.  This technology would mean widespread unemployment for the transportation industry, or ‘middle men’ as you called them.  Also, the demand for oil would plummet, which would mean much less profit for our business partners.”

            “But humanity could benefit so much,” Furthar protested quietly.

            “I realize that,” Jones sighed.  “But we’re just not interested right now.”