It's 1951. The atomic age is both miracle and menace, and everyone wants a piece of the radioactive pie. When a mysterious Doctor Velikof demonstrates a machine that can scrub radioactivity from contaminated materials, the executives at a high-stakes corporation see dollar signs. But the Director of Research smells a fraud. The Director of Operations smells a fortune. What follows is a sharp, sly tale of competing egos, scientific skepticism, and the very American temptation to believe in miracles if they pay well enough. The twist lands, and so does the critique: in a world terrified of the atom, anyone claiming to control it deserves an audience. This is pulp SF doing what it does best, holding a mirror to the anxieties of its moment with wit and sharp edges.
