"Wes, if that glassware fractures somewhere, and that electrolyte drools out, you'll have a condenser of one microfarad—charged to thirteen million times three thousand volts. Or, in nice, hollow, round numbers, forty billion volts! Four times ten to the tenth. Of course, it won't get that far. It'll arc across the contacts before it gets that high, but it might raise particular hell on the way out. Take it easy, Wes. We're seventy millionodd miles from the nearest large body of dirt, all collected in a little steel bottle about three miles long and a mile in diameter. I'd hate to stop all interplanetary communications while we scraped ourselves off of the various walls and treated ourselves for electric shock. It would—the discharge itself, I mean—raise hell with the equipment anyway. So play it easy, Wes. We do not permit certain experiments out here because of the slow neutrons that sort of wander through here at fair density. Likewise, we cannot permit dangerous experiments. And anything that includes a dangerous experiment must be out, too."
"Oh," said Wes. His voice and attitude were together crestfallen.
"Don't take it so hard, fella," grinned Channing. "Anytime we have to indulge in dangerous experiments, we always do it with an assistant—and in one of the blister-laboratories. But take that fragile glassware out of the picture and I'll buy it," he finished.
Walt Franks entered and asked what was going on.
"Wes was just demonstrating the latest equipment in concentrated deviltry," smiled Channing.
"That's my department," said Walt.
"Oh, it's not as bad as your stuff," said Channing. "What he's got here is an alloy that will break several million watts without an arc. Great stuff, Walt."
"Sounds swell," said Walt. "Better scribble it up and we'll get a patent. It sounds useful."
"I think it may bring us a bit of change," said Channing. "It's great stuff, Wes."