"Don't worry," said Kingman. "This'll take a long time, and by the time they get done, Hamilton will be ready to throw them out. Besides, it will make a good arguing point for my final blast. And, brother, I've got a talking-point that will scream for itself."
"But suppose they convince—"
"Look," smiled Kingman, "this is really no argument as to whether matter or intelligence is carried. Believe me, that has nothing to do with it. I'm keeping this one under the wraps until shooting-time so they won't be able to get an argument against it. We're a cinch. That's why I kept it in a legal court instead of a technical court. The Techs would award it to Channing on a technical basis, but the legal boys have got to follow my argument."
"How about an appeal?"
"The record of this court is still a very heavy argument. Look, they're about to start."
The racket and hubbub died, and Tinkin faced the judge. "These are plainly labeled. They are matter transmitter and matter receiver. We have here a set of metal bars. They are made of copper, steel, aluminum, some complex alloys, and the brother to that glass cube you have before you. We will transmit this set of objects from here to there. Have you any suggestions?"
"A matter of control and identity. What have you for control?"
"Nothing that is outside of our hands," smiled Tinkin. "Would you care to send something of your own? Your gavel? Inkwell? Marked coin? Anything?"
"I'd offer my glasses except for the fact that I can not see without them," said Judge Hamilton.
"We wouldn't break them or damage them a bit."