There’s something like that in Heinlein’s The Man Who Sold the Moon, after the explosion of a space station and ship; in a company meeting: —⁂— “Very well. No

There’s something like that in Heinlein’s The Man Who Sold the Moon, after the explosion of a space station and ship; in a company meeting: —⁂— “Very well. Now the public relations report—let me call attention to the first item, gentlemen. The vice-president in charge recommends a schedule of annuities, benefits, scholarships and so forth for dependents of the staff of the power satellite and of the pilot of the Charon: see appendix ‘C’.” A director across from Harriman—Phineas Morgan, chairman of the food trust, Cuisine, Incorporated—protested, “What is this, Ed? Too bad they were killed of course, but we paid them skyhigh wages and carried their insurance to boot. Why the charity?” Harriman grunted. “Pay it—I so move. It’s peanuts. ‘Do not bind the mouths of the kine who tread the grain.’” “I wouldn’t call better than nine hundred thousand ‘peanuts,’” protested Morgan. “Just a minute, gentlemen—” It was the vice-president in charge of public relations, himself a director. “If you’ll look at the breakdown, Mr. Morgan, you will see that eighty-five percent of the appropriation will be used to publicize the gifts.” Morgan squinted at the figures. “Oh—why didn’t you say so? Well, I suppose the gifts can be considered unavoidable overhead, but it’s a bad precedent.” “Without them we have nothing to publicize.” “Yes, but—” —⁂— (Harriman then insists on not settling with a woman who gave birth as the satellite blew up and is suing for half a million due to birth defects, saying that in the long run any compromise or settlement would be dearer than fighting it, even with possible bad publicity; and they should buy the judge if necessary.) I greatly enjoy this story for its keen assessment of the social and business factors to such progress, through its main character Harriman. Indeed, the best science fiction does tend to contain rather a lot of social study.