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Chapter 361: The Clown and the Master’s Performance
As the exhibition drew to a close, twilight began to settle over the grounds. It was nearing six o’clock, but thanks to daylight saving time, the sun lingered longer than usual. By now it had dipped below the horizon, yet the sky still held onto its glow—dimmer, yes, but not entirely dark.
“Just a moment…” Lynch paused as he prepared to leave with the crowd. Mr. Truman, however, showed no signs of departing. Instead, he said calmly, “If you’re bored, feel free to step outside for some fresh air. I need to speak with a few of them.”
Though most non-hot-air-balloon aircraft on display today had failed their tests, overall, there was clear progress in fixed-wing designs compared to previous years. With adequate resources and funding, he believed these inventors could soon produce something practical.
Perhaps nothing that could carry heavy payloads, but at least something suited to current military needs—a craft capable of skimming the ocean surface, scouting for hidden threats below.
Among those invited was an inventor whose creation had earned the nickname “the egg that can’t fly.” In truth, this man was one of the main reasons Mr. Truman had attended the event.
This type of aircraft, capable of vertical takeoff and landing without requiring a runway, seemed tailor-made for national defense. Compact enough to operate from limited spaces and more maneuverable than hot-air balloons, it perfectly aligned with naval strategy.
Although today’s test flight ended in failure, both Mr. Truman and the Ministry of Defense remained confident that sufficient funding would turn this concept into reality.
So, while they were willing to provide financial support to accelerate development, there were conditions.
Lynch shook his head slightly and muttered, “No problem.” He didn’t leave. Instead, he stood quietly beside Mr. Truman. Moments later, two inventors approached.
“I watched your demonstrations in full,” Mr. Truman began, his tone firm. “To be honest, I’m disappointed. This isn’t a joke. Every single one of these machines will someday require our brave young men to pilot them.”
“They may fall in battle against enemy forces—that is the highest honor any soldier can achieve—but I won’t tolerate losing them to incompetence or foolishness among our own ranks.”
The representative from the Ministry of Defense stared intently at the pair, adding pressure. One of the inventors, the creator of the spiraling rotor system, removed his glasses and muttered an apology.
“No need to apologize,” Mr. Truman replied, exuding authority. “What you must do is improve your invention…” Both inventors looked as though they wanted to say something, but Mr. Truman cut them off.
He raised a hand to silence them. “Though you failed today, I see improvement. After consulting with the representative, we’ve decided to allocate part of the military budget to further refine your designs.”
At these words, the two inventors froze, stunned. It took several seconds for the news to sink in. Their throats tightened, eyes gleaming with cautious greed as one finally managed to ask, “How much?”
“Two hundred thousand upfront for each of you. If either of you achieves breakthrough results first, we’ll grant an additional three hundred thousand in follow-up funding. But make no mistake—only one design will move forward. We only need one viable aircraft.”
“As for specific terms, the representative will discuss them with you.”
Mr. Truman’s gaze bore into the two men. “Remember this: your inventions affect the lives of young people willing to fight for their country. I don’t want them dying before they even face the enemy due to flaws in your work.”
“And if such negligence occurs, rest assured, I’ll have you court-martialed.” Without waiting for a response, he extended his hand decisively. “Goodbye, gentlemen.”
After bidding farewell, they exited the viewing area. Lynch reflected on the helicopter control panels he’d seen in the past—far more complex than anything displayed today. Given the current state of technology, he doubted anyone could develop a functional helicopter anytime soon.
Yet Mr. Truman wasn’t easily swayed by emotion or deception. Curious, Lynch asked, “I’m intrigued—how did the inventor of the spiraling rotor convince you? You know, the one claiming his machine can take off and land vertically?”
Without answering directly, Mr. Truman walked to a nearby stall selling handmade model airplanes. Handing over ten bucks, he purchased a wooden fixed-wing plane. With deliberate care, he detached the propeller, then grasped the small stick used to secure it between his palms. Rubbing quickly, he sent the propeller spinning skyward—fast, steady, and unmistakably impressive.
“That’s how he convinced me,” Mr. Truman explained, meeting Lynch’s gaze. “I consulted physicists who believe that given enough force, vertical takeoff and landing are entirely feasible.”
Lynch marveled that a simple toy like a bamboo dragonfly—a propeller on a stick—could sway Mr. Truman and the military to fund what amounted to little more than vaporware. But it underscored the fervor gripping the nation during this era of frenzied innovation.
He couldn’t help but think of the ubiquitous advertisements plastered across town: Everyday Is A New Day. Perhaps gullible investors fueled the market’s explosive growth. Shaking his head with a wry smile, Lynch dropped the subject and accompanied Mr. Truman to the next exhibit: the harpoon gun.
Harpoon guns were commonly used by coastal fishermen and lazy anglers alike. Rather than endure the slow pace of traditional fishing, some preferred scattering bait where schools of fish gathered, then lying in wait with a harpoon. Pulling the trigger brought immediate gratification—and often a large catch.
Compared to rod-and-reel fishing, harpooning offered a thrilling rush and saved time. What interested Mr. Truman, however, wasn’t the gun itself but the spear it launched.
Military officials, representatives from Vipe Industries, and other defense contractors were present to evaluate the invention comprehensively. Unlike earlier exhibitors, this inventor had already reaped the rewards of his trade. Multiple checks from the Ministry of Defense and private arms manufacturers lined his pockets. Even certain torpedo technologies supplied by Vipe Industries to the navy stemmed from his ingenuity.
Here was a textbook example of success: wealth enabling creativity, freedom from mundane labor, and the ability to indulge passions. Yet beneath the surface lay tragedy. Once inspiration dried up, bankruptcy loomed. These amateur inventors sold ideas but lacked the means to manage businesses themselves—a sad irony in a world dominated by capital.
The harpoon gun inventor demonstrated his device before a massive glass aquarium tank. Exhibitions like this repeated endlessly, save for the “one-and-done” nature of the aircraft displays.
A wiry man with a thick beard, dressed in high-waisted rubber overalls favored by southern farmers and fishermen, wiped sweat from his brow as he showcased his latest creation. Waterproof though the outfit might be, summer heat rendered it stifling; perspiration soaked through despite its protective qualities.
“…Did you see that?” he exclaimed, addressing the audience. “The process happens so quickly that not everyone notices. That’s why I captured special photographs using unique methods…”
“When our harpoon launches, the compressed air cartridge inside ejects and bursts, releasing bubbles just before the spear enters the water. This significantly boosts initial velocity upon entry…”
While Mr. Truman, the Ministry representatives, and industry delegates observed intently, Lynch struggled to grasp the significance. Still, judging by their serious expressions, the invention clearly mattered.
Uninterested, Lynch excused himself to explore the fairgrounds alone. To his surprise, he discovered that radio technology—once considered cutting-edge—had become almost commonplace. He couldn’t help admiring these grassroots scientists and inventors who constantly blurred the lines between eras.
In the liveliest corner of the fair, Lynch spotted a middle-aged man clad in avant-garde attire wearing a modified motorcycle helmet adorned with coiled wires sparking faintly with electricity. The man enthusiastically pitched his product: a device he claimed allowed users to detect brainwaves and read minds after meditating within its confines.
Two skeptical young women tested him, secretly writing notes beforehand. To their astonishment, the inventor recited their scribbles verbatim. As word spread, crowds surged forward, eager to have their thoughts revealed. No matter whom he selected, the inventor always guessed correctly.
A classic charlatan, yet people believed him fervently—as they believed mediums communed with the dead or fortune-tellers divined destinies.
It was an age of rapid scientific advancement, but also rampant fraud. Here, con artists and visionaries shared the stage. Years later, when recalling this spectacle, would these spectators laugh at its absurdity?
Or cherish it as a precious memory?
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