The Complete Stories_ Volume 1 - Isaac Asimov [12]
And now Foster entered his uncle's cluttered apartment in no mood at all for grinning. He was nine years older now and so was Uncle Ralph. For nine more years, papers in every branch of science had come to him for polishing and a little of each had crept into his capacious mind.
Nimmo was eating seedless grapes, popping them into his mouth one at a time. He tossed a bunch to Foster who caught them by a hair, then bent to retrieve individual grapes that had torn loose and fallen to the floor.
"Let them be. Don't bother," said Nimmo carelessly. "Someone comes in here to clean once a week. What's up?
Having trouble with your grant application write-up?"
"I haven't really got into that yet."
"You haven't? Get a move on, boy. Are you waiting for me to offer to do the final arrangement?"
"I couldn't afford you, Uncle."
"Aw, come on. It's all in the family. Grant me all popular publication rights and no cash need change hands." Foster nodded. "If you're serious, it's a deal."
"It's a deal."
It was a gamble, of course, but Foster knew enough of Nimmo's science writing to realize it could pay off. Some dramatic discovery of public interest on primitive man or on a new surgical technique, or on any branch of spationautics could mean a very cash-attracting article in any of the mass media of communication. It was Nimmo, for instance, who had written up, for scientific consumption, the series of papers by Bryce and coworkers that elucidated the fine structure of two cancer viruses, for which job he asked the picayune payment of fifteen hundred dollars, provided popular publication rights were included. He then wrote up, exclusively, the same work in semi-dramatic form for use in trimensional video for a twenty-thousand-dollar advance plus rental royalties that were still coming in after five years.
Foster said bluntly, "What do you know about neutrinics, Uncle?"
"Neutrinics?" Nimmo's small eyes looked surprised. "Are you working in that? I thought it was pseudo-gravitic optics."
"It is p.g.o. I just happen to be asking about neutrinics."
"That's a devil of a thing to be doing. You're stepping out of line. You know that, don't you?"
"I don't expect you to call the Commission because I'm a little curious about things."
"Maybe I should before you get into trouble. Curiosity is an occupational danger with scientists. I've watched it work. One of them will be moving quietly along on a problem, then curiosity leads him up a strange creek. Next thing you know they've done so little on their proper problem, they can't justify for a project renewal. I've seen more—"
"All I want to know," said Foster patiently, "is what's been passing through your hands lately on neutrinics." Nimmo leaned back, chewing at a grape thoughtfully. "Nothing. Nothing ever. I don't recall ever getting a paper on neutrinics."
"What!" Foster was openly astonished. "Then who does get the work?"
"Now that you ask," said Nimmo, "I don't know. Don't recall anyone talking about it at the annual conventions. I don't think much work is being done there."
"Why not?"
"Hey, there, don't bark. I'm not doing anything. My guess would be—"
Foster was exasperated. "Don't you know?"
"Hmp. I'll tell you what I know about neutrinics. It concerns the applications of neutrino movements and the forces involved—"
"Sure. Sure. Just as electronics deals with the applications of electron movements and the forces involved, and pseudo-gravities deals with the applications of artificial gravitational fields. I didn't come to you for that. Is that all you know?"
"And," said Nimmo with equanimity, "neutrinics is the basis of time viewing and that is all I know." Foster