That's what radio transmitted power ought to mean, that's what it would mean—until Marvak entered the picture. When he appeared on the scene, power by radio, instead of being a blessing, would become one of the worst disasters that ever happened to humanity.
Marvak was a spy. Not a common, garden variety of spy, not a fifth columnist, not a saboteur, but a sort of super-spy who sold his services to the highest bidder. If you wanted a war started, he could make all the arrangements to provide for an "incident." If you wanted to take over a minor nation, he could pave the way for you; if your enemy had a new and secret weapon, he could get the plans. Anything, just so he was well paid for it.
If Fradin could really transmit power by radio, and if Marvak got the plans, the waterfalls would not be harnessed, there wouldn't be cheap automobiles, and handy power for ocean liners. There would be power—unfailing power—for one thing: planes! Bombing planes, fighting planes!
If you think several nations on this globe would not jump at the chance to acquire such an invention, you have another think coming. And the price they would be willing to pay for it, would be big enough to interest even Marvak. It would be worth—well, what is the worth of the British Empire, China, and the United States?
Fradin's invention had exactly the same value as those three nations lumped together, if Marvak succeeded in peddling it in Europe. Bombers over New York, bombers over Chicago. There would no longer be any safety in three thousand miles of water. Bombers over London. New bombers that would be almost invincible.
Sweat was running down over my face, down over my body, down over my soul. If Marvak got Fradin's invention, Johnny Holmes—that's me—go hunt for an air-raid shelter, because you're sure going to need it.
"I was mistaken," Fradin faltered, his voice a whisper. "I was—boasting. I cannot transmit power by radio."
"You're a liar!" Marvak snapped.
"I'm not a liar," Fradin whispered.