"The Prime Movers"

[mweiss]

I wrote this about a hundred years ago (well, not quite THAT long ago, but it was rather amazing that I had found the preserved original papers 20 years ago, enabling me to enter them into a word processor for longterm keeping.)

Here I present, my one attempt at mimmicking the writing style of Ayn Rand.

FOR MY MOTHER, LILLIAN FRANCESS WEISS,

WITHOUT WHOSE GUIDANCE I WOULD NOT HAVE DEVELOPED

THE SKILLS TO WRITE THIS STORY.

The Prime Movers

by Mark A. Weiss

PREFACE

The short story which you are about to read, arose out of a high school writing assignment. The original story was written longhand and, when computers became available, transferred to word processor text format. The assignment was to choose an author and simulate the author's writing style in a story of the student's own creation.

The author who's style is simulated in this story, is Ayn Rand. Miss Rand was a philosopher of Russian descent, who developed her own philosophy which she called Objectivism. Essentially, Objectivism holds that reason and logic --not emotions, are man's only tools of cognition. The philosophy is based on non-contradiction, and holds that man's life is the standard by which all of one's values are judged.

Prime Movers draws much of its form from Ayn Rand's Fountainhead, a story about Howard Roark, an architect who designed buildings whose form follow function, and how he was ridiculed and scorned for his avant-guard ideas.

CHAPTER ONE

Harold Collins lifted his head up from the paperwork which was on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he began to wonder why he was on Earth, why he couldn't be on another planet where mankind could respect ingenuity and make use of the ideas that bring about the products which ease the lives of men. Why had the human race on this planet betrayed him? This, he thought, was a question that he should not bother himself with answering. He felt that he would have to be insane to try to answer it.

The late afternoon sunlight, which came in from the window behind him, splattered a puddle of light on his desk as if it were a beam of light from a projector which displayed a picture of serenity, somehow mocking the catastrophic reality of the present. He had just finished figuring out the company's expenses for the week of September the tenth. Business was slowing down, as the word spread that the Collins Motor Manufacturing Company was running a crusade of greed whose purpose it was to grab all of the business away from every other motor manufacturer in the country. The budget was shrinking, and it was apparent that the company would soon be unable to meet its expenses.

It would be necessary to shut down the factory on the lower East Side of Manhattan, one of the five that make up the Collins Motor Manufacturing Company, he thought. He got up out of his chair and stood up. If anyone were in the room watching him as he got up, they would have thought that he stood ten feet tall. He turned and looked out through the plate glass windows at the Hudson River below and the shoreline of New Jersey.

There was a knock at the door to his office.

"Come in." Collins said.

The door opened, and a man of about thirty-five walked in. It was his office manager, Pete Murdock.

"Good evening, Harold. Nice sunset, eh?

Harold nodded.

"I've gotten the latest order in from the Sacramento Machine and Tool Company. They want a hundred and fifty electric motors for a new plant they're building in Aneheim."

"Uh-huh.." Collins replied. "When do they want them?" He asked.

"By the first of next month."

"Better tell them that that's the last shipment of electric motors that we'll be manufacturing."

"What do you mean, Harold?" Murdock asked, feigning dull surprise.

"I mean we're going to switch over to producing only magnetron motors. There's no sense in producing old-fashioned and inferior motors anymore.

"But Harold, you know what Mr. Prescott said in regard to your invention. It's not practical and it's not fair to the others. Associated Motors is a big company with a lot of employees; they hold a large amount of the working force in New Jersey; you can't just go on with your ideas without considering what it will do to them! It's a great idea, Harold, but it's not worth the suffering it will cause to Stanley Hedgewick and his employees."

"I'm not in business here to worry about Stanley Hedgewick, Associated Motors Corporation, or any other factory. I have an idea to sell. It is far greater than anything Associated Motors ever produced. Peter, it is an innovation that will revolutionize the transportation industry it will reduce operating costs by nearly half. The machine industry will profit greatly from it; the electrical industry will be nearly self-sufficient; it will benefit everybody in ways you can't possibly imagine. Their motors are only forty percent efficient, lower in power, costly to operate, and they wear out in a few years. My motor doesn't even require an external power source; it is all internally regenerative; therefore, there is no waste of energy. My motor can be made smaller, yet more powerful, and all of the contact points are nearly frictionless. It can almost never wear out. It's an ideal answer to the energy problems we've had to face ever since we started improving our lifestyle. We have the answer right here, and I will not allow it to die out for the sake of a few beings that are holding back our society in order so that their little tunnels filled with cheese won't be disturbed. We have minds which are constantly capable of improving upon the things that determine our standard of living. I won't stop here. I will continue along that path."

Murdock stood staring at him, aghast, not quite believing that Collins could have said the words that he just heard, but yet almost understanding his point. He shook his head.

"You're making a grave mistake, Harold." Murdock said; he turned and left the room abruptly.

The next day, Harold Collins received a phone call. It was Stanley Hedgewick of Associated Motors who called. Collins answered it: "Yes, Collins speaking."

"Good morning Mr. Collins. Well... getting right down to business, I know you're a busy man and I don't want to waste your valuable time, so I'll state the reason why I've called: I wish to make you an offer you can't resist. I know you're out there in business for yourself and you want to make a lot of money and, seeing the financial condition you're in now, I'm sure you'll agree that this is a mutually benefitting offer. I'll pay you three hundred thousand dollars if you'll agree, by contract, not to produce the magnetron motor. What do you think, Mr. Collins, too good to be true, eh?"

"Not too good to be true, but too bad to be true. And it's going to stay that way."

"But Mr. Collins, you could save yourself a lot of trouble; you could save us a lot of trouble. Just think about it. You won't have to go through the costly process of changing your assembly line setup; and besides, no one's going to buy that motor anyway --you'll never convince them that it works."

"It will sell."

"Well, I'll tell you what. You're just all riled up about it. When you calm down you'll come to your senses. I'll call you again then and I'm sure by then that we can work out an agreement. Please do think about it. It will be much easier for us both. Good-bye Mr. Collins."

Collins hung up the receiver gently, as if he had completed a normal business conversation or confirmed an order. The news had no effect on the calm angular planes of his face. His eyes concentrated on a letter which his secretary brought in to him from the mail that morning. It was from the Chicago Foundry and Machine Company, the main supplier of the few metal parts that Collins Motor Manufacturing did not have the facilities to fabricate for its motor production.

He opened the letter. It announced that the Chicago Foundry and Machine Company would not be able to supply the metal parts that he had ordered for the production of the new magnetron motors, for fear of getting a bad reputation and subsequent business loss. The letter expressed sincere regrets, and closed with the signature of Earl Jackson, the President of the Chicago Foundry and Machine Company.

CHAPTER TWO

“Greediness, and the search for more affluence than that which our brothers have, is the root of all evil," declared Harvey Prescott at a meeting of the National Association of Manufacturers. "We cannot allow the greed of a few to spoil it for the rest. Gentlemen, this is an age of industrialism. Traditional ways have changed, and we find ourselves departing from virtue as more and more men attempt to test their financial prowess by using the industrial revolution of our age as an excuse to exploit themselves. Gentlemen, I propose that we should restrain those few that try to scrape the wealth off the others. Brothers, we must stick together and pool our efforts; we must stop feeding the greedy."

All of the other members in the meeting hall broke into a standing ovation at his last words. His speech had appealed to them. It was like the key of approval which opened the locks in their minds to unleash and somehow validate their unspoken feelings toward Collins Motor Manufacturing. Yet they each secretly checked their contempt because they felt fear, fear of what they each might be doing to themselves. They shrugged it off as a misguided feeling.

Later that day, Collins arrived at the Pittsburgh plant of Collins Motor Manufacturing. He walked through the swarms of benches, people, and machinery, toward the office of his co-engineer and foreman, Robert Henson. Henson was the best engineer that he had. They had worked many long hours together designing, modifying, and re-designing the plans for the magnetron motor. He knocked on the door to Henson's office, and then walked in. Henson looked up. He had been looking at some drawings of the magnetron motor.

"How are things going at the New York plant, Harold?" He asked.

"Bad. I think we may have to shut down the lower East Side plant."

"That bad, eh?"

"Yeah, and with the Chicago Foundry and Machine Company out, that only worsens things."

"Guess we'll have to start manufacturing everything ourselves; either that, or find another supplier who's willing to work with us." Henson remarked. "I've checked around. There's one small firm in Louisville, but they say they're almost bankrupt. No one else is willing to deal with us."

"I guess that leaves it up to us, then. We'll have to arrange at least one of our factories so that we can fabricate all of the parts. As it is right now, some of the parts for the electric motors can be modified inexpensively so that they can be used in the magnetron motors. That alone will save us thousands of dollars which can be used to keep the lower East Side plant open for another week or so. And, if we halt the manufacturing of electric motors and switch our operation over to the magnetron motors immediately, we can eliminate a lot of cost there. That sounds like a feasible plan doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does." Collins replied. "And with the addition of some new casting machinery, we should be able to fabricate all of the parts ourselves."

"Then we should go along with this plan?"

"Yes."

CHAPTER THREE

Several weeks had passed since the invention of the Collins magnetron motor, and the public was furious over the so-called "scandal" that Collins Motor Manufacturing had produced. Outspoken officials of highly respected organizations took the occasion to ridicule Harold Collins for creating a "hoax intended to gain publicity in a desperate struggle to outrace his competitors". But they were curious. What if this man really did invent a motor that used no electricity or fuel of any kind? What if this man's claim had credibility? What then? They wanted to find out.

The next day, Harold Collins received a telephone call from Harvey Prescott. Collins answered it: "Collins here."

"Good morning Mr. Collins. I'm Harvey Prescott from the National Association of Manufacturers," he said with an inordinate air of formality. "It has come to my attention that you have produced a motor which you claim will operate without any power source of any kind."

"I have."

"As men concerned with science, we are very interested in seeing what it is that you've allegedly developed. The Boston Institute of Science has asked me to make arrangements with you to set up a demonstration of your motor before the panel of scientists at the institute. Would you be willing to give such a demonstration?"

"Yes, on one condition."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"That you judge my motor by what you see, and not by what others have told you."

"Of course, Mr. Collins. The Boston Institute of Science is a very reputable organization, and certainly honest and impartial," said Prescott, as if it were a god he was speaking of. "Now, eh, let's see what time we can arrange this demonstration for. Hmm... How does seven o'clock tomorrow evening suit you?"

"That will be just fine."

"Very well then, seven o'clock it will be. Good-bye."

Collins hung up the receiver. So this was it, he thought. Tomorrow would be his judgement day; the day they chose whether or not to let him survive. He laughed. He already knew what their verdict would be.

On the following evening, Collins arrived at the Boston Institute of Science. With him, he brought a small prototype of the magnetron motor. Its gleaming metal parts sparkled in the bright light which came from the spotlights above him. There were crowds of reporters about the place, but Prescott was nowhere in sight. He placed the motor down on a nearby table. Some reporters who had noticed him enter the room made gestures to other reporters and ventured in his direction. They thought: This is the man. The man and the motor. They felt that he was unarmed and vulnerable, yet he stood there waiting, calm, as if he feared nothing. No, they thought, he wasn't vulnerable. They feared him because he had the perfect manner of a god, unfearing, and in control. His presence made them uneasy.

It was a few minutes past seven, and Harvey Prescott entered the room with two other men, all dressed in dark, formal suits. Prescott was the first to speak: "Well, good evening Mr. Collins, what a pleasure to meet you in person. I would like you to meet my two colleagues who will assist the panel and myself with the evaluation of your product, Dr. Feingold, and Professor Metstein."

"Nice to meet you, gentlemen," said Collins, feigning friendly formality.

All eyes were now focused on these four men, and the motor on the table.

Prescott spoke: "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you know why we are gathered here tonight. We are here to witness the demonstration of the Collins magnetron motor. Since I have no further comments, I shall turn the program over to Mr. Harold Collins, President of Collins Motor Manufacturing."

The crowd waited in tense silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Collins, "I am here tonight merely to demonstrate the invention that I have brought before mankind. I shall not pass any judgments as to its value to mankind. I will leave that to you, for the answer is self-evident.

He turned toward his invention. Next to the motor was a box which had two wires protruding from it. He connected the wires to two terminals on the motor. Picking up the box to which the motor was now connected, he pressed a switch on it. Immediately the motor's shaft began to spin. It was almost totally silent. The people in the room let out a low murmur of surprise. The judges looked at each other, then back at Collins. He spoke:

"This box that I have here in my hand is an exciter unit. It uses a small amount of electric current to start the motor. Once the motor is running, it is self-sustaining." He disconnected the wires from the motor. It continued to run.

"As you can see," he continued, "it runs without any source of power other than that produced by its own internal permanent magnets. It will continue to run until I apply a reverse excitation." He hooked the box up to the motor again and pressed another switch. The motor stopped. Immediately, the crowd set off into a murmur of surprise. All had watched. All had seen that which they thought was impossible. Collins had convinced them, and now they saw what he had to offer them.

Three days later, Collins looked at the usual stack of letters on his desk, those which his secretary had brought in from the morning mail. The one on the top of the stack had a letterhead in printed black letters which read: Osten Motors, Cedar Falls, Iowa. He opened it. The letter read:

Dear Mr. Collins:

I have been to the demonstration at the Boston Institute of Science three days ago, and have seen the demonstration of your motor. I liked what I saw, and am interested in using a similar type of motor in my newest line of automobiles. I would appreciate it if you would contact me for an appointment to come to the plant so that we may discuss design requirements and finance.

Sincerely,

Bradford Osten

CHAPTER FOUR

Collins arrived back in New York after closing a deal with Osten Motors.

As he came within two blocks of his Upper Manhattan plant, he could see an orange glow in the night sky ahead of him. As he drew closer to the plant, he could hear the shouting of an angry mob. Turning the last corner, he saw that the mob was surrounding the front entrance of his plant. Fire clung to the sides of the warehouse and portions of the factory, its tongues of flame licking furiously at the asphalt shingles of the building. The mob was made up of employees of other local motor factories.

Collins stopped the car momentarily.

There was a frantic knocking at the driver's side window. It was Robert Henson who was knocking. Collins rolled down the window.

"Harold, get away from here as fast as you can, they're here to kill you! They want to wipe the streets with you!", Henson shouted, his face showing signs of panic, an emotion uncommon to him.

"Where are the workers?" asked Collins.

"The ran away; some of them joined the mob."

"I'm going in. I've got to stop this."

"Harold, no!"

"If I don't fight them, I'll have betrayed my cause, and that, to me, is death."

"Then I'm coming with you. I can't let you go alone!"

Henson hopped into the car and they drove around to the back of the plant. Collins stopped the car in front of a rear entrance to the building. He reached down under his seat and pulled a revolver from its place of concealment. Handing it over to Henson, he said: "Here, take this and cover me. I'm going in through this door."

They got out of the car and walked up to the door. Collins unlocked it and turned the knob. Just as he pushed the door open, an orange ball of fire fell from above their heads and came down close behind them. The sound of an explosion resounded in their ears, like the memory of a sound they had heard moments ago, but had waited until now to acknowledge.

As they walked through the broken space of the darkened warehouse, Collins outlined his plan of action: "I'm going to go on the roof and force those bastards away from the building. Then we'll run water hoses out there and dampen the fires."

"How the hell are you going to do that, Harold?"

"With this crowd control mechanism," he replied, pointing to some vats of acid. "We'll bring a few of these with us on the way up."

"Oh, I see." He laughed. It was a strained laugh, like the kind that precedes a much hoped for triumph at the end of a long, agonizing struggle.

They quickly went about hooking up water hoses with expert facility.

"Here. Bring this one to the roof and come back down here," Collins said, handing him the nozzle of the hose, "And whatever you do, keep low!"

Henson obeyed. He dashed up the stairs to the roof exit and disappeared briefly. Collins grabbed a vat filled with acid and climbed the stairs. Henson returned, took the vat from Collins, and deposited it outside the door of the roof exit.

After the fifth vat was placed on the roof, Collins gestured to Henson to come up onto the roof.

"This is it," Collins said with an air of finality, "If I should get killed doing what I am about to do, at least I will have died in defense of the principles I believe in."

Henson nodded in understanding.

Collins picked up a vat containing the acid, and walked toward the edge of the roof. He could see the mobs below, and the portions of the building which were engulfed by many small fires. A few members of the mob saw him and began throwing bricks and stones at him. He tilted the vat over the edge enough to let some of the acid pour out onto the ground below. It fizzed ferociously as it hit the ground. Someone below shouted: "Hey, he's got acid up there, he's going to pour it on us!"

Realizing this, they backed away frantically, like scared ants do when confronted by fire.

Collins made a gesture to Henson. Henson came running up to the edge of the roof with the water hose and opened up the nozzle. Water came streaming out, and Henson directed it upon the flames. He felt an almost victorious pleasure, as he saw the flames recede every now and then from the force of the water, the way he had wanted to see the destroyers of knowledge surrender themselves.

Below them now, was an accumulation of police, mob members, reporters, and onlookers. They were looking at Collins. He stood at the edge of the roof. Then he spoke:

"Throughout the history of mankind, there have been inventors. Men of unborrowed vision who sought to improve the conditions of life. They sought to serve no one but themselves, but their milestones benefitted the rest of mankind. Yet, their brothers scorned them for their gifts. They were considered evildoers who breached the primitive codes of the times. They were burned and tortured, often with their own discoveries; yet these men went ahead continuing to think and produce.

"It is the spirit, the unresigning productive force in these men, the Prime Mover that brought our society to a high standard of living; but it is the motive of the selfless, the parasite, that will destroy it.

"Your actions here tonight, are in testimony to that fact. You have, in an attempt to save yourselves, in fact betrayed your own selves by destroying that which sustains your lives. You have slowly reversed your standard of living by every action you have ever taken to save your collapsing values.

"Tonight we have witnessed here, the concrete example of the interpretation of your values, self destruction. And why? Altruism. This is the consequence of the attempt you made to serve your brothers, the attempt you made to force us, the men of unborrowed vision, to serve your brothers. We refused to sacrifice our lives for the sake of others, but we worked for ourselves. You tried to make us serve you by not improving your lives. By protecting your little world of inadequacies. If you are ever to advance, you will have to first discard your philosophy of backward values, lest you go back to the cave.

"You will have to act quickly, because time is running out.

As Collins finished speaking, the last flames of the fire that had been eating away at the building, died out. They seemed to be symbolic of the principles of those who had come to destroy civilization, for as they died out, so too had the principles of self-destruction in the minds of those who had heard him that night. Now they understood why their lives had been steadily declining.

They dropped their clubs and weapons, like children dropping their toys in realization that it was time to grow up, and they went home.

-The End-