Bread Overhead | Page 3

colorless substitutes were triumphantly synthesized and introduced into
the loaf, which for flawless purity, unequaled airiness and sheer
intangible goodness was rapidly becoming mankind's supreme
gustatory experience."

[Illustration]
"I wonder what the stuff tastes like," Rose Thinker said out of a clear
sky.
"I wonder what taste tastes like," Tin Philosopher echoed dreamily.
Recovering himself, he continued:
"Then, early in the twenty-first century, came the epochal researches of
Everett Whitehead, Puffyloaf chemist, culminating in his paper 'The
Structural Bubble in Cereal Masses' and making possible the baking of
airtight bread twenty times stronger (for its weight) than steel and of a
lightness that would have been incredible even to the advanced
chemist-bakers of the twentieth century--a lightness so great that,
besides forming the backbone of our own promotion, it has forever
since been capitalized on by our conscienceless competitors of Fairy
Bread with their enduring slogan: 'It Makes Ghost Toast'."
"That's a beaut, all right, that ecto-dough blurb," Rose Thinker admitted,
bugging her photocells sadly. "Wait a sec. How about?--
"There'll be bread Overhead When you're dead-- It is said."
* * * * *
Phineas T. Gryce wrinkled his nostrils at the pink machine as if he
smelled her insulation smoldering. He said mildly, "A somewhat
unhappy jingle, Rose, referring as it does to the end of the customer as
consumer. Moreover, we shouldn't overplay the figurative 'rises
through the air' angle. What inspired you?"
She shrugged. "I don't know--oh, yes, I do. I was remembering one of
the workers' songs we machines used to chant during the Big Strike--
"Work and pray, Live on hay. You'll get pie In the sky When you die--
It's a lie!
"I don't know why we chanted it," she added. "We didn't want pie--or

hay, for that matter. And machines don't pray, except Tibetan prayer
wheels."
Phineas T. Gryce shook his head. "Labor relations are another topic we
should stay far away from. However, dear Rose, I'm glad you keep
trying to outjingle those dirty crooks at Fairy Bread." He scowled,
turning back his attention to Tin Philosopher. "I get whopping mad,
Old Machine, whenever I hear that other slogan of theirs, the
discriminatory one--'Untouched by Robot Claws.' Just because they
employ a few filthy androids in their factories!"
Tin Philosopher lifted one of his own sets of bright talons. "Thanks,
P.T. But to continue my historical resume, the next great advance in the
baking art was the substitution of purified carbon dioxide, recovered
from coal smoke, for the gas generated by yeast organisms indwelling
in the dough and later killed by the heat of baking, their corpses
remaining in situ. But even purified carbon dioxide is itself a rather
repugnant gas, a product of metabolism whether fast or slow, and
forever associated with those life processes which are obnoxious to the
fastidious."
Here the machine shuddered with delicate clinkings. "Therefore, we of
Puffyloaf are taking today what may be the ultimate step toward purity:
we are aerating our loaves with the noble gas helium, an element which
remains virginal in the face of all chemical temptations and whose slim
molecules are eleven times lighter than obese carbon dioxide--yes,
noble uncontaminable helium, which, if it be a kind of ash, is yet the
ash only of radioactive burning, accomplished or initiated entirely on
the Sun, a safe 93 million miles from this planet. Let's have a cheer for
the helium loaf!"
* * * * *
Without changing expression, Phineas T. Gryce rapped the table thrice
in solemn applause, while the others bowed their heads.
"Thanks, T.P.," P.T. then said. "And now for the Moment of Truth.
Miss Winterly, how is the helium loaf selling?"

The business girl clapped on a pair of earphones and whispered into a
lapel mike. Her gaze grew abstracted as she mentally translated flurries
of brief squawks into coherent messages. Suddenly a single vertical
furrow creased her matchlessly smooth brow.
"It isn't, Mr. Gryce!" she gasped in horror. "Fairy Bread is outselling
Puffyloaves by an infinity factor. So far this morning, there has not
been one single delivery of Puffyloaves to any sales spot! Complaints
about non-delivery are pouring in from both walking stores and sessile
shops."
"Mr. Snedden!" Gryce barked. "What bug in the new helium process
might account for this delay?"
Roger was on his feet, looking bewildered. "I can't imagine, sir,
unless--just possibly--there's been some unforeseeable difficulty
involving the new metal-foil wrappers."
"Metal-foil wrappers? Were you responsible for those?"
"Yes, sir. Last-minute recalculations showed that the extra lightness of
the new loaf might be great enough to cause drift during stackage.
Drafts in stores might topple sales pyramids. Metal-foil wrappers, by
their added weight, took care of the difficulty."
"And you ordered them without consulting the Board?"
"Yes, sir. There was hardly time and--"
"Why, you fool!