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The Triumph Of Pegascis
by F.A. Javor
It was working out beautifully, just beautifully, and if Colin Hall had been a less dedicated young man he would have been rubbing his capable hands together and perhaps even pounding his equally young but no-so-sedate partner, Ed West, on his ample back.
Their entry in the jumper division of the horse show, Ato's Pride, so named from the initial letters of their fledgling company's name. Animals to Order, a gleaming black stallion with four perfectly matched white stockings and a diamondshaped blaze on his forehead, was just being led to the edge of the obstacle-planted ring and the roar of the crowd's approval was hackle-raising.
Instinctively Colin's eyes flew to the six-inch screen he*d jerry-rigged to monitor a select few bits of the information being sent by the dozens of micro-transmitters implanted under the skin, adjoining the organs, the nerves, even sampling the bloodstream of the animal waiting to go through its paces below them.
Information being transmitted and recorded on me slowly turning tapes to be fed later into the University's computer if they, he and Ed, wanted a more complete analysis and, more to the point, if they could scrape together the necessary service fee.
But me complex and shifting pattern of light on the jerryrigged screen, small though its sampling was, was enough to let Colin know how their animal was taking to what was by far the largest massing of people he'd ever been exposed to.
An emotional crowd that this, perhaps the greatest of the year's shows, never failed to attract.
A little loo much salivating… pain response a little high.
I told that rider he had a tender mouth. But all in all, Ato's Pride was taking this crowd's adulation as much in stride as he had that of the smaller shows around the country they'd had to enter him in to garner enough first ribbons to-allow him to qualify for this particular show.
This show that he and Ed had finally decided to aim at in a mixture of hope and desperation. Then the grinding press of work and doing without, in which the gingerly placing into its embryo tank of the cell that was to grow into the magnificent animal below them was almost an anticlimax.
An anticlimax to the arduous task of mapping its gene pattern and to the pla
He had plucked the salmon-colored bank notice from the pile of due-chits that had just fallen from the vac-tube beside their office door.
"A lethal gene," he said wryly to Ed, sitting at what they'd hoped would be the desk of the receptionist they'd never been able to afford, straightening and rebending a paper clip. "A lethal gene. A fatal deficiency in the customerforming enzyme."
"I've been thinking about that," Ed said, his face deadly serious for once. "Animals to Order is basically a sound idea, but I think our trouble lies in the fact that nobody knows we're alive." He clenched his fist. "If we could only advertise."
The wryness in Colin's smile deepened. "It isn't ethical,'* Ed flung down his paper clip. "It isn't ethical," he parroted. "So we sit around and wait for recognition to come to us, and meanwhile we starve."
His voice went up a notch. "Ten seconds. Ten lousy seconds in the middle of somebody else's vid-cast. Ten lousy seconds."
"Relax," Colin said. "We couldn't scrape together the cash now even if we could advertise. Our equipment…"
Ed waved a hand. "You don't have to tell me how much the rental on our equipment is costing us- I signed the papers with you, remember?"
He stopped short and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "I'm sorry, Colin," he said. "I don't mean to snarl at you but it riles me. We've got a potentially great service here and the rules of our game make it something dirty for professional people like us to go out and holler in the crossroads for people to come buy it."
Ed held up a finger and went on talking. "One order. One solitary order all the while we've been in business. It'd gripe anybody.'* It was true. Although they'd been open for half a year, their business had produced little more than inquiries like the tentative one from a physician who was hoping they'd run across an enzyme, an acid, anything that might make the cells of an arm stump de-differentiate and then re-differentiate and grow to restore the amputated limb.
Sorrowfully, Colin had to tell him that, although they could grow an animal with short legs or long legs or even transplant a developing leg, their science could not yet do what he asked of it.
Then there was the usual scattering of requests from biology and genetics students for the results of their most recent work sent quickly, please, by return vac-tube because there was only this weekend coming up in which to get the papers completed and turned in.
And the one solid order Ed had mentioned. From a down-country milk manufacturer. Four heifers. All identical and matching perfectly their trademark. To be sent around to die various slate and bureau food exhibits to promote the name of their company and product. It was not a particularly difficult assignment. A great deal of research and gene mapping had already been done by associations and others interested in food animals so that it was chiefly a case of bringing together what he and Ed needed, and filling in the gaps to produce me animal they wanted. Matching an animal to one in the picture of a trademark was not difficult because you had only to look at it to know how well you'd succeeded. It was the intangible qualities that made for a challenge.
As for identical animals, nature had been producing them for centuries. It was simply a case of splitting the egg once, and then splitting each of the daughter halves again..
It was the heifer order that gave Colin his idea, and staring at the pile of due-chits on his desk made the tussle with his conscience a brief one. "Ed," he said, "we have to do something to call attention to ourselves."
"That's not hard. Let's go out and blow up the Sub-Capital building."
"I'm not joking. You remember the heifer people?"
"Of course. Our one solitary contact with that great world of commerce out there beyond the laboratory walls. We were going to sweep it off its collective feet with our brilliance- I remember.'' "They paid us for four animals whose only purpose was to promote their company name and advance the sale of their product. Right?"
"Yes, but that money is long gone and the rent is due in …" Ed counted on his fingers. "… four days. What are you getting at?"
"Simply this," and now Colin spoke slowly, the excitement in him growing. "What we did for them, we can do for ourselves."
"Build four heifers…?" Ed was patently puzzled.
"Of course not. I mean use our skills to build for ourselves an animal to do for us what the heifers are doing for the milk people. Call us to the attention of the public in general, and of our potential customers in particular.
Ed was pulling his lower lip. "An animal for the express purpose of getting publicity…" And then his head came up. "Hey, TV coverage, wire services, the sport commentators… the Sport of…"
Colin finished it for him. "Exactly, the Sport of Kings. A horse."
And now Ed's eyes were shining. "Great! We'll build the greatest, the fastest racehorse to come down the pike since…*' "No," Colin shook his head. "Not a racing horse."
"Not a racehorse?" Ed looked puzzled again.
"No. The people we want to notice us don't have racing co
"Wait a minute." Ed said. "Doesn't the Dean's brother raise horses?"
Colin shook his head. "Not Harrison Bullitt… his wife.
But do you know who is honorary president of the horse show association?"
It was Ed's turn to shake his head. "No."
"Commodore Joshua E. Wall."
"Commodore Joshua E… Not Commodore Wall of NavAir?"
Colin nodded, the smile on his face broad now. "That's right. Commodore Joshua E. Wall, Chief of Procurement for NavAir… and the man we've been trying to get in touch with since we first started."
"Don't keep the club so exclusive. He's only one of a long roster of people who haven't responded to our maidenlike overtures."
"True, but if we can get him to give us a contract, then we don't need to worry about many of the others."
Ed pushed back his chair and stood up. "What are we waiting for then, let's get started… When is the next show scheduled for?" he added.
"Early November, but entries usually close in October."
"October! That's cutting it close for a full-grown animal."
"Closer than you think. We've got to get him out and picking up a fistful of first ribbons before that, else he won't be able to even qualify for the big show. But tell me, Ed, can we wait until next year?'' "My head can, but my stomach knows better. I repeat, what are we waiting for? There's only four days' rental left on the analyzer." The electron analyser. The rental on the unit dug deep into their credit fund, but it was indispensable in their work.
Offspring of the early instrument packets shot off to Earth's neighboring planets to analyze and report back by radio on their life forms, it had also done away with much of the time and tedious labor cost needed to map a gene pattern when all the researchers had to work with before its advent were bits of absorbent paper and a photographic plate exposed to a diffracted X-ray.
He and Ed might have used the University unit, but then its rigid rules would have compelled them to be researchers working for the University, and not the co-establishers of Animals to Order, their independent and commercial enterprise.
And now the months of work, of lost sleep, of going back to the making of tutor-tapes for the University to earn the money to live on, to keep open the skeleton of their office, to pay for the hauling of Ato's Pride from show to show around the country and the professional riders required, for fees; all of it looked now to have been worth it. From the sound of the Arena crowd's reaction to their first glimpse of the black stallion, it was plain that his snowballing reputation had reached here before him, and that their gamble was at long last about to pay off.