The Final Figure Read online

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  THE FINAL FIGURE

  Novelet of the Day After Tomorrow

  by Sam Merwin, Jr.

  (_illustrated by Paul Orban_)

  [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Dynamic ScienceFiction January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  The General had an unpleasant vision as he watched thismodel in operation....]

  Was it a wild talent that MacReedy had, or was it just prophetic genius that led him to figure out new, improved ordnance weapons and make models of them--before the armed forces had them? Whichever it was, MacReedy was both valuable and dangerous--and when the general saw MacReedy's final figure, the weapons following the mobile rocket A-missile launcher....

  The General was in mufti. He stood briefly within the entrance of_Models and Miniatures, Inc._, feeling a mild envy of the civilians whobrushed past him, coming and going. They looked so easy, so relaxed, socasual in posture and dress. He was wistfully aware of the West Pointramrod that was his spine, the razor-edged bandbox neatness of hisbanker's grey suit, the Herbert Hoover four-squareness of his homburg,the stiff-symmetry of his dark-blue fore-in-hand.

  He found compensation in visualizing some of these casual civilians inuniform--then shuddered, and moved on into the shop, poise and assurancerestored.

  Save for the display-counters and wall-cases, the shop was softlylighted. And although it was well filled with customers and lookers ofall ages there was about it the hushed quality of a library--or achapel. Even the children talked softly as they pointed at and discussedthis 100-gauge English locomotive or that working jet-model of aVought-Chance _Cutlass_. They were well-aware of being in sight of wishand dream-fulfillment.

  He moved slowly toward the rear of the shop, past the glass countersthat displayed gaily-painted models of carriages, coaches and earlyautomobiles; past the fire-engines in red and gold; past the railroads;past the planes and past the tiny ships--from Phoenician galleys andViking vessels with gaudily-decorative sails and shields to the latestbizarre-decked atomic aircraft carrier.

  He stood in front of the miniature soldiers and, for a happy moment,recaptured the glamour of parades and gay uniforms that had beckonedhim into a career whose color and band-music had long since been wornoff by the nerve-wracking tragedy of battle and the endless ulceratingpaper-work of peace.

  _Busman's holiday_, he thought. _Sailors in a rowboat in Central Park._And he was glad he had not worn his uniform.

  Each miniature-soldier manufacturer had a glass shelf to his own wares,labeled with a white-cardboard rectangle upon which his name had beenneatly brushed with India ink. Here were the comparatively rudeBritains, mass-produced, work-horses of toy armies throughout theWestern World since before his own boyhood.

  Here were the heavy and magnificent Courtleys, specializing in medievalknights and men-at-arms, beautifully caparisoned in all the colors ofthe rainbow. Here were the Barker Napoleonics, the one-inch Staddens,the incredible half-inch Emery Penninsulars--each a costly little workof art that defied the enlarging of a magnifying glass. Here were Cometsin khaki and grey, perfect models of the guns, tanks and trucks ofAmerica, England and Soviet Russia.

  To his left along the counter a chunky blond citizen, with widecheekbones and a faint Slavic accent, was discussing a sale with theclerk. The general was only subconsciously aware of him as he moved inthat direction, marveling a little at the painstaking craftsmanship, theendless hours of eye-destroying labor that had produced such microscopicperfection--as well as at some of the follies with which men had attiredthemselves in the name of martial glory.

  He recalled having read of an order, issued at the time of the MexicanWar, that the collars of all officers in the United States Army shouldrise to the tips of the ears. It was scarcely surprising, he thought,that the Seminoles--clad virtually in nothing at all--should have beenable to stalemate an army thus uniformed in the steaming swamps ofFlorida.

  "They're great, aren't they?"

  The voice came from a lower level, and the General looked down to meetthe excited blue eyes of a curly-haired male moppet who could scarcelyhave been more than twelve. There was an aura of friendliness about theleather-jacketed-and-corduroyed youngster, a sharing of manifestinterest, that pierced the hide of the old soldier.

  He smiled back and said, "Quite wonderful," and was briefly afraid hiswords had been too condescending. But the quick answering smile on theyoungster's face revealed that he had said the right thing.

  He followed the lad's rapt gaze to a shelf he had not yet studied. Thename on its cardboard label read _MacReedy_ and as soon as he saw thetiny figures it supported, his interest became focused upon it to theexclusion of all other shelves and their fascinating displays.

  MacReedy was very evidently a specialist. His subject was Americansoldiery, with its chief emphasis on artillery--from early Colonialtimes to the present. As one of the highest-ranking officers in theOrdnance Department of the United States Army, the General's criticalinterest was aroused.

  Here were the demi-culverins of the Manhattan Dutch, the brassfield-pieces and mortars of the French wars and the Revolution, thelight horse artillery cannon of the Mexican and Civil Wars, along withpear-shaped Dahlgren and Parrot siege-guns, each piece with its crew ofaimers, loaders, rammers and ammunition bearers.

  Here were the crowbar-like dynamite guns that protected New York andBoston and Baltimore against threatened British invasion during theNewfoundland fisheries disputes, back in the 1880's; and the complexdisappearing cannon that followed them. Here was the old standardthree-inch fieldpiece on which the General had cut his own eyeteeth;here the French 75 and 155, long and short, and the mammoth railway gunsof World War One. Here was even a model of the postwar American 75--theill-fated cannon that had proved so accurate on the firing-range, and soutterly useless after a half-mile over a bumpy road.

  Here were the weapons of World War Two, from M-7 105 self-propelledhowitzer to the 240-millimetre tractor-borne cannon. And here were morerecent weapons, the 120-millimetre radar-aimed anti-aircraft cannon; itsnewer automatic 75-millimetre cousin; the new 90-millimetre turret-mountfor the Walker Bulldog, the 105-gpf in the turret of its new heavy tank.

  * * * * *

  The General felt a stir of alarm. There had been a leak somewhere;release on this model was not scheduled for another month. He would haveto report it, of course. Then he shrugged, inwardly. Leak or not therewas small cause for alarm; _They_ must long-since have managed toscrounge test-run photographs, if not copies of the blueprintsthemselves.

  Still, a leak was bad business with the country so precariously balancedin a combustible world-situation. He looked at the next weapon, the lastin the line.

  And froze....

  Here was the XT-101, with its rear-mounted turret and twin dual-purposeautomatic 75-millimetre cannon. Here was a weapon, complete, that hadnot been completed in actuality--there was trouble with the turret, ofcourse, there always was....

  It couldn't be--but it was. The General discovered that his mouth hadslackened in surprise; he closed it firmly. He eyed the turret of theminiature, noted how the automatic range-finding devices, that werecausing trouble at Aberdeen, were incorporated into the turret itself,in a neat armored sheath.

  He thought, _Lord! I wonder if that's the answer...._ Then he thoughtthat, if it were, the whole world would soon know it.

  "A honey, isn't it?" said the curly-headed lad. He added, wistfully, "Itcosts twelve dollars and ei
ghty-six cents, with tax."

  "It's a honey, all right," said the General automatically. Actually, hewas appalled--a possibly decisive weapon on sale to all and sundry fortwelve dollars and eighty-six cents! Of course the intricate innerworkings weren't there. But _They_ knew enough about radar and automaticcannon to be able to figure it out from the model.

  The General took direct action. He went to the clerk and said, "How manyhave you?" pointing to the subject of his question.

  "Neat--perfect workmanship," said the clerk, donning his sellingclothes.

  "How many?" the General repeated.

  "Only the one in the case left," the clerk replied. "I just sold thelast one in stock a moment ago. We've only had four delivered so far."

  "I'll take it," said the General in a fever of impatience. He _had_ toget it out of public view at once--although he had a sick sensation ofalready being too late. He recalled the Slavic appearance, the accent ofthe man