"That's right."
Baker opened the file and shoved it toward Fenwick. "This boy has a gadget he wants us to look at. Doesn't really need any money, he says. That's the kind we really have to be on guard against. If we looked at his wonder gadget, we'd be pestered for a million-dollar handout for years to come."
"What's he got?" Fenwick asked.
"Some kind of communication device, he says. He claims it's nothing but a grown crystal which you hold in your hand and talk to anybody anywhere on Earth."
"Sounds like it wouldn't take much to find out whether he's got anything or not. Just let him put on a five-minute demonstration."
"But multiply that five minutes by a thousand, by ten thousand. And once you let them get their teeth into you, it doesn't stop with five minutes. It goes on into reams of letters and years of time. No, you have to stop this kind of thing before it ever starts. But take a look at some of this material in the file and you'll see what I mean."
Fenwick picked up the top letter as Baker pushed the file toward him. "He starts this one by saying, 'Dear Urban.' Is that what he calls you? What does he mean?"
"Who knows? He's a crackpot, I told you. Who cares what he means, anyway. We've got far more important things to worry about."
Fenwick scanned the letter a moment, then looked up, a faint smile on his face. "I know what he means. Urban—Pope Urban—was the one responsible for the persecutions of Galileo."
Baker shrugged embarrassedly. "I told you he was a crackpot. Delusions of grandeur and of persecution are typical."