Free Power Play by Ben Bova

FDR’s imperious body language?
    “I don’t think you understand,” Amy began.
    “I understand perfectly well,” Sinclair said, almost truculently. “You want to use our work to get votes for Frank Tomlinson. You have no interest in MHD research itself.”
    “If Mr. Tomlinson gets elected to the Senate he will push for federal funding for your program. That could mean millions of dollars, Professor Sinclair. Tens of millions.”
    Sinclair’s fleshy face darkened. “And it would turn a well-organized, carefully paced research program into a government boondoggle. I won’t have it.”
    Younger spoke up. “Prof, we could use the Washington money to fund the long-duration tests.”
    “We can do long-duration tests on the Mark I, here on campus.”
    “At low power levels,” said Younger.
    “That’s perfectly all right. The plasma physics is the same.”
    “But the engineering isn’t,” Younger insisted. “The electrode erosion isn’t. The channel integrity isn’t.”
    Rogers jumped in. “Professor, the utility companies won’t be impressed by low-power runs. They’ll want to see five thousand hours at fifty megawatts, at least.”
    Sinclair glared at him. For a long moment the big airy office fell coldly silent. Jake could hear the faint whisper of the air conditioner’s fan.
    At last Sinclair said, “Government funding will bring government regulations. Washington red tape. News reporters hounding us. Is that what you want?”
    Rogers began to shake his head, but Glynis said, “What is it that you want, Professor? Do you see the MHD program as a perpetual research operation, or do you want to see MHD making an impact on the real world? Do you want to produce electrical power, or research papers for the academic journals?”
    Sinclair’s eyes flared. Younger looked surprised. Rogers bit his lip.
    Amy said, “Professor, I’d like you to meet Mr. Tomlinson and discuss this directly with him. Perhaps he can convince you that he’s sincere about wanting to help you to make a success of MHD.”
    “This is what we need!” Younger blurted out.
    Jake spoke up. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think that creating thousands of jobs is an important thing to do. This is more than politics and more even than research. It’s helping people to find employment, to feed their kids, to raise their families.”
    “Coal miners,” Sinclair rumbled.
    “And the technicians who run the mining machines,” Jake countered. “And the accountants and bookkeepers and secretaries who work in the mining company’s offices. And the truck drivers.”
    “Butchers and bakers,” Glynis added, with a grin.
    “And supermarket workers,” Amy put in.
    Sinclair appeared unmoved. “Do you know how many people are killed each year in coal mine disasters?”
    “Not as many as the number employed by the mining companies,” Jake shot back.
    “Won’t you at least meet with Tomlinson?” Glynis pleaded.
    “Talk it over with him,” said Younger. “It won’t hurt to talk to him.”
    Sinclair looked unmoved.
    Then Amy said softly, “I would take it as a personal favor to me if you would meet Mr. Tomlinson and discuss the situation, Professor.”
    Jake turned toward her. The tone of her voice was almost like a little girl’s. She had lowered her eyes demurely.
    Sinclair squirmed in his chair for a moment, then replied, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man.”
    Rogers broke into a big grin. Younger nodded as if they had just accomplished an important milestone. Jake saw Glynis turn her attention from Sinclair to Amy and back again.
    “Good!” said Amy, suddenly bright and smiling. “Thank you, Professor Sinclair.”
    Smiling back at her, Sinclair said, “It’s nothing.”
    But Jake thought it was something indeed.

TOMLINSON RESIDENCE
    “I’ll set up the meeting,” Amy said, once they had left Sinclair’s office and were walking down the hallway toward the building’s exit and the parking