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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18719-h.zip b/18719-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2f08ef --- /dev/null +++ b/18719-h.zip diff --git a/18719-h/18719-h.htm b/18719-h/18719-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7306600 --- /dev/null +++ b/18719-h/18719-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7707 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Space Tug, by Murray Leinster + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + ins.correction { + text-decoration:none; /* replace default underline.. */ + border-bottom: thin dotted gray; /* ..with delicate gray line */ + } + + ul { list-style-type: none; } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .blurb { padding: 1em 1em 1em 1em; + margin-right: 20%; + margin-left: 20%; + border: 6px ridge gray; + font-family: sans-serif; } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + font-style: italic; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .sf {font-size: small;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: + 0; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + span.ralign { position: absolute; right: 30%; top: auto;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Space Tug, by Murray Leinster + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Space Tug + +Author: Murray Leinster + +Release Date: June 29, 2006 [EBook #18719] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPACE TUG *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="blurb"><h1>30 MINUTES TO LIVE!</h1> + +<p><b>Joe Kenmore heard the airlock close +with a sickening wheeze and then a clank. In desperation +he turned toward Haney. "My God, we've +been locked out!"</b></p> + +<p><b>Through the transparent domes of their +space helmets, Joe could see a look of horror and +disbelief pass across Haney's face. But it was true! +Joe and his crew were locked out of the Space +Platform.</b></p> + +<p><b>Four thousand miles below circled the +Earth. Under Joe's feet rested the solid steel hull +of his home in outer space. But without tools there +was no hope of getting back inside. Joe looked at +his oxygen meter. It registered thirty minutes to live.</b></p> + +<p style="margin-top: 1em; font-family: serif;"><i>Space Tug</i> by Murray Leinster is an independent +sequel to the author's popular <i>Space Platform</i>, which +is also available in a <span class="smcap">Pocket Book</span> edition. Both +books were published originally by Shasta Publishers.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4><i>Of other books by Murray Leinster, +the following are science-fiction:</i></h4> + + +<p class="center"> +<sup>[A]</sup>SPACE PLATFORM<br /> +<br /> +SIDEWISE IN TIME<br /> +<br /> +MURDER MADNESS<br /> +<br /> +THE LAST SPACE SHIP<br /> +<br /> +THE LAWS OF CHANCE<br /> +(<i>anthology</i>)<br /> +<br /> +GREAT STORIES OF SCIENCE FICTION<br /> +(<i>editor</i>)<br /> +</p> + +<p class="center">[A] Published in a <span class="smcap">Pocket Book</span> edition.</p> +<hr style='width: 100%;' /> + +<div style="margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;"> +<h3 style="text-align: left;"><i>Murray Leinster</i></h3> + +<h2 style="text-align: right; border-top: 2px dashed; border-bottom: 2px dashed;">SPACE<br/>TUG</h2> + + +<p><i>Pocket Books, Inc.<br /> +New York, N. Y.<br /><br /><br /></i><span class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/pocketbook.png" width="75" height="77" alt="Pocket Book Logo" title="" /> +</span></p></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<p>This Pocket Book includes every word contained in the +original, higher-priced edition. It is printed from brand-new +plates made from completely reset, clear, easy-to-read type.</p> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> +<p class="center">No evidence has been found that the copyright of this book has been +renewed.</p> +</div> +<hr style='width: 100%;' /> + +<h3>SPACE TUG</h3> + +<p class="center sf">Shasta edition published November, 1953</p> + +<p class="center sf"><span class="smcap">Pocket Book</span> edition published January, 1955</p> +<p class="center sf">1st printing November, 1954</p> + +<p class="sf">All rights reserved. This book, or any part thereof, may not be +reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, +except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or +reviews. For information, address: Shasta Publishers, 5525 South +Blackstone Avenue, Chicago 37, Illinois.</p> + + +<p><i>Copyright, 1953, by Will F. Jenkins. This</i> <span class="smcap">Pocket Book</span> <i>edition +is published by arrangement with Shasta Publishers. Library of +Congress Catalog Card Number: 53-7292. Printed in the U. S. A.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 100%;' /> + +<p><span class="figleft" style="width: 75px;"> +<img src="images/pocketbook.png" width="75" height="77" alt="Pocket Book Logo" title="" /> +</span><i>Notice</i>: <span class="smcap">Pocket Book</span> editions are published in the United States by Pocket +Books, Inc., in Canada by Pocket Books of Canada, Ltd. Trade Marks +registered in the United States and British Patent Offices by Pocket +Books, Inc., and registered in Canada by Pocket Books of Canada, Ltd.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<h2>Contents</h2> +<div style="margin-left: 15%"><ul> +<li><a href="#c1"><b>Chapter 1</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c2"><b>Chapter 2</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c3"><b>Chapter 3</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c4"><b>Chapter 4</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c5"><b>Chapter 5</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c6"><b>Chapter 6</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c7"><b>Chapter 7</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c8"><b>Chapter 8</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c9"><b>Chapter 9</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c10"><b>Chapter 10</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#c11"><b>Chapter 11</b></a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></span></li> +</ul></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>To Joan Patricia Jenkins</i></h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c1" id="c1"></a><i>1</i></h2> + + +<p>To the world at large, of course, it was +just another day. A different sort entirely at different places +on the great, round, rolling Earth, but nothing out of the ordinary. +It was Tuesday on one side of the Date Line and +Monday on the other. It was so-and-so's wedding anniversary +and so-and-so's birthday and another so-and-so would get +out of jail today. It was warm, it was cool, it was fair, it was +cloudy. One looked forward to the future with confidence, +with hope, with uneasiness or with terror according to one's +temperament and one's geographical location and past history. +To most of the human race this was nothing whatever but just +another day.</p> + +<p>But to Joe Kenmore it was a most particular day indeed. +Here, it was the gray hour just before sunrise and already +there were hints of reddish colorings in the sky. It was chilly, +and somehow the world seemed still and breathless. To Joe, +the feeling of tensity marked this morning off from all the +other mornings of his experience.</p> + +<p>He got up and began to dress, in Major Holt's quarters back +of that giant steel half-globe called the Shed, near the town +of Bootstrap. He felt queer because he felt so much as usual. +By all the rules, he should have experienced a splendid, noble +resolution and a fiery exaltation, and perhaps even an admirable +sensation of humility and unworthiness to accomplish +what was expected of him today. And, deep enough inside, he +felt suitable emotion. But it happened that he couldn't take +time to feel things adequately today.</p> + +<p>He was much more aware that he wanted some coffee +rather badly, and that he hoped everything would go all right. +He looked out of the windows at empty, dreary desert under +the dawn sky. Today was the day he'd be leaving on a rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +important journey. He hoped that Haney and the Chief and +Mike weren't nervous. He also hoped that nobody had gotten +at the fuel for the pushpots, and that the slide-rule crew that +had calculated everything hadn't made any mistakes. He was +also bothered about the steering-rocket fuel, and he was uncomfortable +about the business of releasing the spaceship from +the launching cage. There was, too, cause for worry in the +take-off rockets—if the tube linings had shrunk there would +be some rather gruesome consequences—and there could +always be last-minute orders from Washington to delay or +even cancel everything.</p> + +<p>In short, his mind was full of strictly practical details. +He didn't have time to feel noble aspirations or sensations +of high destiny. He had a very tricky and exacting job ahead +of him.</p> + +<p>The sky was growing lighter outside. Stars faded in a +paling blue and the desert showed faint colorings. He tied his +necktie. A deep-toned keening set up off to the southward, +over the sere and dreary landscape. It was a faraway noise, +something like the lament of a mountain-sized calf bleating +for its mother. Joe took a deep breath. He looked, but saw +nothing. The noise, though, told him that there'd been no +cancellation of orders so far. He mentally uncrossed one pair +of fingers. He couldn't possibly cross fingers against all foreseeable +disasters. There weren't enough fingers—or toes +either. But it was good that so far the schedule held.</p> + +<p>He went downstairs. Major Holt was pacing up and down +the living room of his quarters. Electric lights burned, but +already the windows were brightening. Joe straightened up +and tried to look casual. Strictly speaking, Major Holt was a +family friend who happened also to be security officer here, +in charge of protecting what went on in the giant construction +Shed. He'd had a sufficiently difficult time of it in the +past, and the difficulties might keep on in the future. He +was also the ranking officer here and consequently the immediate +boss of Joe's enterprise. Today's affair was still +highly precarious. The whole thing was controversial and +uncertain and might spoil the career of somebody with stars<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +on his collar if it should fail. So nobody in the high brass +wanted the responsibility. If everything went well, somebody +suitable would take the credit and the bows. Meanwhile +Major Holt was boss by default.</p> + +<p>He looked sharply at Joe. "Morning."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, sir," said Joe. Major Holt's daughter Sally +had a sort of understanding with Joe, but the major hadn't +the knack of cordiality, and nobody felt too much at ease with +him. Besides, Joe was wearing a uniform for the first time +this morning. There were only eight such uniforms in the +world, so far. It was black whipcord, with an Eisenhower +jacket, narrow silver braid on the collar and cuffs, and a silver +rocket for a badge where a plane pilot wears his wings. It +was strictly practical. Against accidental catchings in machinery, +the trousers were narrow and tucked into ten-inch +soft leather boots, and the wide leather belt had flat loops +for the attachment of special equipment. Its width was a +brace against the strains of acceleration. Sally had had much +to do with its design.</p> + +<p>But it hadn't yet been decided by the Pentagon whether +the Space Exploration Project would be taken over by the +Army or the Navy or the Air Corps, so Joe wore no insignia +of rank. Technically he was still a civilian.</p> + +<p>The deep-toned noise to the south had become a howl, +sweeping closer and trailed by other howlings.</p> + +<p>"The pushpots are on the way over, as you can hear," said +the major detachedly, in the curious light of daybreak and +electric bulbs together. "Your crew is up and about. So far +there seems to be no hitch. You're feeling all right for the +attempt today?"</p> + +<p>"If you want the truth, sir, I'd feel better with about ten +years' practical experience behind me. But my gang and myself—we've +had all the training we can get without an actual +take-off. We're the best-trained crew to try it. I think we'll +manage."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the major. "You'll do your best."</p> + +<p>"We may have to do better than that," admitted Joe wrily.</p> + +<p>"True enough. You may." The major paused. "You're well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +aware that there are—ah—people who do not altogether like +the idea of the United States possessing an artificial satellite +of Earth."</p> + +<p>"I ought to know it," admitted Joe.</p> + +<p>The Earth's second, man-constructed moon—out in space +for just six weeks now—didn't seem nowadays like the bitterly +contested achievement it actually was. From Earth it was +merely a tiny speck of light in the sky, identifiable for what it +was only because it moved so swiftly and serenely from the +sunset toward the east, or from night's darkness into the dawn-light. +But it had been fought bitterly before it was launched. +It was first proposed to the United Nations, but even discussion +in the Council was vetoed. So the United States had built +it alone. Yet the nations which objected to it as an international +project liked it even less as a national one, and they'd +done what they could to wreck it.</p> + +<p>The building of the great steel hull now out there in emptiness +had been fought more bitterly, by more ruthless and more +highly trained saboteurs, than any other enterprise in history. +There'd been two attempts to blast it with atomic bombs. But +it was high aloft, rolling grandly around the Earth, so close +to its primary that its period was little more than four hours; +and it rose in the west and set in the east six times a day.</p> + +<p>Today Joe would try to get a supply ship up to it, a very +small rocket-driven cargo ship named Pelican One. The crew +of the Platform needed food and air and water—and especially +the means of self-defense. Today's take-off would be the first +attempt at a rocket-lift to space.</p> + +<p>"The enemies of the Platform haven't given up," said the +major formidably. "And they used spectroscopes on the Platform's +rocket fumes. Apparently they've been able to duplicate +our fuel."</p> + +<p>Joe nodded.</p> + +<p>Major Holt went on: "For more than a month Military Intelligence +has been aware that rockets were under construction +behind the Iron Curtain. They will be guided missiles, +and they will carry atom bomb heads. One or more may be +finished any day. When they're finished, you can bet that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +they'll be used against the Platform. And you will carry up the +first arms for the Platform. Your ship carries half a dozen long-range +interceptor rockets to handle any attack from Earth. It's +vitally important for them to be delivered."</p> + +<p>"They'll attack the Platform?" demanded Joe angrily. +"That's war!"</p> + +<p>"Not if they deny guilt," said the major ironically, "and if +we have nothing to gain by war. The Platform is intended to +defend the peace of the world. If it is destroyed, we won't +defend the peace of the world by going to war over it. But +while the Platform can defend itself, it is not likely that anyone +will dare to make war. So you have a very worthwhile mission. +I suggest that you have breakfast and report to the Shed. +I'm on my way there now."</p> + +<p>Joe said, "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>The major started for the door. Then he stopped. He hesitated, +and said abruptly, "If my security measures have failed, +Joe, you'll be killed. If there has been sabotage or carelessness, +it will be my fault."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, sir, that everything anybody could do—"</p> + +<p>"Everything anybody can do to destroy you has been done," +said the major grimly. "Not only sabotage, Joe, but blunders +and mistakes and stupidities. That always happens. But—I've +done my best. I suspect I'm asking your forgiveness if my best +hasn't been good enough."</p> + +<p>Then, before Joe could reply, the major went hurriedly +away.</p> + +<p>Joe frowned for a moment. It occurred to him that it must +be pretty tough to be responsible for the things that other +men's lives depend on—when you can't share their danger. +But just then the smell of coffee reached his nostrils. He +trailed the scent. There was a coffeepot steaming on the table +in the dining-room. There was a note on a plate.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Good luck. I'll see you in the Shed.</i></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"><i>Sally</i></p></div> + +<p>Joe was relieved. Sally Holt had been somewhere around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +underfoot all his life. She was a swell girl, but he was grateful +that he didn't have to talk to her just now.</p> + +<p>He poured coffee and looked at his watch. He went to the +window. The faraway howling was much nearer, and dawn +had definitely arrived. Small cloudlets in a pale blue sky were +tinted pinkish by the rising sun. Patches of yucca and mesquite +and sage out beyond the officers' quarters area stretched +away to a far-off horizon. They were now visibly different in +color from the red-yellow earth between them, and cast long, +streaky shadows. The cause of the howling was still invisible.</p> + +<p>But Joe cared nothing for that. He stared skyward, searching. +And he saw what he looked for.</p> + +<p>There was a small bright sliver of sunlight high aloft. It +moved slowly toward the east. It showed the unmistakable +glint of sunshine upon polished steel. It was the artificial satellite—a +huge steel hull—which had been built in the gigantic +Shed from whose shadow Joe looked upward. It was the size +of an ocean liner, and six weeks since some hundreds of pushpots, +all straining at once, had gotten it out of the Shed and +panted toward the sky with it. They'd gotten it twelve miles +high and speeding eastward at the ultimate speed they could +manage. They'd fired jato rockets, all at once, and so pushed +its speed up to the preposterous. Then they'd dropped away +and the giant steel thing had fired its own rockets—which made +mile-long flames—and swept on out to emptiness. Before its +rockets were consumed it was in an orbit 4,000 miles above +the Earth's surface, and it hurtled through space at something +over 12,000 miles an hour. It circled the Earth in exactly four +hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds. And it +would continue its circling forever, needing no fuel and never +descending. It was a second moon for the planet Earth.</p> + +<p>But it could be destroyed.</p> + +<p>Joe watched hungrily as it went on to meet the sun. +Smoothly, unhurriedly, serenely, the remote and twinkling +speck floated on out of sight. And then Joe went back to the +table and ate his breakfast quickly. He wolfed it. He had an +appointment to meet that minute speck some 4,000 miles out +in space. His appointment was for a very few hours hence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>He'd been training for just this morning's effort since before +the Platform's launching. There was a great box swinging in +twenty-foot gimbal rings over in the Shed. There were motors +and projectors and over two thousand vacuum tubes, relays +and electronic units. It was a space flight simulator—a descendant +of the Link trainer which once taught plane pilots how to +fly. But this offered the problems and the sensations of rocketship +control, and for many hours every day Joe and the three +members of his crew had labored in it. The simulator duplicated +every sight and sound and feeling—all but heavy acceleration—to +be experienced in the take-off of a rocketship +to space. The similitude of flight was utterly convincing. +Sometimes it was appallingly so when emergencies and catastrophes +and calamities were staged in horrifying detail for +them to learn to respond to. In six weeks they'd learned how +to handle a spaceship so far as anybody could learn on solid +ground—if the simulator was correctly built. Nobody could be +sure about that. But it was the best training that could be +devised.</p> + +<p>In minutes Joe had finished the coffee and was out of Major +Holt's quarters and headed for the Shed's nearest entrance. +The Shed was a gigantic metal structure rising out of sheer +flat desert. There were hills to the westward, but only arid +plain to the east and south and north. There was but one town +in hundreds of miles and that was Bootstrap, built to house +the workmen who'd built the Platform and the still invisible, +ferociously howling pushpots and now the small supply ships, +the first of which was to make its first trip today.</p> + +<p>The Shed seemed very near because of its monstrous size. +When he was actually at the base of its wall, it seemed to +fill half the firmament and more than half the horizon. He +went in, and felt self-conscious when the guard's eyes fell on +his uniform. There was a tiny vestibule. Then he was in the +Shed itself, and it was enormous.</p> + +<p>There were acres of wood-block flooring. There was a vast, +steel-girdered arching roof which was fifty stories high in the +center. All this size had been needed when the Space Platform +was being built. Men on the far side were merely specks, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +the rows of windows to admit light usually did no more than +make a gray twilight inside. But there was light enough today. +To the east the Shed's wall was split from top to bottom. A +colossal triangular gore had been loosened and thrust out and +rolled aside, and a doorway a hundred and fifty feet wide let +in the sunshine. Through it, Joe could see the fiery red ball +which was the sun just leaving the horizon.</p> + +<p>But there was something more urgent for him to look at. +Pelican One had been moved into its launching cage. Only +Joe, perhaps, would really have recognized it. Actually it was +a streamlined hull of steel, eighty feet long by twenty in +diameter. There were stubby metal fins—useless in space, and +even on take-off, but essential for the planned method of +landing on its return. There were thick quartz ports in the +bow-section. But its form was completely concealed now by +the attached, exterior take-off rockets. It had been shifted into +the huge cradle of steel beams from which it was to be +launched. Men swarmed about it and over it, in and out of the +launching cage, checking and rechecking every possible thing +that could make for the success of its flight to space.</p> + +<p>The other three crew-members were ready—Haney and +Chief Bender and Mike Scandia. They were especially entitled +to be the crew of this first supply ship. When the Platform +was being built, its pilot-gyros had been built by a +precision tool firm owned by Joe's father. He'd gone by plane +with the infinitely precise apparatus to Bootstrap, to deliver +and install it in the Platform. And the plane was sabotaged, +and the gyros were ruined. They'd consumed four months in +the building, and four months more for balancing with absolute +no-tolerance accuracy. The Platform couldn't wait so +long for duplicates. So Joe had improvised a method of repair. +And with Haney to devise special machine-tool setups and +the Chief to use fanatically fine workmanship, and Mike and +Joe aiding according to their gifts, they'd rebuilt the apparatus +in an impossibly short time. The original notion was Joe's, but +he couldn't have done the job without the others.</p> + +<p>And there had been other, incidental triumphs by the team +of four. They were not the only ones who worked feverishly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +for the glory of having helped to build the Earth's first artificial +moon, but they had accomplished more than most. Joe +had even been appointed to be an alternate member of the +Platform's crew. But the man he was to have substituted for +recovered from an illness, and Joe was left behind at the +Platform's launching. But all of them had rated some reward, +and it was to serve in the small ships that would supply the +man-made satellite.</p> + +<p>Now they were ready to begin. The Chief grinned exuberantly +as Joe ducked through the bars of the launching +cage and approached the ship. He was a Mohawk Indian—one +of that tribe which for two generations had supplied steel +workers to every bridge and dam and skyscraper job on the +continent. He was brown and bulky and explosive. Haney +looked tense and strained. He was tall and lean and spare, +and a good man in any sort of trouble. Mike blazed excitement. +Mike was forty-one inches high and he was full-grown. He had +worked on the Platform, bucking rivets and making welds +and inspections in places too small for a normal-sized man to +reach. He frantically resented any concessions to his size and +he was as good a man as any. He simply was the small, economy +size.</p> + +<p>"Hiya, Joe," boomed the Chief. "All set? Had breakfast?"</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. He began to ask anxious questions. About +steering-rocket fuel and the launching cage release and the +take-off rockets and the reduction valve from the air tanks—he'd +thought of that on the way over—and the short wave and +loran and radar. Haney nodded to some questions. Mike said +briskly, "I checked" to others.</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted amiably, "Look, Joe! We checked everything +last night. We checked it again this morning. I even +caught Mike polishing the ejection seats, because there wasn't +anything else to make sure of!"</p> + +<p>Joe managed a smile. The ejection seats were assuredly the +most unlikely of all devices to be useful today. They were +supposedly life-saving devices. If the ship came a cropper on +take-off, the four of them were supposed to use ejection-seats +like those supplied to jet pilots. They would be thrown clear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +of the ship and ribbon-parachutes might open and might let +them land alive. But it wasn't likely. Joe had objected to +their presence. If a feather dropped to Earth from a height of +600 miles, it would be falling so fast when it hit the atmosphere +that it would heat up and burn to ashes from pure air-friction. +It wasn't likely that they could get out of the ship if +anything went wrong.</p> + +<p>Somebody marched stiffly toward the four of them. Joe's +expression grew rueful. The Space Project was neither Army +nor Navy nor Air Corps, but something that so far was its own +individual self. But the man marching toward Joe was Lieutenant +Commander Brown, strictly Navy, assigned to the Shed +as an observer. And there were some times when he baffled +Joe. Like now.</p> + +<p>He halted, and looked as if he expected Joe to salute. Joe +didn't.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Commander Brown said, formally: "I would +like to offer my best wishes for your trip, Mr. Kenmore."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Joe.</p> + +<p>Brown smiled distantly. "You understand, of course, that I +consider navigation essentially a naval function, and it does +seem to me that any ship, including a spaceship, should be +manned by naval personnel. But I assuredly wish you good +fortune."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Joe again.</p> + +<p>Brown shook hands, then stalked off.</p> + +<p>Haney rumbled in his throat. "How come, Joe, he doesn't +wish all of us good luck?"</p> + +<p>"He does," said Joe. "But his mind's in uniform too. He's +been trained that way. I'd like to make a bet that we have him +as a passenger out to the Platform some day."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" growled Haney.</p> + +<p>There was an outrageous tumult outside the wide-open gap +in the Shed's wall. Something went shrieking by the doorway. +It looked like the magnified top half of a loaf of baker's bread, +painted gray and equipped with an air-scoop in front and a +plastic bubble for a pilot. It howled like a lost baby dragon, +its flat underside tilted up and up until it was almost vertical.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +It had no wings, but a blue-white flame spurted out of +its rear, wobbling from side to side for reasons best known to +itself. It was a pushpot, which could not possibly be called a +jet plane because it could not possibly fly. Only it did. It +settled down on its flame-spouting tail, and the sparse vegetation +burst into smoky flame and shriveled, and the thing—still +shrieking like a fog-horn in a tunnel—flopped flat forward +with a resounding <i>clank!</i> It was abruptly silent.</p> + +<p>But the total noise was not lessened. Another pushpot +came soaring wildly into view, making hysterical outcries. It +touched and banged violently to earth. Others appeared in +the air beyond the construction Shed. One flopped so hard +on landing that its tail rose in the air and it attempted a +somersault. It made ten times more noise than before—the +flame from its tail making wild gyrations—and flopped back +again with a crash. Two others rolled over on their sides after +touching ground. One ended up on its back like a tumble-bug, +wriggling.</p> + +<p>They seemed to land by hundreds, but their number was +actually in dozens. It was not until the last one was down +that Joe could make himself heard. The pushpots were jet +motors in frames and metal skin, with built-in jato rocket +tubes besides their engines. On the ground they were quite +helpless. In the air they were unbelievably clumsy. They were +actually balanced and steered by vanes in the blasts of their +jets, and they combined the absolute maximum of sheer thrust +with the irreducible minimum of flyability.</p> + +<p>Crane-trucks went out to pick them up. Joe said anxiously, +"We'd better check our flight plan again. We have to know it +absolutely!"</p> + +<p>He headed across the floor to the flight data board. He +passed the hull of another ship like his own, which was near +completion, and the bare skeletons of two others which needed +a lot of work yet. They'd been begun at distant plants and then +hauled here on monstrous trailers for completion. The wooden +mockup of the design for all the ships—in which every possible +arrangement of instruments and machinery had been +tested out—lay neglected by the Shed wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>The four stood before the flight data board. It listed the +readings every instrument should show during every instant +of the flight. The readings had been calculated with infinite +care, and Joe and the others needed to know them rather better +than they knew their multiplication tables. Once they +started out, they wouldn't have time to wonder if everything +was right for the time and place. They needed to know.</p> + +<p>They stood there, soaking up the information the board +contained, forming mental pictures of it, making as sure as +possible that any one of them would spot anything wrong the +instant it showed up, and would instantly know what had to +be done about it.</p> + +<p>A gigantic crane-truck came in through the wide doorway. +It dangled a pushpot. It rolled over to the launching cage in +which the spaceship lay and set the unwieldy metal object +against that cage. There was a <i>clank</i> as the pushpot caught +hold of the magnetic grapples. The crane went out again, passing +a second crane carrying a second pushpot. The second +beetle-like thing was presented to the cage. It stuck fast. The +crane went out for more.</p> + +<p>Major Holt came across the floor of the Shed. It took him a +long time to walk the distance from the Security offices to the +launching cage. When he got there, he looked impatiently +around. His daughter Sally came out of nowhere and blew her +nose as if she'd been crying, and pointed to the data board. +The major shrugged his shoulders and looked uneasily at her. +She regarded him with some defiance. The major spoke to her +sternly. They waited.</p> + +<p>The cranes brought in more pushpots and set them up +against the steel launching cage. The ship had been nearly +hidden before by the rocket tubes fastened outside its hull. +It went completely out of sight behind the metal monsters +banked about it.</p> + +<p>The major looked at his watch and the group about the +data board. They moved away from it and back toward the +ship. Joe saw the major and swerved over to him.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you," said the major in an official voice,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +"the invoice of your cargo. You will deliver the invoice with +the cargo and bring back proper receipts."</p> + +<p>"I hope," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"<i>We</i> hope!" said Sally in a strained tone. "Good luck, Joe!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>"There is not much to say to you," said the major without +visible emotion. "Of course the next crew will start its training +immediately, but it may be a month before another ship +can take off. It is extremely desirable that you reach the Platform +today."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Joe wrily. "I have even a personal motive to +get there. If I don't, I break my neck."</p> + +<p>The major ignored the comment. He shook hands formally +and marched away. Sally smiled up at Joe, but her eyes were +suddenly full of tears.</p> + +<p>"I—do hope everything goes all right, Joe," she said unsteadily. +"I—I'll be praying for you."</p> + +<p>"I can use some of that, too," admitted Joe.</p> + +<p>She looked at her hand. Joe's ring was on her finger—wrapped +with string on the inside of the band to make it fit. +Then she looked up again and was crying unashamedly.</p> + +<p>"I—will," she repeated. Then she said fiercely, "I don't care +if somebody's looking, Joe. It's time for you to go in the ship."</p> + +<p>He kissed her, and turned and went quickly to the peculiar +mass of clustered pushpots, touching and almost overlapping +each other.</p> + +<p>He ducked under and looked back. Sally waved. He waved +back. Then he climbed up the ladder into Pelican One's +cabin. Somebody pulled the ladder away and scuttled out of +the cage.</p> + +<p>The others were in their places. Joe slowly closed the door +from the cabin to the outer world. There was suddenly a +cushioned silence about him. Out the quartz-glass ports he +could see ahead, out the end of the cage through the monstrous +doorway to the desert beyond. Overhead he could see +the dark, girder-lined roof of the Shed. On either side, though, +he could see only the scratched, dented, flat undersides of the +pushpots ready to lift the ship upward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You can start on the pushpot motors, Haney," he said +curtly.</p> + +<p>Joe moved to his own, the pilot's seat. Haney pushed a +button. Through the fabric of the ship came the muted uproar +of a pushpot engine starting. Haney pushed another +button. Another. Another. More jet engines bellowed. The +tumult in the Shed would be past endurance, now.</p> + +<p>Joe strapped himself into his seat. He made sure that the +Chief at the steering-rocket manual controls was fastened +properly, and Mike at the radio panel was firmly belted past +the chance of injury.</p> + +<p>Haney said with enormous calm, "All pushpot motors <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: The original reads 'runing'.">running</ins>, +Joe."</p> + +<p>"Steering rockets ready," the Chief reported.</p> + +<p>"Radio operating," came from Mike. "Communications +room all set."</p> + +<p>Joe reached to the maneuver controls. He should have been +sweating. His hands, perhaps, should have quivered with tension. +But he was too much worried about too many things. +Nobody can strike an attitude or go into a blue funk while they +are worrying about things to be done. Joe heard the small +gyro motors as their speed went up. A hum and a whine and +then a shrill whistle which went up in pitch until it wasn't +anything at all. He frowned anxiously and said to Haney, +"I'm taking over the pushpots."</p> + +<p>Haney nodded. Joe took the over-all control. The roar of +engines outside grew loud on the right-hand side, and died +down. It grew thunderous to the left, and dwindled. The ones +ahead pushed. Then the ones behind. Joe nodded and wet his +lips. He said: "Here we go."</p> + +<p>There was no more ceremony than that. The noise of the +jet motors outside rose to a thunderous volume which came +even through the little ship's insulated hull. Then it grew +louder, and louder still, and Joe stirred the controls by ever so +tiny a movement.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the ship did not feel solid. It stirred a little. Joe +held his breath and cracked the over-all control of the pushpots' +speed a tiny trace further. The ship wobbled a little. Out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +the quartz-glass windows, the great door seemed to descend. +In reality the clustered pushpots and the launching cage rose +some thirty feet from the Shed floor and hovered there uncertainly. +Joe shifted the <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: The original reads 'level'.">lever</ins> that governed the vanes in the +jet motor blasts. Ship and cage and pushpots, all together, +wavered toward the doorway. They passed out of it, rocking +a little and pitching a little and wallowing a little. As a flying +device, the combination was a howling tumult and a horror. +It was an aviation designer's nightmare. It was a bad dream +by any standard.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't meant as a way to fly from one place to another +on Earth. It was the first booster stage of a three-stage rocket +aimed at outer space. It looked rather like—well—if a swarm +of bumblebees clung fiercely to a wire-gauze cage in which +lay a silver minnow wrapped in match-sticks; and if the bees +buzzed furiously and lifted it in a straining, clumsy, and altogether +unreasonable manner; and if the appearance and the +noise together were multiplied a good many thousands of +times—why—it would present a great similarity to the take-off +of the spaceship under Joe's command. Nothing like it could +be graceful or neatly controllable or even very speedy in the +thick atmosphere near the ground. But higher, it would be +another matter.</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> another matter. Once clear of the Shed, and with +flat, sere desert ahead to the very horizon, Joe threw on full +power to the pushpot motors. The clumsy-seeming aggregation +of grotesque objects began to climb. Ungainly it was, and +clumsy it was, but it went upward at a rate a jet-fighter might +have trouble matching. It wobbled, and it swung around and +around, and it tipped crazily, the whole aggregation of jet +motors and cage and burden of spaceship as a unit. But it rose!</p> + +<p>The ground dropped so swiftly that even the Shed seemed +to shrivel like a pricked balloon. The horizon retreated as if +a carpet were hastily unrolled by magic. The barometric pressure +needles turned.</p> + +<p>"Communications says our rate-of-climb is 4,000 feet a +minute and going up fast," Mike announced. "It's five.... +We're at 17,000 feet ... 18,000. We should get some eastward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +velocity at 32,000 feet. Our height is now 21,000 +feet...."</p> + +<p>There was no change in the feel of things inside the ship, +of course. Sealed against the vacuum of space, barometric +pressure outside made no difference. Height had no effect on +the air inside the ship.</p> + +<p>At 25,000 feet the Chief said suddenly: "We're pointed +due east, Joe. Freeze it?"</p> + +<p>"Right," said Joe. "Freeze it."</p> + +<p>The Chief threw a lever. The gyros were running at full +operating speed. By engaging them, the Chief had all their +stored-up kinetic energy available to resist any change of direction +the pushpots might produce by minor variations in +their thrusts. Haney brooded over the reports from the individual +engines outside. He made minute adjustments to +keep them balanced. Mike uttered curt comments into the +communicator from time to time.</p> + +<p>At 33,000 feet there was a momentary sensation as if the +ship were tilted sharply. It wasn't. The instruments denied +any change from level rise. The upward-soaring complex of +flying things had simply risen into a jet-stream, one of those +wildly rushing wind-floods of the upper atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"Eastern velocity four hundred," said Mike from the communicator. +"Now four-twenty-five.... Four-forty."</p> + +<p>There was a 300-mile-an-hour wind behind them. A tail-wind, +west to east. The pushpots struggled now to get the maximum +possible forward thrust before they rose out of that east-bound +hurricane. They added a fierce push to eastward to their +upward thrust. Mike's cracked voice reported 500 miles an +hour. Presently it was 600.</p> + +<p>At 40,000 feet they were moving eastward at 680 miles +an hour. A jet-motor cannot be rated except indirectly, but +there was over 200,000 horsepower at work to raise the spacecraft +and build up the highest possible forward speed. It +couldn't be kept up, of course. The pushpots couldn't carry +enough fuel.</p> + +<p>But they reached 55,000 feet, which is where space begins +for humankind. A man exposed to emptiness at that height will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +die just as quickly as anywhere between the stars. But it +wasn't quite empty space for the pushpots. There was still a +very, very little air. The pushpots could still thrust upward. +Feebly, now, but they still thrust.</p> + +<p>Mike said: "Communications says get set to fire jatos, Joe."</p> + +<p>"Right!" he replied. "Set yourselves."</p> + +<p>Mike flung a switch, and a voice began to chatter behind +Joe's head. It was the voice from the communications-room +atop the Shed, now far below and far behind. Mike settled +himself in the tiny acceleration-chair built for him. The Chief +squirmed to comfort in his seat. Haney took his hands from the +equalizing adjustments he had to make so that Joe's use of +the controls would be exact, regardless of moment-to-moment +differences in the thrust of the various jets.</p> + +<p>"We've got a yaw right," said the Chief sharply. "Hold it, +Joe!"</p> + +<p>Joe waited for small quivering needles to return to their +proper registrations.</p> + +<p>"Back and steady," said the Chief a moment later. "Okay!"</p> + +<p>The tinny voice behind Joe now spoke precisely. Mike had +listened to it while the work of take-off could be divided, so +that Joe would not be distracted. Now Joe had to control +everything at once.</p> + +<p>The roar of the pushpots outside the ship had long since +lost the volume and timbre of normal atmosphere. Not much +sound could be transmitted by the near-vacuum outside. But +the jet motors did roar, and the sound which was not sound at +such a height was transmitted by the metal cage as so much +pure vibration. The walls and hull of the spaceship picked up +a crawling, quivering pulsation and turned it into sound. +Standing waves set up and dissolved and moved erratically +in the air of the cabin. Joe's eardrums were strangely affected. +Now one ear seemed muted by a temporary difference of air +pressure where a standing wave lingered for a second or two. +Then the other eardrum itched. There were creeping sensations +as of things touching one and quickly moving away.</p> + +<p>Joe swung a microphone into place before his mouth.</p> + +<p>"All set," he said evenly. "Brief me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tinny voice said:</p> + +<p>"<i>You are at 65,000 feet. Your curve of rate-of-climb is +flattening out. You are now rising at near-maximum speed, and +not much more forward velocity can be anticipated. You have +an air-speed relative to surface of six-nine-two miles per hour. +The rotational speed of Earth at this latitude is seven-seven-eight. +You have, then, a total orbital speed of one-four-seven-oh +miles per hour, or nearly twelve per cent of your needed +final velocity. Since you will take off laterally and practically +without air resistance, a margin of safety remains. You are +authorized to blast.</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe said:</p> + +<p>"Ten seconds. Nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... +five ... four ... three ... two ... one...."</p> + +<p>He stabbed the master jato switch. And a monstrous jato +rocket, built into each and every one of the pushpots outside, +flared chemical fumes in a simultaneous, gigantic thrust. A +small wire-wound jato for jet-assisted-take-off will weigh a +hundred and forty pounds and deliver a thousand pounds of +thrust for fourteen seconds. And that is for rockets using nonpoisonous +compounds. The jatos of the pushpots used the +beryllium-fluorine fuel that had lifted the Platform and that +filled the take-off rockets of Joe's ship. These jatos gave the +pushpots themselves an acceleration of ten gravities, but it +had to be shared with the cage and the ship. Still....</p> + +<p>Joe felt himself slammed back into his seat with irresistible, +overwhelming force. The vibration from the jets had been bad. +Now he didn't notice it. He didn't notice much of anything but +the horrible sensations of six-gravity acceleration.</p> + +<p>It was not exactly pain. It was a feeling as if a completely +intolerable and unbearable pressure pushed at him. Not only +on the outside, like a blow, but inside too, like nothing else +imaginable. Not only his chest pressed upon his lungs, but his +lungs strained toward his backbone. Not only the flesh of his +thighs tugged to flatten itself against his acceleration-chair, +but the blood in his legs tried to flow into and burst the blood-vessels +in the back of his legs.</p> + +<p>The six-gravity acceleration seemed to endure for centuries.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +Actually, it lasted for fourteen seconds. In that time it increased +the speed of the little ship by rather more than half +a mile per second, something over 1,800 miles per hour. Before, +the ship had possessed an orbital speed of a shade over +1,470 miles an hour. After the jato thrust, it was traveling +nearly 3,400 miles per hour. It needed to travel something +over 12,000 miles per hour to reach the artificial satellite of +Earth.</p> + +<p>The intolerable thrust ended abruptly. Joe gasped. But he +could allow himself only a shake of the head to clear his brain. +He jammed down the take-off rocket firing button. There was +a monstrous noise and a mighty surging, and Haney panted, +"Clear of cage...."</p> + +<p>And then they were pressed fiercely against their acceleration +chairs again. The ship was no longer in its launching cage. +It was no longer upheld by pushpots. It was free, with its take-off +rockets flaming. It plunged on up and out. But the acceleration +was less. Nobody can stand six gravities for long. +Anybody can take three—for a while.</p> + +<p>Joe's body resisted movement with a weight of four hundred +and fifty pounds, instead of a third as much for normal. +His heart had to pump against three times the normal resistance +of gravity. His chest felt as if it had a leaden weight +on it. His tongue tried to crowd the back of his mouth and +strangle him. The sensation was that of a nightmare of impossible +duration. It was possible to move and possible to see. +One could breathe, with difficulty, and with titanic effort one +could speak. But there was the same feeling of stifling resistance +to every movement that comes in nightmares.</p> + +<p>But Joe managed to keep his eyes focused. The dials of the +instruments said that everything was right. The tinny voice +behind his head, its timbre changed by the weighting of its +diaphragm, said: "<i>All readings check within accuracy of instruments. +Good work!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe moved his eyes to a quartz window. The sky was black. +But there were stars. Bright stars against a black background. +At the same instant he saw the bright white disks of sunshine +that came in the cabin portholes. Stars and sunshine together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +And the sunshine was the sunshine of space. Even with the +polarizers cutting off some of the glare it was unbearably +bright and hot beyond conception. He smelled overheated +paint, where the sunlight smote on a metal bulkhead. Stars and +super-hot sunshine together....</p> + +<p>It was necessary to pant for breath, and his heart pounded +horribly and his eyes tried to go out of focus, but Joe Kenmore +strained in his acceleration-chair and managed to laugh +a little.</p> + +<p>"We did it!" he panted. "In case you didn't notice, we're +out of—the atmosphere and—out in space! We're—headed to +join the Space Platform!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c2" id="c2"></a><i>2</i></h2> + + +<p>The pressure of three gravities continued. +Joe's chest muscles ached with the exertion of breathing over +so long a period. Six gravities for fourteen seconds had been +a ghastly ordeal. Three gravities for minutes built up to +something nearly as bad. Joe's heart began to feel fatigue, +and a man's heart normally simply doesn't ever feel tired. It +became more and more difficult to see clearly.</p> + +<p>But he had work to do. Important work. The take-off rockets +were solid-fuel jobs, like those which launched the Platform. +They were wire-wound steel tubes lined with a very special +refractory, with unstable beryllium and fluorine compounds in +them. The solid fuel burned at so many inches per second. +The refractory crumbled away and was hurled astern at a +corresponding rate—save for one small point. The refractory +was not all exactly alike. Some parts of it crumbled away faster, +leaving a pattern of baffles which acted like a maxim silencer +on a rifle, or like an automobile muffler. The baffles set +up eddies in the gas stream and produced exactly the effect of +a rocket motor's throat. But the baffles themselves crumbled +and were flung astern, so that the solid-fuel rockets had always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +the efficiency of gas-throated rocket motors; and yet every bit +of refractory was reaction-mass to be hurled astern, and even +the steel tubes melted and were hurled away with a gain in +acceleration to the ship. Every fraction of every ounce of +rocket mass was used for drive. No tanks or pumps or burners +rode deadhead after they ceased to be useful.</p> + +<p>But solid-fuel rockets simply can't be made to burn with +absolute evenness as a team. Minute differences in burning-rates +do tend to cancel out. But now and again they reinforce +each other and if uncorrected will throw a ship off course. +Gyros can't handle such effects. So Joe had to watch his instruments +and listen to the tinny voice behind him and steer +the ship against accidental wobblings as the Earth fell away +behind him.</p> + +<p>He battled against the fatigue of continuing to live, and +struggled with gyros and steering jets to keep the ship on its +hair-line course. He panted heavily. The beating of his heart +became such a heavy pounding that it seemed that his whole +body shook with it. He had to do infinitely fine precision steering +with hands that weighed pounds and arms that weighed +scores of pounds and a body that had an effective weight of +almost a quarter of a ton.</p> + +<p>And this went on and went on and on for what seemed +several centuries.</p> + +<p>Then the voice in the speaker said thickly: "<i>Everything is +in the clear. In ten seconds you can release your rockets. Shall +I count?</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe panted, "Count!"</p> + +<p>The mechanical voice said, "<i>Seven ... six ... five ... +four ... three ... two ... one ... cut!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe pressed the release. The small, unburnt stubs of the +take-off rockets went hurtling off toward emptiness. They consumed +themselves as they went, and they attained an acceleration +of fifty gravities once they were relieved of all load +but their own substance. They had to be released lest one burn +longer than another. It was also the only way to stop acceleration +by solid-fuel rockets. They couldn't be extinguished. They +had to be released.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>From intolerably burdensome heaviness, there was abruptly +no weight at all in the ship. Joe's laboring heart beat twice +with the violence the weight had called for, though weight had +ended. It seemed to him that his skull would crack open during +those two heart-beats. Then he lay limply, resting.</p> + +<p>There was a completely incredible stillness, for a time. The +four of them panted. Haney was better off than Joe, but the +Chief was harder hit. Mike's small body had taken the strain +best of all, and he would use the fact later in shrill argument +that midgets were designed by nature to be the explorers of +space for their bulkier and less spaceworthy kindred.</p> + +<p>The ending of the steady, punishing drag was infinitely +good, but the new sensation was hardly pleasant. They had no +weight. It felt as if they and the ship about them were +falling together down an abyss which must have a bottom. +Actually, they were falling up. But they felt a physical, crawling +apprehension—a cringing from an imaginary imminent +impact.</p> + +<p>They had expected the sensation, but it was not the better +for being understood. Joe flexed and unflexed his fingers +slowly. He stirred and swallowed hastily. But the feeling persisted. +He unstrapped himself from his seat. He stood up—and +floated to the ceiling of the cabin. But there was of course +no ceiling. Every way was up and every way was down. His +stomach cramped itself in a hard knot, in the instinctive tensity +of somebody in free fall.</p> + +<p>He fended himself from the ceiling and caught at a hand-line +placed there for just this necessity to grip something. In +his absorption, he did not notice which way his heels went. +He suddenly noticed that his companions, with regard to him, +were upside down and staring at him with wooden, dazed expressions +on their faces.</p> + +<p>He tried to laugh, and gulped instead. He pulled over to the +quartz-glass ports. He did not put his hand into the sunlight, +but shifted the glare shutters over those ports which admitted +direct sunshine. Some ports remained clear. Through one of +them he saw the Earth seemingly at arm's length somewhere +off. Not up, not down. Simply out from where he was. It filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +all the space that the porthole showed. It was a gigantic mass +of white, fleecy specks and spots which would be clouds, and +between the whiteness there was a muddy dark greenish color +which would be the ocean. Yet it seemed to slide very, very +slowly past the window.</p> + +<p>He saw a tanness between the clouds, and it moved inward +from the edge of his field of view. He suddenly realized what +it was.</p> + +<p>"We've just about crossed the Atlantic," he said in a peculiar +astonishment. But it was true the ship had not been aloft +nearly as much as half an hour. "Africa's just coming into +sight below. We ought to be about 1,200 miles high and still +rising fast. That was the calculation."</p> + +<p>He looked again, and then drew himself across to the opposite +porthole. He saw the blackness of space, which was not +blackness because it was a carpet of jewels. They were infinite +in number and variations in brightness, and somehow of vastly +more colorings than one noticed from Earth.</p> + +<p>He heard the Chief grunt, and Haney gulp. He was suddenly +conscious that his legs were floating rather ridiculously +in mid-air with no particular relationship to anything. He saw +the Chief rise very cautiously, holding on to the arms of his +seat.</p> + +<p>"Better not look at the sun," said Joe, "even though I've +put on the glare-shields."</p> + +<p>The Chief nodded. The glare-shields would keep out most +of the heat and a very great deal of the ultraviolet the sun +gave off. But even so, to look at the sun directly might easily +result in a retinal sunburn which could result in blindness.</p> + +<p>The loudspeaker behind Joe's chair clattered. It had seemed +muted by the weight of its diaphragm at three gravities. Now +it blasted unintelligibly, with no weight at all. Mike threw a +switch and took the message.</p> + +<p>"Communications says radar says we're right on course, +Joe," he reported nonchalantly, "and our speed's okay. We'll +reach maximum altitude in an hour and thirty-six minutes. We +ought to be within calculated distance of the Platform then."</p> + +<p>"Good," said Joe abstractedly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>He strained his eyes at the Earth. They were moving at an +extraordinary speed and height. It had been reached by just +four human beings before them. The tannishness which was +the coast of Africa crept with astonishing slowness toward the +center of what he could see.</p> + +<p>Joe headed back to his seat. He could not walk, of course. +He floated. He launched himself with a fine air of confidence. +He misjudged. He was floating past his chair when he reached +down—and that turned his body—and fumbled wildly. He +caught hold of the back as he went by, then held on and +found himself turning a grandly dignified somersault. He +wound up in a remarkably foolish position with the back of his +neck on the back of the chair, his arms in a highly strained +position to hold him there, and his feet touching the deck of +the cabin a good five feet away.</p> + +<p>Haney looked greenish, but he said hoarsely:</p> + +<p>"Joe, don't make me laugh—not when my stomach feels like +this!"</p> + +<p>The feeling of weightlessness was unexpectedly daunting. +Joe turned himself about very slowly, with his legs floating indecorously +in entirely unintended kicks. He was breathing +hard when he pulled himself into the chair and strapped in +once more.</p> + +<p>"I'll take Communications," he told Mike as he settled his +headphones.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly, Mike switched over.</p> + +<p>"Kenmore reporting to Communications," he said briefly. +"We have ended our take-off acceleration. You have our course +and velocity. Our instruments read—"</p> + +<p>He went over the bank of instruments before him, giving +the indication of each. In a sense, this first trip of a ship out +to the Platform had some of the aspects of defusing a bomb. +Calculations were useful, but observations were necessary. He +had to report every detail of the condition of his ship and +every instrument-reading because anything might go wrong, +and at any instant. Anything that went wrong could be fatal. +So every bit of data and every intended action needed to be on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +record. Then, if something happened, the next ship to attempt +this journey might avoid the same catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Time passed. A lot of time. The feeling of unending fall +continued. They knew what it was, but they had to keep thinking +of its cause to endure it. Joe found that if his mind concentrated +fully on something else, it jerked back to panic and the +feel of falling. But the crew of the Space Platform—now out +in space for more weeks than Joe had been quarter-hours—reported +that one got partly used to it, in time. When awake, at +least. Asleep was another matter.</p> + +<p>They were 1,600 miles high and still going out and up. The +Earth as seen through the ports was still an utterly monstrous, +bulging mass, specked with clouds above vast mottlings which +were its seas and land. They might have looked for cities, but +they would be mere patches in a telescope. Their task now was +to wait until their orbit curved into accordance with that of the +Platform and they kept their rendezvous. The artificial satellite +was swinging up behind them, and was only a quarter-circle +about Earth behind them. Their speed in miles per second +was, at the moment, greater than that of the Platform. But +they were climbing. They slowed as they climbed. When +their path intersected that of the Platform, the two velocities +should be exactly equal.</p> + +<p>Major Holt's voice came on the Communicator.</p> + +<p>"<i>Joe</i>," he said harshly, "<i>I have very bad news. A message +came from Central Intelligence within minutes of your take-off. +I—ah—with Sally I had been following your progress. I did not +decode the message until now. But Central Intelligence has +definite information that more than ten days ago the—ah—enemies +of our Space Exploration Project</i>—" even on a tight +beam to the small spaceship, Major Holt did not name the +nation everybody knew was most desperately resolved to +smash space exploration by anybody but itself—"<i>completed +at least one rocket capable of reaching the Platform's orbit +with a pay-load that could be an atomic bomb. It is believed +that more than one rocket was completed. All were shipped to +an unknown launching station.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Not so good," said Joe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mike had left his post when Joe took over. Now he made +a swooping dart through the air of the cabin. The midget +showed no signs of the fumbling uncertainty the others had +displayed—but he'd been a member of a midget acrobatic +team before he went to work at the Shed. He brought himself +to a stop precisely at a hand-hold, grinning triumphantly at +the nearly helpless Chief and Haney.</p> + +<p>Major Holt said in the headphones: "<i>It's worse than that. +Radar may have told the country in question that you are on +the way up. In that case, if it's even faintly possible to blast +the Platform before your arrival with weapons for its defense, +they'll blast.</i>"</p> + +<p>"I don't like that idea," said Joe dourly. "Anything we can +do?"</p> + +<p>Major Holt laughed bitterly. "<i>Hardly!</i>" he said. "<i>And do you +realize that if you can't unload your cargo you can't get back to +Earth?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joe. "Naturally!"</p> + +<p>It was true. The purpose of the pushpots and the jatos and +the ship's own take-off rockets had been to give it a speed at +which it would inevitably rise to a height of 4,000 miles—the +orbit of the Space Platform—and stay there. It would need no +power to remain 4,000 miles out from Earth. But it would +take power to come down. The take-off rockets had been +built to drive the ship with all its contents until it attained +that needed orbital velocity. There were landing rockets fastened +to the hull now to slow it so that it could land. But just +as the take-off rockets had been designed to lift a loaded +ship, the landing-rockets had been designed to land an empty +one.</p> + +<p>The more weight the ship carried, the more power it needed +to get out to the Platform. And the more power it needed to +come down again.</p> + +<p>If Joe and his companions couldn't get rid of their cargo—and +they could only unload in the ship-lock of the Platform—they'd +stay out in emptiness.</p> + +<p>The Major said bitterly: "<i>This is all most irregular, but—here's +Sally.</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Sally's voice sounded in the headphones Joe wore. +He was relieved that Mike wasn't acting as communications +officer at the moment to overhear. But Mike was zestfully +spinning like a pin-wheel in the middle of the air of the +control cabin. He was showing the others that even in the +intramural pastimes a spaceship crew will indulge in, a midget +was better than a full-sized man. Joe said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sally?"</p> + +<p>She said unsteadily. "<i>I'm not going to waste your time +talking to you, Joe. I think you've got to figure out something. +I haven't the faintest idea what it is, but I think you can do it. +Try, will you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we're going to have to trust to luck," admitted +Joe ruefully. "We weren't equipped for anything like this."</p> + +<p>"<i>No!</i>" said Sally fiercely. "<i>If I were with you, you wouldn't +think of trusting to luck!</i>"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't want to," admitted Joe. "I'd feel responsible. +But just the same—"</p> + +<p>"<i>You're responsible now!</i>" said Sally, as fiercely as before. +"<i>If the Platform's smashed, the rockets that can reach it will +be duplicated to smash our cities in war! But if you can reach +the Platform and arm it for defense, there won't be any war! +Half the world would be praying for you, Joe, if it knew! I +can't do anything else, so I'm going to start on that right now. +But you try, Joe! You hear me?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I'll try," said Joe humbly. "Thanks, Sally."</p> + +<p>He heard a sound like a sob, and the headphones were +silent. Joe himself swallowed very carefully. It can be alarming +to be the object of an intended murder, but it can also +be very thrilling. One can play up splendidly to a dramatic +picture of doom. It is possible to be one's own audience and +admire one's own fine disregard of danger. But when other +lives depend on one, one has the irritating obligation not +to strike poses but to do something practical.</p> + +<p>Joe said somberly: "Mike, how long before we ought to +contact the Platform?"</p> + +<p>Mike reached out a small hand, caught a hand-hold, and +flicked his eyes to the master chronometer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Forty minutes, fifty seconds. Why?"</p> + +<p>Joe said wrily, "There are some rockets in enemy hands +which can reach the Platform. They were shipped to launchers +ten days ago. You figure what comes next."</p> + +<p>Mike's wizened face became tense and angry. Haney +growled, "They smash the Platform before we get to it."</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh!" said Mike instantly. "They smash the Platform +<i>when</i> we get to it! They smash us both up together. Where'll +we be at contact-time, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"Over the Indian Ocean, south of the Bay of Bengal, to be +exact," said Joe. "But we'll be moving fast. The worst of it is +that it's going to take time to get in the airlock and unload +our guided missiles and get them in the Platform's launching-tubes. +I'd guess an hour. One bomb should get both of us +above the Bay of Bengal, but we won't be set to launch a +guided missile in defense until we're nearly over America +again."</p> + +<p>The Chief said sourly, "Yeah. Sitting ducks all the way +across the Pacific!"</p> + +<p>"We'll check with the Platform," said Joe. "See if you can +get them direct, Mike, will you?"</p> + +<p>Then something occurred to him. Mike scrambled back to +his communication board. He began feverishly to work the +computer which in turn would swing the tight-beam transmitter +to the target the computer worked out, He threw a +switch and said sharply, "Calling Space Platform! Pelican +One calling Space Platform! Come in, Space Platform!..." +He paused. "Calling Space Platform...."</p> + +<p>Joe had a slide-rule going on another problem. He looked +up, his expression peculiar.</p> + +<p>"A solid-fuel rocket can start off at ten gravities acceleration," +he said quietly, "and as its rockets burn away it can +go up a lot higher than that. But 4,000 miles is a long way +to go straight up. If it isn't launched yet—"</p> + +<p>Mike snapped into a microphone: "Right!" To Joe he said, +"Space Platform on the wire."</p> + +<p>Joe heard an acknowledgment in his headphones. "I've +just had word from the Shed," he explained carefully, "that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +there may be some guided missiles coming up from Earth +to smash us as we meet. You're still higher than we are, +and they ought to be starting. Can you pick up anything with +your radar?"</p> + +<p>The voice from the Platform said: "<i>We have picked something +up. There are four rockets headed out from near the +sunset-line in the Pacific. Assuming solid-fuel rockets like we +used and you used, they are on a collision course.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Are you doing anything about them?" asked Joe absurdly.</p> + +<p>The voice said caustically: "<i>Unfortunately, we've nothing to +do anything with.</i>" It paused. "<i>You, of course, can use the +landing-rockets you still possess. If you fire them immediately, +you will pass our scheduled meeting-place some hundreds of +miles ahead of us. You will go on out to space. You may set +up an orbit forty-five hundred or even five thousand miles +out, and wait there for rescue.</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe said briefly: "We've air for only four days. That's no +good. It'll be a month before the next ship can be finished +and take off. There are four rockets coming up, you say?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Yes.</i>" The voice changed. It spoke away from the microphone. +"<i>What's that?</i>" Then it returned to Joe. "<i>The four +rockets were sent up at the same instant from four separate +launching sites. Probably as many submarines at the corners +of a hundred-mile square, so an accident to one wouldn't set +off the others. They'll undoubtedly converge as they get +nearer to us.</i>"</p> + +<p>"I think," said Joe, "that we need some luck."</p> + +<p>"<i>I think</i>," said the caustic voice, "<i>that we've run out of it.</i>"</p> + +<p>There was a click. Joe swallowed again. The three members +of his crew were looking at him.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's fired rockets out from Earth," said Joe carefully. +"They'll curve together where we meet the Platform, +and get there just when we do."</p> + +<p>The Chief rumbled. Haney clamped his jaws together. +Mike's expression became one of blazing hatred.</p> + +<p>Joe's mind went rather absurdly to the major's curious, +almost despairing talk in his quarters that morning, when +he'd spoken of a conspiracy to destroy all the hopes of men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +The firing of rockets at the Platform was, of course, the work +of men acting deliberately. But they were—unconsciously—trying +to destroy their own best hopes. For freedom, certainly, +whether or not they could imagine being free. But +the Platform and the space exploration project in general +meant benefits past computing for everybody, in time. To +send ships into space for necessary but dangerous experiments +with atomic energy was a purpose every man should +want to help forward. To bring peace on Earth was surely +an objective no man could willingly or sanely combat. And +the ultimate goal of space travel was millions of other planets, +circling other suns, thrown open to colonization by humanity. +That prospect should surely fire every human being with +enthusiasm. But something—and the more one thought about +it the more specific and deliberate it seemed to be—made +it necessary to fight desperately against men in order to benefit +them.</p> + +<p>Joe swallowed again. It would have been comforting to be +dramatic in this war against stupidity and malice and blindness. +Especially since this particular battle seemed to be +lost. One could send back an eloquent, defiant message to +Earth saying that the four of them did not regret their journey +into space, though they were doomed to be killed by the +enemies of their country. It could have been a very pretty +gesture. But Joe happened to have a job to do. Pretty gestures +were not a part of it. He had no idea how to do it. So he said +rather sickishly:</p> + +<p>"The Platform told me we could fire our landing-rockets +as additional take-off rockets and get out of the way. Of +course we've got missiles of our own on board, but we can't +launch or control them. Absolutely the only thing we can +choose to do or not do is fire those rockets. I'm open to suggestions +if anybody can think of a way to make them useful."</p> + +<p>There was silence. Joe's reasoning was good enough. When +one can't do what he wants, one tries to make what he can +do produce the results he wants. But it didn't look too +promising here. They could fire the rockets now, or later, +or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>An idea came out of the blue. It wasn't a good idea, but +it was the only one possible under the circumstances. There +was just one distinctly remote possibility. He told the others +what it was. Mike's eyes flamed. The Chief nodded profoundly. +Haney said with some skepticism, "It's all we've got. +We've got to use it."</p> + +<p>"I need some calculations. Spread. Best time of firing. +That sort of thing. But I'm worried about calling back in +the clear. A beam to the Platform will bounce and might be +picked up by the enemy."</p> + +<p>The Chief grinned suddenly. "I've got a trick for that, Joe. +There's a tribesman of mine in the Shed. Get Charley Red +Fox to the phone, guy, and we'll talk privately!"</p> + +<p>The small spaceship floated on upward. It pointed steadfastly +in the direction of its motion. The glaring sunshine +which at its take-off had shone squarely in its bow-ports, +now poured down slantingly from behind. The steel plates +of the ship gleamed brightly. Below it lay the sunlit Earth. +Above and about it on every hand were a multitude of stars. +Even the moon was visible as the thinnest of crescents against +the night of space.</p> + +<p>The ship climbed steeply. It was meeting the Platform after +only half a circuit of Earth, while the Platform had climbed +upward for three full revolutions. Earth was now 3,000 miles +below and appeared as the most gigantic of possible solid +objects. It curved away and away to mistiness at its horizons, +and it moved visibly as the spaceship floated on.</p> + +<p>Invisible microwaves flung arrowlike through emptiness. +They traveled for thousands of miles, spreading as they traveled, +and then struck the strange shape of the Platform. They +splashed from it. Some of them rebounded to Earth, where +spies and agents of foreign powers tried desperately to make +sense of the incredible syllables. They failed.</p> + +<p>There was a relay system in operation now, from spaceship +to Platform to Earth and back again. In the ship Chief +Bender, Mohawk and steelman extraordinary, talked to the +Shed and to one Charley Red Fox. They talked in Mohawk, +which is an Algonquin Indian language, agglutinative, complicated,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +and not to be learned in ten easy lessons. It was not +a language which eavesdroppers were likely to know as a matter +of course. But it was a language by which computations +could be asked for, so that a very forlorn hope might be +attempted with the best possible chances of success.</p> + +<p>Naturally, none of this appeared in the look of things. The +small ship floated on and on. It reached an altitude of 3,500 +miles. The Earth was visibly farther away. Behind the ship +the Atlantic with its stately cloud-formations was sunlit to +the very edge of its being. Ahead, the edge of night appeared +beyond India. And above, the Platform appeared as +a speck of molten light, quarter-illuminated by the sun +above it.</p> + +<p>Spaceship and Platform moved on toward a meeting place. +The ship moved a trifle faster, because it was climbing. The +speeds would match exactly when they met. The small torpedo-shaped +shining ship and the bulging glowing metal +satellite floated with a seeming vast deliberation in emptiness, +while the most gigantic of possible round objects filled all +the firmament beneath them. They were 200 miles apart. It +seemed that the huge Platform overtook the shining ship. It +did. They were only 50 miles apart and still closing in.</p> + +<p>By that time the twilight band of Earth's surface was +nearly at the center of the planet, and night filled more than +a quarter of its disk.</p> + +<p>By that time, too, even to the naked eye through the ports +of the supply-ship the enemy rockets had become visible. +They were a thin skein of threads of white vapor which +seemed to unravel in nothingness. The vapor curled and +expanded preposterously. It could just be seen to be jetting +into existence from four separate points, two a little ahead +of the others. They came out from Earth at a rate which +seemed remarkably deliberate until one saw with what fury +the rocket-fumes spat out to form the whitish threads. Then +one could guess at a three-or even four-stage launching series, +so that what appeared to be mere pinpoints would really be +rockets carrying half-ton atomic warheads with an attained +velocity of 10,000 miles per hour and more straight up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>The threads unraveled in a straight line aimed at the two +metal things floating in emptiness. One was small and streamlined, +with inadequate landing-rockets clamped to its body +and with stubby fins that had no possible utility out of air. +The other was large and clumsy to look at, but very, very +stately indeed in its progress through the heavens. They +floated smoothly toward a rendezvous. The rockets from +Earth came ravening to destroy them at the instant of their +intersection.</p> + +<p>The little spaceship turned slowly. Its rounded bow had +pointed longingly at the stars. Now it tilted downward. Its +direction of movement did not change, of course. In the +absence of air, it could tumble indefinitely without any ill +effect. It was in a trajectory instead of on a course, though +presently the trajectory would become an orbit. But it pointed +nose-down toward the Earth even as it continued to hurtle +onward.</p> + +<p>The great steel hull and the small spaceship were 20 miles +apart. An infinitesimal radar-bowl moved on the little ship. +Tight-beam waves flickered invisibly between the two craft. +The rockets raged toward them.</p> + +<p>The ship and the Platform were 10 miles apart. The rockets +were now glinting missiles leaping ahead of the fumes that +propelled them.</p> + +<p>The ship and the Platform were two miles apart. The +rockets rushed upward.... There were minute corrections +in their courses. They converged....</p> + +<p>Flames leaped from the tiny ship. Its landing-rockets +spouted white-hot flame and fumes more thick and coiling +than even the smoke of the bombs. The little ship surged +momentarily toward the racing monsters. And then——</p> + +<p>The rockets which were supposed to let the ship down to +Earth flew free—flung themselves unburdened at the rockets +which came with deadly intent to the meeting of the two +Earth spacecraft.</p> + +<p>The landing-rockets plunged down at forty gravities or +better. They were a dwindling group of infinitely bright sparks +which seemed to group themselves more closely as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +dwindled. They charged upon the attacking robot things. +They were unguided, of necessity, but the robot bombs had +to be equipped with proximity fuses. No remote control +could be so accurate as to determine the best moment for +detonation at 4,000 miles' distance. So the war rockets had +to be devised to explode when near anything which reflected +their probing radar waves. They had to be designed to be +triggered by anything in space.</p> + +<p>And the loosed landing-rockets plunged among them.</p> + +<p>They did not detonate all at once. That was mathematically +impossible. But no human eye could detect the delay. Four +close-packed flares of pure atomic fire sprang into being between +the Platform and Earth. Each was brighter than the +sun. For the fraction of an instant there was no night where +night had fallen on the Earth. For thousands of miles the +Earth glowed brightly.</p> + +<p>Then there was a twisting, coiling tumult of incandescent +gases, which were snatched away by nothingness and ceased +to be.</p> + +<p>Then there were just two things remaining in the void. One +was the great, clumsy, shining Platform, gigantic in size to +anything close by. The other was the small spaceship which +had climbed to it and fought for it and defended it against +the bombs from Earth.</p> + +<p>The little ship now had a slight motion away from the +Platform, due to the instant's tugging by its rockets before +they were released.</p> + +<p>It turned about in emptiness. Its steering-rockets spouted +smoke. It began to cancel out its velocity away from the Platform, +and to swim slowly and very carefully toward it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c3" id="c3"></a><i>3</i></h2> + + +<p>Making actual contact with the platform was +not a matter for instruments and calculations. It had to be +done directly—by hand, as it were. Joe watched out the ports<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +and played the controls of the steering jets with a nerve-racked +precision. His task was not easy.</p> + +<p>Before he could return to the point of rendezvous, the blinding +sunlight on the Platform took on a tinge of red. It was the +twilight-zone of the satellite's orbit, when for a time the +sunlight that reached it was light which had passed through +Earth's atmosphere and been bent by it and colored crimson +by the dust in Earth's air. It glowed a fiery red, and the color +deepened, and then there was darkness.</p> + +<p>They were in Earth's shadow. There were stars to be seen, +but no sun. The Moon was hidden, too. And the Earth was a +monstrous, incredible, abysmal blackness which at this first +experience of its appearance produced an almost superstitious +terror. Formerly it had seemed a distant but sunlit world, +flecked with white clouds and with sprawling differentiations +of color beneath them.</p> + +<p>Now it did not look like a solid thing at all. It looked like +a hole in creation. One could see ten thousand million stars +of every imaginable tint and shade. But where the Earth +should be there seemed a vast nothingness. It looked like an +opening to annihilation. It looked like the veritable Pit of +Darkness which is the greatest horror men have ever imagined, +and since those in the ship were without weight it +seemed that they were falling into it.</p> + +<p>Joe knew better, of course. So did the others. But that was +the look of things, and that was the feeling. One did not feel +in danger of death, but of extinction—which, in cold fact, is +very much worse.</p> + +<p>Lights glowed on the outside of the Platform to guide the +supply ship to it. There were red and green and blue and +harsh blue-white electric bulbs. They were bright and distinct, +but the feeling of loneliness above that awful appearance +of the Pit was appalling. No small child alone at +night had ever so desolate a sensation of isolation as the +four in the small ship.</p> + +<p>But Joe painstakingly played the buttons of the steering-rocket +control board. The ship surged, and turned, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +surged forward again. Mike, at the communicator, said, "They +say slow up, Joe."</p> + +<p>Joe obeyed, but he was tense. Haney and the Chief were +at other portholes, looking out. The Chief said heavily, +"Fellas, I'm going to admit I never felt so lonesome in my +life!"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I've got you fellows with me!" Haney admitted +guiltily.</p> + +<p>"The job's almost over," said Joe.</p> + +<p>The ship's own hull, outside the ports, glowed suddenly +in a light-beam from the Platform. The small, brief surges +of acceleration which sent the ship on produced tremendous +emotional effects. When the Platform was only one mile +away, Haney switched on the ship's searchlights. They +stabbed through emptiness with absolutely no sign of their +existence until they touched the steel hull of the satellite.</p> + +<p>Mike said sharply: "Slow up some more, Joe."</p> + +<p>He obeyed again. It would not be a good idea to ram the +Platform after they had come so far to reach it.</p> + +<p>They drifted slowly, slowly, slowly toward it. The monstrous +Pit of Darkness which was the night side of Earth +seemed almost about to engulf the Platform. They were a few +hundred feet higher than the great metal globe, and the +blackness was behind it. They were a quarter of a mile away. +The distance diminished.</p> + +<p>A thin straight line seemed to grow out toward them. There +was a small, bulb-like object at its end. It reached out farther +than was at all plausible. Nothing so slender should +conceivably reach so far without bending of its own weight. +But of course it had no weight here. It was a plastic flexible +hose with air pressure in it. It groped for the spaceship.</p> + +<p>The four in the ship held their breaths.</p> + +<p>There was a loud, metallic <i>clank!</i></p> + +<p>Then it was possible to feel the ship being pulled toward +the Platform by the magnetic grapple. It was a landing-line. +It was the means by which the ship would be docked in the +giant lock which had been built to receive it.</p> + +<p>As they drew near, they saw the joints of the plating of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +the Platform. They saw rivets. There was the huge, 30-foot +doorway with its valves swung wide. Their searchlight beam +glared into it. They saw the metal floor, and the bulging +plastic sidewalls, restrained by nets. They saw the inner lock-door. +It seemed that men should be visible to welcome them. +There were none.</p> + +<p>The airlock swallowed them. They touched against something +solid. There were more clankings. They seemed to +crunch against the metal floor—magnetic flooring-grapples. +Then, in solid contact with the substance of the Platform, +they heard the sounds of the great outer doors swinging +shut. They were within the artificial satellite of Earth. It +was bright in the lock, and Joe stared out the cabin ports +at the quilted sides. There was a hissing of air, and he saw +a swirling mist, and then the bulges of the sidewall sagged. +The air pressure gauge was spinning up toward normal sea-level +air pressure.</p> + +<p>Joe threw the ready lever of the steering rockets to <i>Off</i>. +"We're landed."</p> + +<p>There was silence. Joe looked about him. The other three +looked queer. It would have seemed natural for them to rejoice +on arriving at their destination. But somehow they +didn't feel that they had.</p> + +<p>Joe said wrily, "It seems that we ought to weigh something, +now we've got here. So we feel queer that we don't. Shoes, +Mike?"</p> + +<p>Mike peeled off the magnetic-soled slippers from their +place on the cabin wall. He handed them out and opened +the door. A biting chill came in it. Joe slipped on the shoe-soles +with their elastic bands to hold them. He stepped out +the door.</p> + +<p>He didn't land. He floated until he reached the sidewall. +Then he pulled himself down by the netting. Once he +touched the floor, his shoes seemed to be sticky. The net +and the plastic sidewalls were, of course, the method by which +a really large airlock was made practical. When this ship was +about to take off again, pumps would not labor for hours to +pump the air out. The sidewalls would inflate and closely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +enclose the ship's hull, and so force the air in the lock back +into the ship. Then the pumps would work on the air behind +the inflated walls—with nets to help them draw the wall-stuff +back to let the ship go free. The lock could be used with +only fifteen minutes for pumping instead of four hours.</p> + +<p>The door in the back of the lock clanked open. Joe tried +to walk toward it. He discovered his astounding clumsiness. +To walk in magnetic-soled shoes in weightlessness requires +a knack. When Joe lifted one foot and tried to swing the +other forward, his body tried to pivot. When he lifted his +right foot, he had to turn his left slightly inward. His arms +tried to float absurdly upward. When he was in motion and +essayed to pause, his whole body tended to continue forward +with a sedate toppling motion that brought him down flat +on his face. He had to put one foot forward to check himself. +He seemed to have no sense of balance. When he stood +still—his stomach queasy because of weightlessness—he found +himself tilting undignifiedly forward or back—or, with equal +unpredictability, sidewise. He would have to learn an entirely +new method of walking.</p> + +<p>A man came in the lock, and Joe knew who it was. Sanford, +the senior scientist of the Platform's crew. Joe had seen him +often enough on the television screen in the Communications +Room at the Shed. Now Sanford looked nerve-racked, +but his eyes were bright and his expression sardonic.</p> + +<p>"My compliments," he said, his voice tight with irony, "for +a splendidly futile job well done! You've got your cargo +invoice?"</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. Sanford held out his hand. Joe fumbled in his +pocket and brought out the yellow sheet.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to introduce my crew," said Joe. "This is Haney, +and Chief Bender, and Mike Scandia." He waved his hand, +and his whole body wobbled unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"We'll know each other!" said Sanford sardonically. "Our +first job is more futility—to get the guided missiles you've +brought us into the launching tubes. A lot of good they'll do!"</p> + +<p>A huge plate in the roof of the lock—but it was not up +or down or in any particular direction—withdrew itself. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +man floated through the opening and landed on the ship's +hull; another man followed him.</p> + +<p>"Chief," said Joe, "and Haney. Will you open the cargo +doors?"</p> + +<p>The two swaying figures moved to obey, though with erratic +clumsiness. Sanford called sharply: "Don't touch the hull without +gloves! If it isn't nearly red-hot from the sunlight, it'll be +below zero from shadow!"</p> + +<p>Joe realized, then, the temperature effects the skin on his +face noticed. A part of the spaceship's hull gave off heat like +that of a panel heating installation. Another part imparted +a chill.</p> + +<p>Sanford said unpleasantly, "You want to report your +heroism, eh? Come along!"</p> + +<p>He clanked to the doorway by which he had entered. Joe +followed, and Mike after him.</p> + +<p>They went out of the lock. Sanford suddenly peeled off +his metal-soled slippers, put them in his pocket, and dived +casually into a four-foot metal tube. He drifted smoothly +away along the lighted bore, not touching the sidewalls. He +moved in the manner of a dream, when one floats with infinite +ease and precision in any direction one chooses.</p> + +<p>Joe and Mike did not share his talent. Joe launched himself +after Sanford, and for perhaps 20 or 30 feet the lighted +aluminum sidewall of the tube sped past him. Then his +shoulder rubbed, and he found himself skidding to an undignified +stop, choking the bore. Mike thudded into him.</p> + +<p>"I haven't got the hang of this yet," said Joe apologetically.</p> + +<p>He untangled himself and went on. Mike followed him, +his expression that of pure bliss. He was a tiny man, was Mike, +but he had the longings and the ambitions of half a dozen +ordinary-sized men in his small body. And he had known +frustration. He could prove by mathematics that space exploration +could be carried on by midgets at a fraction of the +cost and risk of the same job done by normal-sized men. +He was, of course, quite right. The cabins and air and food +supplies for a spaceship's crew of midgets would cost and +weigh a fraction of similar equipment for six-footers. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +people simply weren't interested in sending midgets out +into space.</p> + +<p>But Mike had gotten here. He was in the Space Platform. +There were full-sized men who would joyfully have changed +places with him, forty-one inch height and all. So Mike was +blissful.</p> + +<p>The tube ended and Joe bounced off the wall that faced +its end. Sanford was waiting. He grinned with more than a +hint of spite.</p> + +<p>"Here's our communications room," he said. "Now you +can talk down to Earth. It'll be relayed, now, but in half an +hour you can reach the Shed direct."</p> + +<p>He floated inside. Joe followed cautiously. There was +another crew member on duty there. He sat before a group +of radar screens, with thigh grips across his legs to hold +him in his chair. He turned his head and nodded cheerfully +enough.</p> + +<p>"Here!" snapped Sanford.</p> + +<p>Joe clambered awkwardly to the seat the senior crew member +pointed out. He made his way to it by handholds on the +walls. He fumbled into the chair and threw over the curved +thigh grips that would hold him in place.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was oriented. He had seen this room before—before +the Platform was launched. True, the man at the +radar screens was upside-down with reference to himself, +and Sanford had hooked a knee negligently around the arm +of a firmly anchored chair with his body at right angles to +Joe's own, but at least Joe knew where he was and what +he was to do.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead and report," said Sanford sardonically. "You +might tell them that you heroically destroyed the rockets +that attacked us, and that your crew behaved splendidly, and +that you have landed in the Space Platform and the situation +is well in hand. It isn't, but it will make nice headlines."</p> + +<p>Joe said evenly, "Our arrival's been reported?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Sanford, grinning. "Obviously the radar down +on Earth—shipboard ones on this hemisphere, of course—have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +reported that the Platform still exists. But we haven't +communicated since the bombs went off. They probably +think we had so many punctures that we lost all our air +and are all wiped out. They'll be glad to hear from you that +we aren't."</p> + +<p>Joe threw a switch, frowning. This wasn't right. Sanford +was the senior scientist on board and hence in command, +because he was best-qualified to direct the scientific observations +the Platform was making. But there was something +specifically wrong.</p> + +<p>The communicator hummed. A faint voice sounded. It +swelled to loudness. "Calling Space Platform! <i>Calling Space +Platform!</i> <span class="smcap">CALLING SPACE PLATFORM</span>!" Joe turned down the +volume. He said into the microphone:</p> + +<p>"Space Platform calling Earth. Joe Kenmore reporting. We +have made contact with the Platform and completed our +landing. Our cargo is now being unloaded. Our landing rockets +had to be expended against presumably hostile bombs, and +we are now unable to return to Earth. The ship and the +Platform, however, are unharmed. I am now waiting for +orders. Report ends."</p> + +<p>He turned away from the microphone. Sanford said sharply, +"Go on! Tell them what a hero you are!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to help unload my ship," Joe said shortly. "You +report what you please."</p> + +<p>"Get back at that transmitter!" shouted Sanford furiously. +"Tell 'em you're a hero! Tell 'em you're wonderful! I'll tell +'em how useless it is!"</p> + +<p>Joe saw the other man in the room, the man at the radar +screens, shake his head. He got up and fumbled his way along +the wall to the door. Sanford shouted after him angrily.</p> + +<p>Joe went out, found the four-foot tunnel, and floated not +down but along it back to the unloading lock. Wordlessly, +he set to work to get the cargo out of the cargo hold of the +spaceship.</p> + +<p>Handling objects in weightlessness which on Earth would +be heavy was an art in itself. Two men could move tons. +It needed only one man to start a massive crate in motion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +However, one had either to lift or push an object in the exact +line it was to follow. To thrust hard for a short time produced +exactly the same effect as to push gently for a longer period. +Anything floated tranquilly in the line along which it was +moved. The man who had to stop it, though, needed to use +exactly as much energy as the man who sent it floating. He +needed to check the floating thing in exactly the same line. +If one tried to stop a massive shipment from one side, he +would topple into it and he and the crate together would go +floundering helplessly over each other.</p> + +<p>The Chief had gone off to help maneuver two-ton guided +missiles into launching tubes. One crew member remained +with Haney, unloading things that would have had to be +handled with cranes on Earth. Joe found himself needed most +in the storage chamber. A crate floated from the ship to the +crewman. Standing head downward, he stopped its original +movement, braced himself, and sent it floating to Joe. He +braced himself, stopped its flight, and very slowly—to move +fast with anything heavy in his hands would pull his feet +from the floor—set it on a stack of similar objects which +would presently be fastened in place.</p> + +<p>Everything had to be done in slow motion, or one would +lose his footing. Joe worked painstakingly. He gradually +began to understand the process. But the muscles of his +stomach ached because of their continuous, instinctive cramp +due to the sensation of unending fall.</p> + +<p>Mike floated through the hatchway from the lock. He +twisted about as he floated, and his magnetized soles clanked +to a deft contact with the wall. He said calmly: "That guy +Sanford has cracked up. He's potty. If this were jail he'd be +stir-crazy. He's yelling into the communicator now that we'll +all be dead in a matter of days, and the rocket missiles we +brought up won't help. He's nasty about it, too!"</p> + +<p>Haney called from the cargo space of the ship in the lock: +"All empty here! We're unloaded."</p> + +<p>There were sounds as he closed the cargo doors. Haney, +followed by the Chief, came into view, floating as Mike had +done. But he didn't land as skillfully. He touched the wall on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +his hands and knees and bounced away and tried helplessly +to swim to a hand-hold. It would have been funny except that +Joe was in no mood for humor.</p> + +<p>Mike whipped off his belt and flipped the end of it to +Haney. He caught it and was drawn gently to the wall. +Haney's shoes clicked to a hold. The Chief landed more +expertly.</p> + +<p>"We need wings here," he said ruefully. "You reported, +Joe?"</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. He turned to Brent, the crew member who'd +been unloading. He knew him too, from their two-way video +conversations.</p> + +<p>"Sanford does act oddly," he said uncomfortably. "When +he met me in the lock he said our coming was useless. He +talked about the futility of everything while I reported. He +sounds like he sneers at every possible action as useless."</p> + +<p>"Most likely it is," Brent said mildly. "Here, anyhow. It +does look as if we're going to be knocked off. But Sanford's +taking it badly. The rest of us have let him act as he pleased +because it didn't seem to matter. It probably doesn't, except +that he's annoying."</p> + +<p>Mike said truculently, "We won't be knocked off! We've +got rockets of our own up here now! We can fight back if +there's another attack!"</p> + +<p>Brent shrugged. His face was young enough, but deeply +lined. He said as mildly as before: "Your landing rockets set +off four bombs on the way from Earth. You brought us six +more rocket missiles. How many bombs can we knock down +with them?"</p> + +<p>Joe blinked. It was a shock to realize the facts of life in an +artificial satellite. If it could be reached by bombs from +Earth, the bombs could be reached by guided missiles from +the satellite. But it would take one guided missile to knock +down one bomb—with luck.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Joe slowly. "We can handle just six more +bombs from Earth."</p> + +<p>"Six in the next month," agreed Brent wrily. "It'll be that +long before we get more. Somebody sent up four bombs today.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +Suppose they send eight next time? Or simply one a day +for a week?"</p> + +<p>Mike made an angry noise. "The seventh bomb shot at us +knocks us out! We're sitting ducks here too!"</p> + +<p>Brent nodded. He said mildly:</p> + +<p>"Yes. The Platform can't be defended against an indefinite +number of bombs from Earth. Of course the United States +could go to war because we've been shot at. But would that do +us any good? We'd be shot down in the war."</p> + +<p>Joe said distastefully, "And Sanford's cracked up because +he knows he's going to be killed?"</p> + +<p>Brent said earnestly. "Oh, no! He's a good scientist! But he's +always had a brilliant mind. Poor devil, he's never failed at +anything in all his life until now! Now he <i>has</i> failed. He's +going to be killed, and he can't think of any way to stop it. +His brains are the only things he's ever believed in, and now +they're no good. He can't accept the idea that he's stupid, so +he has to believe that everything else is. It's a necessity for +him. Haven't you known people who had to think everybody +else was stupid to keep from knowing that they were themselves?"</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. He waited.</p> + +<p>"Sanford," said Brent earnestly, "simply can't adjust to the +discovery that he's no better than anybody else. That's all. +He was a nice guy, but he's not used to frustration and he can't +take it. Therefore he scorns everything that frustrates him—and +everything else, by necessity. He'll be scornful about getting +killed when it happens. But waiting for it is becoming +intolerable to him."</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch. He said apologetically, "I'm the +crew psychologist. That's why I speak so firmly. In five minutes +we're due to come out of the Earth's shadow into sunshine +again. I'd suggest that you come to watch. It's good to look +at."</p> + +<p>He did not wait for an answer. He led the way. And the +others followed in a strange procession. Somehow, automatically, +they fell into single file, and they moved on their +magnetic-soled slippers toward a passage tube in one wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +Their slipper soles clanked and clicked in an erratic rhythm. +Brent walked with the mincing steps necessary for movement +in weightlessness. The others imitated him. Their hands no +longer hung naturally by their sides, but tended to make extravagant +gestures with the slightest muscular impulse. They +swayed extraordinarily as they walked. Brent was a slender +figure, and Joe was more thick-set, and Haney was taller, and +lean. The burly Chief and the forty-one inch figure of Mike +the midget followed after them. They made a queer procession +indeed.</p> + +<p>Minutes later they were in a blister on the skin of the +Platform. There were quartz glass ports in the sidewall. Outside +the glass were metal shutters. Brent served out dense +goggles, almost black, and touched the buttons that opened +the steel port coverings.</p> + +<p>They looked into space. The dimmer stars were extinguished +by the goggles they wore. The brighter ones seemed faint and +widely spaced. Beneath their feet as they held to handrails +lay the featureless darkness of Earth. But before them and +very far away there was a vast, dim arch of deepest red.</p> + +<p>It was sunlight filtered through the thickest layers of Earth's +air. It barely outlined the curve of that gigantic globe. As they +stared, it grew brighter. The artificial satellite required little +more than four hours for one revolution about its primary, the +Earth. To those aboard it, the Earth would go through all its +phases in no longer a time. They saw now the thinnest possible +crescent of the new Earth. But in minutes—almost in +seconds—the deep red sunshine brightened to gold. The hair-thin +line of light widened to a narrow ribbon which described +an eight-thousand-mile half-circle. It brightened markedly at +the middle. It remained red at its ends, but in the very center +it glowed with splendid flame. Then a golden ball appeared, +and swam up and detached itself from the Earth, and the on-lookers +saw the breath-taking spectacle of all of Earth's surface +seemingly being born of the night.</p> + +<p>As if new-created before their eyes, seas and lands unfolded +in the sunlight. They watched flecks of cloud and the long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +shadows of mountains, and the strangely different colorings +of its fields and forests.</p> + +<p>As Brent had told them, it was good to watch.</p> + +<p>It was half an hour later when they gathered in the kitchen +of the Platform. The man who had been loading launching +tubes now briskly worked to prepare a meal on the extremely +unusual cooking-devices of a human outpost in interplanetary +space.</p> + +<p>The food smelled good. But Joe noticed that he could smell +growing things. Green stuff. It was absurd—until he remembered +that there was a hydroponic garden here. Plants grew +in it under sunlamps which were turned on for a certain number +of hours every day. The plants purified the Platform's air, +and of course provided some fresh and nourishing food for +the crew.</p> + +<p>They ate. The food was served in plastic bowls, with elastic +thread covers through which they could see and choose the +particular morsels they fancied next. The threads stretched +to let through the forks they ate with. But Brent used a rather +more practical pair of tongs in a businesslike manner.</p> + +<p>They drank coffee from cups which looked very much like +ordinary cups on Earth. Joe remembered suddenly that Sally +Holt had had much to do with the design of domestic science +arrangements here. He regarded his cup with interest. It +stayed in its saucer because of magnets in both plastic articles. +The saucer stayed on the table because the table was magnetic, +too. And the coffee did not float out to mid-air in a hot, +round brownish ball, because there was a transparent cover +over the cup. When one put his lips to the proper edge, a +part of the cover yielded as the cup was squeezed. The far +side of the cup was flexible. One pressed, and the coffee came +into one's lips without the spilling of a drop.</p> + +<p>At that moment Joe really thought of Sally for the first time +in a good two hours. She'd been anxious that living in the +Platform should be as normal and Earth-like as possible. The +total absence of weight would be bad enough. She believed +it needed to be countered, as a psychological factor in staying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +sane, by the effect of normal-seeming chairs and normal-tasting +food, and not too exotic systems for eating.</p> + +<p>Joe asked Brent about it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Brent mildly. "It's likely we'd all have gone +off the deep end if there weren't some familiar things about. +To have to drink from a cup that one squeezes is tolerable. +But we'd have felt hysterical at times if we had to drink everything +from the equivalent of baby bottles."</p> + +<p>"Sally Holt," said Joe, "is a friend of mine. She helped design +this stuff."</p> + +<p>"That girl has every ounce of brains that any woman can be +trusted with!" Brent said warmly. "She thought of things that +would never have occurred to me! As a psychologist, I could +see how good her ideas were when she brought them up, but +as a male I'd never have dreamed of them." Then he grinned. +"She fell down on just one point. So did everybody else. Nobody +happened to think of a garbage-disposal system for the +Platform."</p> + +<p>It came into Joe's mind that garbage-disposal was hardly a +subject one would expect to be discussing in interplanetary +space. But the Platform wasn't the same thing as a spaceship. +A ship could jettison refuse and leave it behind, or store it +during a voyage and dump it at either end. But the Space +Platform would never land. It could roll on forever. And if +it heaved out its refuse from airlocks—why—the stuff would +still have the Platform's orbital speed and would follow it +tirelessly around the Earth until the end of time.</p> + +<p>"We dry and store it now," said Brent. "If we were going +to live, we'd figure out some way to turn it to fertilizer for +the hydroponic gardens. It's hardly worth while as things are. +Even then, though, the problem of tin cans could be hopeless."</p> + +<p>The Chief wiped his mouth deliberately. He had helped +load four guided-missile launching tubes, and he had been +brought up to date on the state of things in the Platform. He +growled in a preliminary fashion and said, "Joe."</p> + +<p>Joe looked at him.</p> + +<p>"We brought up six two-ton guided missiles," said the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +Chief dourly. "We'll have warning of other bombs coming up. +We can send these missiles out to intercept 'em. Six of 'em. +They can get close enough to set off their proximity fuses, +anyhow. But what are we going to do, Joe, if somebody flings +seven bombs at us? We can manage six—maybe. But what'll +we do with the one that's left over?"</p> + +<p>"Have you any ideas?" asked Joe.</p> + +<p>The Chief shook his head. Brent said mildly. "We've worked +on that here in the Platform, I assure you. And as Sanford +puts it quite soundly, about the only thing we can really do +is throw our empty tin cans at them."</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. Then he tensed. Brent had meant it as a rather +mirthless joke. But Joe was astonished at what his own brain +made of it. He thought it over. Then he said, "Why not? It +ought to be a very good trick."</p> + +<p>Brent stared at him incredulously. Haney looked solemnly at +him. The Chief regarded Joe thoughtfully out of the corner +of his eye. Then Mike shouted gleefully. The Chief blinked, +and a moment later grunted wrathful unintelligible syllables +of Mohawk, and then tried to pound Joe on the back and +because of his want of weight went head over heels into the +air between the six walls of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Haney said disgustedly, "Joe, there are times when a guy +wants to murder you! Why didn't I think of that?"</p> + +<p>But Brent was looking at the four of them with a lively, +helpless curiosity. "Will you guys let me in on this?"</p> + +<p>They told him. Joe began to explain it carefully, but the +Chief broke in with a barked and impatient description, and +then Mike interrupted to snap a correction. But by that time +Brent's expression had changed with astonishing suddenness.</p> + +<p>"I see! I see!" he said excitedly. "All right! Have you got +space suits in your ship? We have them. So we'll go out and +pelt the stars with garbage. I think we'd better get at it right +now, too. In under two hours we'll be a fine target for more +bombs, and it would be good to start ahead of time."</p> + +<p>Mike made a gesture and went floating out of the kitchen, +air-swimming to go get space suits from the ship. The grin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +on his small face threatened to cut his throat. Joe asked, +"Sanford's in command. How'll he like this idea?"</p> + +<p>Brent hesitated. "I'm afraid," he said regretfully, "he won't +like it. If you solve a problem he gave up, it will tear his +present adjustment to bits. He's gone psychotic. I think, +though, that he'll allow it to be tried while he swears at us +for fools. He's most likely to react that way if you suggest it."</p> + +<p>"Then," agreed Joe, "I suggest it. Chief——"</p> + +<p>The Chief raised a large brown hand.</p> + +<p>"I got the program, Joe," he said. "We'll all get set."</p> + +<p>And Joe went floating unhappily through passage-tubes +to the control room. He heard Sanford's voice, sardonic and +mocking, as he reached the communications room door.</p> + +<p>"What do you expect?" Sanford was saying derisively. +"We're clay pigeons. We're a perfect target. We've just so +much ammunition now. You say you may send us more in +three weeks instead of a month. I admire your persistence, +but it's really no use! This is all a very stupid business...."</p> + +<p>He felt Joe's presence. He turned, and then sharply struck +the communicator switch with the heel of his hand. The +image on the television screen died. The voice cut off. He said +blandly: "Well?"</p> + +<p>"I want," said Joe, "to take a garbage-disposal party out on +the outside of the Platform. I came to ask for authority."</p> + +<p>Sanford looked at him in mocking surprise.</p> + +<p>"To be sure it seems as intelligent as anything else the +human race has ever done," he observed. "But why does it +appeal to you as something you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"I think," Joe told him, "that we can make a defense against +bombs from Earth with our empty tin cans."</p> + +<p>Sanford raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"If you happen to have a four-leaf clover with you," he said +in fine irony, "I'm told they're good, too."</p> + +<p>His eyes were bright and scornful. His manner was feverishly +derisive. Joe would have done well to let it go at that. +But he was nettled.</p> + +<p>"We set off the last bombs," he said doggedly, "by shooting +our landing rockets at them. They didn't collide with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +bombs. They simply touched off the bombs' proximity fuses. +If we surround the Platform with a cluster of tin cans and +such things, they may do as well. Things we throw away won't +drop to Earth. Ultimately, they'll actually circle us, like satellites +themselves. But if we can get enough of them between +us and Earth, any bombs that come up will have their proximity +fuses detonated by the floating trash we throw out."</p> + +<p>Sanford laughed.</p> + +<p>"We might ask for aluminum-foil ribbon to come up in the +next supply ship," said Joe. "We could have masses of that, +or maybe metallic dust floating around us."</p> + +<p>"I much prefer used tin cans," said Sanford humorously. +"I'll take the watch here and let everybody go out with you. +By all means we must defend ourselves. Forward with the +garbage! Go ahead!"</p> + +<p>His eyes were almost hysterically scornful as he waited for +Joe to leave. Joe did not like it at all, but there was nothing +to do but get out.</p> + +<p>He found the Chief with a net bag filled with emptied tin +cans. Haney had another. There were two more, carried by +members of the Platform's four-man crew. They were donning +their space suits when Joe came upon them. Mike was +grotesque in the cut-down outfit built for him. Actually, the +only difference was in the size of the fabric suit and the length +of the arms and legs. He could carry a talkie outfit with its +batteries, and the oxygen tank for breathing as well as anybody, +since out here weight did not count at all. There were +plastic ropes, resistant to extremes of temperature.</p> + +<p>Joe got into his own space suit. It was no such self-contained +space craft in itself as the fantastic story tellers dreamed of. +It was not much more than an altitude suit, aluminized to +withstand the blazing heat of sunshine in emptiness, and +with extravagantly insulated soles to the magnetic boots. In +theory, there simply is no temperature in space. In practice, a +metal hull heats up in sunshine to very much more than any +record-hot-day temperature on Earth. In shadow, too, a metal +hull will drop very close to minus 250 degrees Centigrade, +which is something like 400 degrees Fahrenheit below zero.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +But mainly the space boots were insulated against the almost +dull-red-heat temperatures of long-continued sunshine.</p> + +<p>A crewman named Corey moved into an airlock with one +of the bags of empty tin cans. Brent watched in a routine +fashion through a glass in the lock-door. The pumps began to +exhaust the air from the airlock. Corey's space suit inflated +visibly. Presently the pump stopped. Corey opened the outer +door. He went out, paying plastic rope behind him. An instant +later he reappeared and removed the rope. He'd made +his line fast outside. He closed the outer lock-door. Air surged +into the lock and Haney crowded in. Again the pumping. +Then Haney went out, and was anchored to the Platform not +only by his magnetic boots but by a rope fastened to a hand-hold. +Brent went out. Mike. Joe came next.</p> + +<p>They stood on the hull of the Space Platform, waiting in +the incredible harsh sunshine of emptiness. The bright steel +plates of the hull swelled and curved away on every hand. +There were myriads of stars and the vast round bulk of Earth +seemed farther away to a man in a space suit than to a man +looking out a port. Where shadows cut across the Platform's +irregular surface, there was utter blackness. Also there was +horrible frigidity. Elsewhere it was blindingly bright. The +men were specks of humanity standing on a shining metal +hull, and all about them there was the desolation of nothingness.</p> + +<p>But Joe felt strangely proud. The seventh man came out of +the lock-door. They tied their plastic ropes together and +spread out in a long line which went almost around the +Platform. The man next to the lock was anchored to a steel +hand-hold. The third man of the line also anchored himself. +The fifth. The seventh. They were a straggling line of figures +with impossibly elongated shadows, held together by ropes. +They were peculiarly like a party of weirdly costumed mountaineers +on a glacier of gleaming silver.</p> + +<p>But no mountain climbers ever had a background of ten +thousand million stars, peering up from below them as well as +from overhead. Nor did any ever have a mottled greenish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +planet rolling by 4,000 miles beneath them, nor a blazing sun +glaring down at them from a sky such as this.</p> + +<p>In particular, perhaps, no other explorers ever set out upon +an expedition whose purpose was to throw tin cans and dried +refuse at all the shining cosmos.</p> + +<p>They set to work. The space suits were inevitably clumsy. +It was not easy to throw hard with only magnetism to hold +one to his feet. It was actually more practical to throw straight +up with an underhand gesture. But even that would send the +tin cans an enormous distance, in time. There was no air to +slow them.</p> + +<p>The tin cans twinkled as they left the Platform's steel expanse. +They moved away at a speed of possibly 20 to 30 +miles an hour. They floated off in all possible directions. They +would never reach Earth, of course. They shared the Platform's +orbital speed, and they would circle the Earth with +it forever. But when they were thrown away, their orbits were +displaced a little. Each can thrown downward just now, for +example, would always be between the Platform and the +Earth on this side of its orbit. But on the other side of Earth +it would be above the Platform. The Platform, in fact, became +the center of a swarm, a cluster, a cloud of infinitesimal objects +which would always accompany it and always be in motion +with regard to it. Together, they should make up a +screen no proximity fuse bomb could pierce without exploding.</p> + +<p>Joe heard clankings, transmitted to his body through his +feet.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" he demanded sharply. "It sounds like the +airlock!"</p> + +<p>Voices mingled in his ears. The other walkie-talkies allowed +everybody to speak at once. Most of them did. Then Joe heard +someone laugh. It was Sanford's voice.</p> + +<p>Sandford's aluminized, space-suited figure came clanking +around the curve of the small metal world. The antenna of +his walkie-talkie glittered above his head. He seemed to +swagger against the background of many-colored stars.</p> + +<p>Brent spoke quickly, before anyone else could question<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Sanford. His tone was mild and matter of fact, but Joe somehow +knew the tension behind it.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Sanford. You came out? Was it wise? Shouldn't +there be someone inside the Platform?"</p> + +<p>Sanford laughed again. "It was very wise. We're going to +be killed, as you fellows know perfectly well. It's futile to try +to avoid it. So very sensibly I've decided to spare myself the +nuisance of waiting to be killed. I came out."</p> + +<p>There was silence in the ear-phones of Joe's space suit +radio. He heard his own heart beating loudly and steadily in +the absolute stillness.</p> + +<p>"Incidentally," said Sanford with almost hysterical amusement, +"I fixed it so that none of us can get back in. It would +be useless, anyhow. Everything's futility. So I've put an end to +our troubles for good. I've locked us all out."</p> + +<p>He laughed yet again. And Joe knew that in Sanford's +madness it was perfectly possible for him to have done exactly +what he said.</p> + +<p>There were eight human beings on the Platform. All were +now outside it, on its outer skin. They wore space suits with +from half an hour to an hour's oxygen supply. They had no +tools with which to break back into the satellite. And no help +could possibly reach them in less than three weeks.</p> + +<p>If they couldn't get back inside the Platform, Sanford, +laughing proudly, had killed them all.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c4" id="c4"></a><i>4</i></h2> + + +<p>There was a babbling of angry, strained, tense +voices in Joe's headphones. Then the Chief roared for silence. +It fell, save for Sanford's quiet, hysterical chuckling. Joe +found himself rather absurdly thinking that Sanford was not +actually insane, except as any man may be who believes only +in his own cleverness. Sooner or later it is bound to fail him. +On Earth, Sanford's pride in his own intellect had been useful. +He had been brilliant because he accepted every problem<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +and every difficulty as a challenge. But with the Platform's +situation seemingly hopeless, he'd been starkly unable to face +the fact that he wasn't clever or brilliant or intelligent enough. +If Joe's solution to the proximity fuse bombs had been offered +before his emotional collapse, he could have accepted it +grandly, and in so doing have made it his own. But it was too +late for that now. He'd given up and worked up a frantic +scorn for the universe he could not cope with. For Joe's +trick to work would have made him inferior even to Joe in +his own view. And he couldn't have that! Even to die, with +the prospect that others would survive him, was an intolerable +prospect. He had to be smarter than anybody else.</p> + +<p>So he chuckled. The Chief roared wrathfully into his transmitter: +"Quiet! This crazy fool's tried to commit suicide for +all of us! How about it? Why can't we get back in? How +many locks——"</p> + +<p>Joe found himself thinking hard. He could be angry later. +Now there wasn't time. Thirty or forty minutes of breathing. +No tools. A steel hull. The airlocks were naturally arranged +for the greatest possible safety under normal conditions. In +every airlock it had naturally been arranged so that the door +to space and the door to the interior could not be open at the +same time. That was to save lives. To save air, it would naturally +be arranged that the door to space couldn't be opened +until the lock was pumped empty.</p> + +<p>That in itself could be an answer. Joe said sharply, "Hold it, +Chief! Somebody watch Sanford! All we've got to do is find +which lock he came out of. He couldn't get out until he +pumped it empty—and that unlocks the outer door!"</p> + +<p>But Sanford laughed once more. He sounded like someone +in the highest of high good humor.</p> + +<p>"Heroic again, eh? But I took a compressed air bottle in the +lock with me. When the outer door was open, I opened the +stopcock and shut the door. The air bottle filled the lock behind +me. Naturally I'd fasten the door after I came out! One +must be intelligent!"</p> + +<p>Joe heard Brent muttering, "Yes, he'd do that!"</p> + +<p>"Somebody check it!" snapped Joe. "Make sure! It might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +amuse him to watch us die while he knew we could get back +in if we were as smart as he is."</p> + +<p>There were clankings on the hull. Men moved, unfastening +the lines which held them to the hull to get freedom of movement, +but not breaking the links which bound them to each +other. Joe saw Haney go grimly back to the task of throwing +away the stuff that they had brought out for the purpose. +Then Mike's voice, brittle and cagey: "Haney! Quit it!"</p> + +<p>Sanford's voice again, horribly amused. "By all means! +Don't throw away our garbage! We may need it!"</p> + +<p>A voice snapped, "This lock's fastened." Another voice: +"And this...." Other voices, with increasing desperation, +verified that every airlock was implacably sealed fast by the +presence of air pressure inside the lock itself.</p> + +<p>Time was passing. Joe had never noticed, before, the minute +noises of the air pressure apparatus strapped to his back. His +exhaled breath went to a tiny pump that forced it through a +hygroscopic filter which at once extracted excess moisture and +removed carbon dioxide. The same pump carefully measured +a volume of oxygen equal to the removed CO<sub>2</sub> and added it +to the air it released. The pump made very small sounds indeed, +and the valves were almost noiseless, but Joe could hear +their clickings.</p> + +<p>Something burned him. He had been standing perfectly +still while trying to concentrate on a way out. Sunshine had +shone uninterruptedly on one side of his space suit for as long +as five minutes. Despite the insulation inside, that was too +long. He turned quickly to expose another part of himself +to the sunlight. He knew abstractedly that the metal underfoot +would sear bare flesh that touched it. A few yards away, in +the shadow, the metal of the hull would be cold enough to +freeze hydrogen. But here it was fiercely hot. It would melt +solder. It might—</p> + +<p>Mike was fumbling tin cans out of the net bag from which +Haney had been throwing them away. He was a singular +small figure, standing on shining steel, looking at one tin can +after another and impatiently putting them aside.</p> + +<p>He found one that seemed to suit him. It was a large can.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +He knelt with it, pressing a part of it to the hot metal of the +satellite's hull. A moment later he was ripping it apart. The +solder had softened. He unrolled a sort of cylinder, then bent +again, using the curved inner surface to concentrate the intolerable +sunshine.</p> + +<p>Joe caught his breath at the implication. Concentrated +sunshine can be incredibly hot. Starting with unshielded, +empty-space sunshine, practically any imaginable temperature +is possible with a large enough mirror. Mike didn't have +a concave mirror. He had only a cylindrical one. He couldn't +reflect light to a point, but only to a line. Mike couldn't hope +to do more than double or triple the temperature of a given +spot. But considering what he wore on his back—!</p> + +<p>Joe made his way clumsily to the spot where Mike now +gesticulated to Haney, trying to convey his meaning by +gestures since Sanford would overhear any spoken word.</p> + +<p>"I get it, Mike," said Joe. "I'll help." He added: "Chief! +You watch Sanford. The rest of you try to flatten out some tin +cans or find some with flat round ends!"</p> + +<p>He reached the spot where Mike bent over the plating. +His hand moved to cast a shadow where the light had played.</p> + +<p>"I need more reflectors," Mike said brusquely, "but we can +do it!"</p> + +<p>Joe beckoned. There were more, hurried clankings. Space-suited +figures gathered about.</p> + +<p>The Platform rolled on through space. Where it was bright +it was very, very bright, and where it was dark it was blackness. +Off in emptiness the many-colored mass of Earth shone +hugely, rolling past. Innumerable incurious stars looked on. +The sun flamed malevolently. The moon floated abstractedly +far away.</p> + +<p>Mike was bent above a small round airlock door. He had +a distorted half-cylinder of sheet tin between his space-gloved +hands. It reflected a line of intensified sunlight to the edge +of the airlock seal. Haney ripped fiercely at other tin cans. +Joe held another strip of polished metal. It focused crudely—very +crudely—on top of Mike's line of reflected sunshine. +Someone else held the end of a tin can to reflect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +more sunshine. Someone else had a larger disk of tin.</p> + +<p>They stood carefully still. It looked completely foolish. +There were six men in frozen attitudes, trying to reflect sunshine +down to a single blindingly-bright spot on an airlock +door. They seemed breathlessly tense. They ignored the +glories of the firmament. They were utterly absorbed in trying +to make a spot of unbearable brightness glow more brightly +still.</p> + +<p>Mike moved his hand to cast a shadow. The steel was a +little more than red-hot for the space of an inch. It would not +melt, of course. It could not. And they had no tools to bend +or pierce the presumably softened metal. But Mike said +fiercely:</p> + +<p>"Keep it hot!"</p> + +<p>He squirmed. His space suit was fabric, like the rest, but it +had been cut down to permit him to use it. It was bulkier on +him than the suits of the others. He shifted his shoulder pack. +The brass valve-nipple by which the oxygen tank was +filled....</p> + +<p>He jammed a ragged fragment of tin in place. He pressed +down fiercely. A blazing jet of fierce, scintillating, streaking +sparks leaped up from the spot where the metal glowed +brightly. A hollow in the metal plate appeared. The metal +disintegrated in gushing flecks of light....</p> + +<p>White-hot iron in pure oxygen happens to be inflammable. +Iron is not incombustible at all. Powdered steel, ground fine +enough, will burn if simply exposed to air. Really fine steel +wool will make an excellent blaze if a match is touched to it. +White-hot iron, with a jet of oxygen played upon it, explodes +to steaming sparks. Technically, Mike had used the perfectly +well-known trick of an oxygen lance to pierce the airlock door, +let the air out of the lock, and so allow the outer door to be +opened.</p> + +<p>There was a rush of vapor. The door was drilled through. +Haney picked Mike up bodily, Joe heaved the door open, and +Haney climbed into it, practically carrying Mike by the +scruff of the neck. Joe panted, "Plug the hole from the inside. +Sit on it if you have to!" and slammed the door shut.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>They waited. Sanford's voice came in the ear-phones. It +was higher in pitch than it had been.</p> + +<p>"You fools!" he raged. "It's useless! It's stupid to do useless +things! It's stupid to do anything at all—"</p> + +<p>There were sudden scuffling clankings. Joe swung about. +The Chief and Sanford were struggling. Sanford flailed his +arms about, trying to break the Chief's faceplate while he +screamed furious things about futility.</p> + +<p>The Chief got exactly the hold he wanted. He lifted Sanford +from the metal deck. He could have thrown him away to +emptiness, then, but he did not.</p> + +<p>He set Sanford in mid-space as if upon a shelf. The raging +man hung in the void an exact man-height above the Platform's +surface. The Chief drew back and left him there, Sanford +could writhe there for a century before the Platform's infinitesimal +gravity brought him down.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" said the Chief wrathfully. "How's Haney and Mike +making out?"</p> + +<p>Almost on the instant, twenty yards away, a tiny airlock +door thrust out from the surface of glittering metal, and +helmet and antenna appeared.</p> + +<p>"You guys can come in now," said Haney's voice in Joe's +headphones. "It's all okay. Mike's pumping out the other +locks too, so you can come in at any of 'em."</p> + +<p>The space-suited figures clumped loudly to airlock doors. +There were a dozen or more small airlocks in various parts of +the hull, besides the great door to admit supply ships. The +Chief growled and moved toward Sanford now raging like +the madman his helplessness made him.</p> + +<p>"No," said Joe shortly. "He'd fight again. Go inside. That's +an order, Chief."</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted and obeyed. Joe went to the nearest +airlock and entered the great steel hull.</p> + +<p>Sanford floated in emptiness, two yards from the Space +Platform he would have turned into a derelict. He did not +move farther away. He did not fall toward it. There was nobody +to listen to him. He cried out in blood-curdling fury because +other men were smarter than he was. Other men had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +solved problems he could not solve. Other men were his +superiors. He screamed his rage.</p> + +<p>Presently the Platform revolved slowly beneath him. It +was turned, of course, by the monster gyros which in turn +were controlled by the pilot gyros Joe and Haney and the +Chief and Mike had repaired when saboteurs smashed them.</p> + +<p>The Platform rotated sedately. A great gap appeared in it. +The door of the supply ship lock moved until Sanford, floating +helplessly, was opposite its mouth.</p> + +<p>A rod with a rounded object at its end appeared past the +docked supply ship. It reached out and touched Sanford's helmet. +It was the magnetic grapple which drew space ships into +their dock.</p> + +<p>It drew Sanford, squirming and streaming, into the great +lock. The outer doors closed. Before air was admitted to the +inside, Sanford went suddenly still.</p> + +<p>When they took him out of his suit he was apparently unconscious. +He could not be roused. Freed, he drew his knees +up to his chin in the position in which primitive peoples bury +their dead. He seemed to sleep. Brent examined him carefully.</p> + +<p>"Catatonia," he said distastefully. "He spent his life thinking +he was smarter than anybody else—smarter, probably, +than all the universe. He believed it. He couldn't face the +fact that he was wrong. He couldn't stay conscious and not +know it. So he's blacked out. He refuses to be anything unless +he can be smartest. We'll have to do artificial feeding and all +that until we can get him down to Earth to a hospital." He +shrugged.</p> + +<p>"We'd better report this down to Earth," Joe said. "By the +way, better not describe our screen of tin cans on radio waves. +Not even microwaves. It might leak. And we want to see if it +works."</p> + +<p>Just forty-two hours later they found out that it did work. +A single rocket came climbing furiously out from Earth. It +came from the night-side, and they could not see where it was +launched, though they could make excellent guesses. They got +a single guided missile ready to crash it if necessary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>It wasn't necessary. The bomb from Earth detonated 300 +miles below the artificial satellite. Its proximity fuse, sending +out small radar-type waves, had them reflected back by an +empty sardine can thrown away from the Platform by Mike +Scandia forty-some hours ago. The sardine can had been +traveling in its own private orbit ever since. The effect of +Mike's muscles had not been to send it back to Earth, but to +change the center of the circular orbit in which it floated. +Sometimes it floated above the Platform—that was on one side +of Earth—and sometimes below it. It was about 300 miles +under the Platform when it reflected urgent, squealing radar +frequency waves to a complex proximity fuse in the climbing +rocket. The rocket couldn't tell the difference between a sardine +can and a Space Platform.</p> + +<p>It exploded with a blast of pure brightness like that of the +sun.</p> + +<p>The Platform went on its monotonous round about the +planet from which it had risen only weeks before. Sanford +was strapped in a bunk and fed through a tube, and on occasion +massaged and variously tended to keep him alive. The +men on the Platform worked. They made telephoto maps of +Earth. They took highly magnified, long-exposure photographs +of Mars, pictures that could not possibly be made with such +distinctness from the bottom of Earth's turbulent ocean of air.</p> + +<p>There was a great deal of official business to be done. +Weather observations of the form and distribution of cloud +masses were an important matter. The Platform could make +much more precise measurements of the solar constant than +could be obtained below. The flickering radar was gathering +information for studies of the frequency and size of meteoric +particles outside the atmosphere. There was the extremely important +project for securing and sealing in really good vacua +in various electronic devices brought up by Joe and his crew in +the supply ship.</p> + +<p>But sometimes Joe managed to talk to Sally.</p> + +<p>It was very satisfying to see her on the television screen +in personal conversation. Their talk couldn't be exactly private, +because it could be picked up elsewhere. It probably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +was. But she told Joe how she felt, and she wanted to read +him the newspaper stories based on the reports Brent had sent +down. Brent was in command of the Platform now that Sanford +lay in a resolute coma in his bunk. But Joe discouraged +such waste of time.</p> + +<p>"How's the food?" asked Sally. "Are you people getting +any fresh vegetables from the hydroponic garden?"</p> + +<p>They were, and Joe told her so. The huge chamber in +which sun-lamps glowed for a measured number of hours +in each twenty-four produced incredibly luxuriant vegetation. +It kept the air of the ship breathable. It even changed the +smell of it from time to time, so that there was no feeling of +staleness.</p> + +<p>"And the cooking system's really good?" she wanted to +know. Sally was partly responsible for that, too. "And how +about the bunks?"</p> + +<p>"I sleep now," Joe admitted.</p> + +<p>That had been difficult. It was possible to get used to +weightlessness while awake. One would slip, sometimes, and +find himself suddenly tense and panicky because he'd abruptly +noticed all over again that he was falling. But—and yet again +Sally was partly responsible—the bunks were designed to help +in that difficulty. Each bunk had an inflatable top blanket. +One crawled in and settled down, and turned the petcock +that inflated the cover. Then it held one quite gently but reassuringly +in place. It was possible to stir and to turn over, +but the feeling of being held fast was very comforting. With +a little care about what one thought of before going to sleep, +one could get a refreshing eight hours' rest. The bunks were +luxury.</p> + +<p>Sally said: "The date and time's a secret, of course, because +it might be overheard, but there'll be another ship up before +too long. It's bringing landing rockets for you to come back +with."</p> + +<p>"That's good!" said Joe. It would feel good to set foot on +solid ground again. He looked at Sally and said eagerly, +"We've got a date the evening I get back?"</p> + +<p>"We've got a date," she said, nodding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>But it couldn't very well be a definite date. There were +people with ideas that ran counter to plans for Joe to get back +to Earth and a date with Sally Holt. The Space Platform was +not admired uniformly by all the nations of Earth. The United +States had built it because the United Nations couldn't, and +one of the attractions of the idea had been that once it got out +to space and was armed, peace must reign upon Earth because +it could smack down anybody who made war.</p> + +<p>The trouble was that it wasn't armed well enough. Six +guided missiles couldn't defend it indefinitely. It looked as +helpless as isolated Berlin did before the first airlift proved +what men and planes could do in the way of transport. And +the Platform's enemies didn't intend for it to be saved by +a rocketlift. They would try to smash it before such a lift +could get started.</p> + +<p>A week after Joe got to it with the guided missiles, three +rockets attacked. They went up from somewhere in the middle +of the Pacific. One blew up 250 miles below the Platform. +Another detonated 190 miles away. For safety's sake the +third was crashed—at the cost of one guided missile—when it +had come within 50 miles.</p> + +<p>The screen of tin cans worked, but it wasn't thick enough. +The occupants of the Platform went about hunting for sheet +metal that could be spared. They pulled out minor partitions +here and there, and went out on the surface and threw away +thousands of small glittering scraps of metal in all directions.</p> + +<p>Two weeks later, there was another attack. It could be +calculated that Joe couldn't have carried up more than six +guided missiles. There might be as few as two of them left. +So eight rockets came up together—and the first of them +went off 400 miles from the Platform. Only one got as close as +200 miles. No guided missiles were expended in defense.</p> + +<p>The Platform's enemies tried once more. This time the +rockets arched up above the Platform's orbit and dived on +the satellite from above. There were two of them. They went +off at 180 and 270 miles from the Platform. Joe's trash screen +would not work on Earth, but in space it was an adequate +defense against anything equipped with proximity fuses. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +could be assumed that in a full-scale space-war nuts, bolts, +rusty nails and beer bottle caps would become essential military +equipment.</p> + +<p>Three days after this last attack, a second supply ship took +off from Earth. Lieutenant Commander Brown was a passenger. +Its start was just like the one Joe's ship had made. +Pushpots lifted it, jatos hurled it on, and then the furious, +flaming take-off rockets drove it valiantly out toward the +stars.</p> + +<p>Joe's ship had been moved out of the landing lock and was +moored against the Platform's hull. The second ship made +contact in two hours and seventeen minutes from take-off. +It arrived with its own landing rockets intact, and it brought +a set of forty-foot metal tubes for Joe's ship to get back to +Earth with. But those landing rockets and Lieutenant Commander +Brown constituted all its payload. It couldn't bring up +anything else.</p> + +<p>And Lieutenant Commander Brown called a very formal +meeting in the huge living space at the Platform's center. He +stood up grandly in full uniform—and had to hook his feet +around a chair leg to keep from floating absurdly in mid-air. +This detracted slightly from the dignity of his stance, but not +from the official voice with which he read two documents +aloud.</p> + +<p>The first paper detached Lieutenant Commander Brown +from his regular naval duties and assigned him pro tem to +service with the Space Exploration Project. The second was +an order directing him to take command and assume direction +of the Space Platform.</p> + +<p>Having read his orders, he cleared his throat and said +cordially, "I am honored to serve here with you. Frankly, I +expect to learn much from you and to have very few orders +to give. I expect merely to exercise such authority as experience +at sea has taught me is necessary for a tight and +happy ship. I trust this will be one."</p> + +<p>He beamed. Nobody was impressed. It was perfectly obvious +that he'd simply been sent up to acquire experience in +space for later naval use, and that he'd been placed in command<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +because it was unthinkable that he serve under anyone +without official rank and authority. And he quite honestly believed +that his coming, with experience in command, was a +blessing to the Platform. In fact, there was no danger that this +commander of the Platform would crack up under stress as +Sanford had.</p> + +<p>But it was too bad that he hadn't brought some long-range +guided missiles with him.</p> + +<p>Joe's ship had brought up twenty tons of cargo and twenty +tons of landing rockets. The second ship brought up twenty +tons of landing rockets for Joe, and twenty tons of landing +rockets for itself. That was all. The second trip out to the +Space Platform was a rescue mission and nothing else. Arithmetic +wouldn't let it be anything else. And there couldn't be +any idea of noble self-sacrifice and staying out at the Platform, +either, because only four ships like Joe's had been begun, and +only two were even near completion. Joe's had taken off the +instant it was finished. The second had done the same. The +second pair of spaceships wouldn't be ready for two months +or more. The ships that could be used had to be used.</p> + +<p>So, only thirty-six hours after the arrival of the second +rocketship at the Platform, the two of them took off together +to return to Earth. Joe's ship left the airlock first. Sanford +was loaded in the cabin of the other ship as cargo. Lieutenant +Commander Brown stayed out at the Platform to replace him.</p> + +<p>Obviously, in order to get back to Earth they headed away +from it in fleet formation. They pointed their rounded noses +toward the Milky Way.</p> + +<p>The upward course was an application of the principle +that made the screen of tin cans and oddments remain about +the Platform. Each of those small objects had had the Platform's +own velocity and orbit. Thrown away from it, the centers +of their orbits changed. In theory, the center of the Platform's +orbit was the center of Earth. But the centers of the +orbits of the thrown-away objects were pushed a few miles—twenty—fifty—a +hundred—away from the center of Earth.</p> + +<p>The returning space ships also had the orbit and speed +of the Platform. They wanted to shift the centers of their orbits<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +by very nearly 4,000 miles, so that at one point they would +just barely graze Earth's atmosphere, lose some speed to it, +and then bounce out to empty space again before they melted. +Cooled off, they'd make another grazing bounce. After eight +such bounces they'd stay in the air, and the stubby fins would +give them a sort of gliding angle and controllability, while the +landing rockets would let them down to solid ground. Or so +it was hoped.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile they headed out instead of in toward Earth. +They went out on their steering-rockets only, using the liquid +fuel that had not been needed for course correction on the +way out. At 4,000 miles up, the force of gravity is just one-fourth +of that at the Earth's surface. It still exists; it is merely +canceled out in an orbit. The ships could move outward at +less cost in fuel than they could move in.</p> + +<p>So they went out and out on parallel courses, and the Platform +dwindled behind them. Night flowed below until the hull +of the artificial satellite shone brightly against a background of +seeming sheer nothingness.</p> + +<p>The twilight zone of Earth's shadow reached the Platform. +It glowed redly, glowed crimson, glowed the deepest possible +color that could be seen, and winked out. The ships climbed +on, using their tiny steering rockets.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened. The ships drew away from each other +for safety. They were 50, then 60 miles apart. One glowed red +and vanished in the shadow of the Earth. The other was extinguished +in the same way. Then they went hurtling through +the blackness of the night side of Earth. Microwaves from the +ground played upon them—radar used by friend and foe +alike—and the friendly radar guided tight-beam communicator +waves to them with comforting assurance that their joint +course and height and speed were exactly the calculated optimum. +But they could not be seen at all.</p> + +<p>When they appeared again they were still farther out from +Earth than the Platform's orbit, but no farther from each other. +And they were descending. The centers of their orbits had +been displaced very, very far indeed.</p> + +<p>Going out, naturally, the ships had lost angular speed as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +they gained in height. Descending, they gained in angular +velocity as they lost height. They were not quite 30 miles apart +as they sped with increasing, headlong speed and rushed toward +the edge of the world's disk. When they were only +2,000 miles high, the Earth's surface under them moved much +faster than it had on the way up. When they were only +1,000 miles high, the seas and continents seemed to flow past +like a rushing river. At 500 miles, mountains and plains were +just distinguishable as they raced past underneath. At 200 +miles there was merely a churning, hurtling surface on which +one could not focus one's eyes because of the speed of its +movement.</p> + +<p>They missed the solid surface of Earth by barely 40 miles. +They were moving at a completely impossible speed. The +energy of their position 4,000 miles high had been transformed +into kinetic energy of motion. And at 40 miles there +is something very close to a vacuum, compared to sea-level. +But compared to true emptiness, and at the speed of meteors, +the thin air had a violent effect.</p> + +<p>A thin humming sound began. It grew louder. The substance +of the ship was responding to the impact of the thin +air upon it. The sound rose to a roar, to a bellow, to a thunderous +tumult. The ship quivered and trembled. It shook. A +violent vibration set up and grew more and more savage. The +whole ship shook with a dreadful persistence, each vibration +more monstrous, more straining, more ominous than before.</p> + +<p>The four in the space ship cabin knew torture. Weight returned +to them, weight more violent than the six gravities +they had known for a bare fourteen seconds at take-off. But +that, at least, had been smoothly applied. This was deceleration +at a higher figure yet, and accompanied by the shaking +of bodies which weighed seven times as much as ever before—and +bodies, too, which for weeks past had been subject to no +weight at all.</p> + +<p>They endured. Nothing at all could be done. At so many +miles per second no possible human action could be determined +upon and attempted in time to have any effect upon +the course of the ship. Joe could see out a quartzite port. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +ground 40 miles below was merely a blur. There was a black +sky overhead, which did not seem to stir. But cloud-masses +rushed at express-train speed below him, and his body +weighed more than half a ton, and the ship made the sound +of innumerable thunders and shook, and shook and +shook....</p> + +<p>And then, when it seemed that it must fly utterly to pieces, +the thunder diminished gradually to a bellow, and the bellow +to a roar, and the roaring.... And the unthinkable weight +oppressing him grew less.</p> + +<p>The Earth was farther away and moving farther still. They +were 100 miles high. They were 200 miles high....</p> + +<p>There was no longer any sound at all, except their gaspings +for breath. Their muscles had refused to lift their chests at +all during the most brutal of the deceleration period.</p> + +<p>Presently Joe croaked a question. He looked at the hull-temperature +indicators. They were very, very high. He found +that he was bruised where he had strapped himself in. The +places where each strap had held his heavy body against the +ship's vibrations were deeply black-and-blue.</p> + +<p>The Chief said thickly: "Joe, somehow I don't think this +is going to work. When do we hit again?"</p> + +<p>"Three hours plus or minus something," said Joe, dry-throated. +"We'll hear from the ground."</p> + +<p>Mike said in a cracked voice: "Radar reports we went a +little bit too low. They think we weren't tilted up far enough. +We didn't bounce as soon as we should."</p> + +<p>Joe unstrapped himself.</p> + +<p>"How about the other ship?"</p> + +<p>"It did better than we did," said Mike. "It's a good 200 +miles ahead. Down at the Shed, they're recalculating for us. +We'll have to land with six grazes instead of eight. We lost +too much speed."</p> + +<p>Joe went staggering, again weightless, to look out a port +for the other ship. He should have known better. One does +not spot an eighty-foot space ship with the naked eye when +it is 200 miles away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he saw something, though for seconds he didn't know +what it was.</p> + +<p>Now the little ship was 300 miles high and still rising. Joe +was dazed and battered by the vibration of the ship in the +graze just past. The sister space ship hadn't lost speed so +fast. It would be traveling faster. It would be leaving him +farther behind every second. It was rising more sharply. It +would rise higher.</p> + +<p>Joe stared numbly out of a port, thinking confusedly that +his hull would be dull red on its outer surface, though the +heating had been so fast that the inner surfaces of the plating +might still be cold. He saw the vast area which was the curve +of the edge of the world. He saw the sunlight upon clouds +below and glimpses of the surface of the Earth itself.</p> + +<p>And he saw something rising out of the mists at the far +horizon. It was a thread of white vapor. The other rocketship +was a speck, a mote, invisible because of its size and distance. +This thread of vapor was already 100 miles long, and it expanded +to a column of whiteness half a mile across before it +seemed to dissipate. It rose and rose, as if following something +which sped upward. It was a rocket trail. The violence of its +writhings proved the fury with which the rocket climbed.</p> + +<p>It was on its way to meet the other space ship.</p> + +<p>It did. Joe saw the thread of vapor extend and grow until +it was higher than he was. He never saw the other ship, which +was too small. But he saw the burst of flame, bright as the +sun itself, which was the explosion of a proximity fuse bomb. +He knew, then, that nothing but incandescent, radioactive +gas remained of the other ship and its crew.</p> + +<p>Then he saw the trail of the second rocket. It was rising to +meet him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c5" id="c5"></a><i>5</i></h2> + + +<p>The four of them watched through the ports +as the thread of vapor sped upward. They hated the rocket +and the people who had built it. Joe said between his teeth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +"We could spend our landing-rockets and make it chase us, +but it'll have fuel for that!"</p> + +<p>The Chief muttered in Mohawk. The words sounded as if +they ought to have blue fire at their edges and smell of +sulphur. Mike the midget said crackling things in his small +voice. Haney stared, his eyes burning.</p> + +<p>Their ship was a little over 400 miles up, now. The rocket +was 100 or better. The rendezvous would be probably 200 +miles ahead and correspondingly higher. The rocket was accelerating +furiously. It had farther to travel, but its rate +of climb was already enormous and it increased every +second.</p> + +<p>The ship could swing to right or left on steering rockets, +but the war rocket could swerve also. It was controlled from +the ground. It did not need to crash the small ship from +space. Within a limited number of miles the blast of its +atomic warhead would vaporize any substance that could +exist. And of course the ship could not turn back. Even the +expenditure of all its landing-rockets could not bring twenty +tons of ship to a halt. They could speed it up, so it would +pass the calculated meeting place ahead of the war rocket. +But the bomb would simply follow in a stern chase. In any +case, the ship could not stop.</p> + +<p>But neither could the rocket.</p> + +<p>Joe never knew how he saw the significance of that fact. +On land or sea, of course, an automobile or a ship moves in +the direction in which it is pointed. Even an airplane needs +to make only minor corrections for air currents which affect +it. But an object in space moves on a course which is the +sum of all its previous speeds and courses. Joe's ship was +moving eastward above the Earth at so many miles per +second. If he drove north—at a right angle to his present +course—the ship would not cease to move to the east. It would +simply move northward in addition to moving east. If the +rocket from Earth turned north or east it would continue to +move up and merely add the other motion to its vertical rise.</p> + +<p>Joe stared at the uncoiling thread of vapor which was the +murder rocket's trail. He hated it so fiercely that he wanted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +to escape it even at the cost of destruction, merely to foil its +makers. At one moment, he was hardly aware of anything +but his own fury and the frantic desire to frustrate the rocket +at any cost. The next instant, somehow, he was not angry at +all. Because somehow his brain had dredged up the fact +that the war rocket could no more turn back than he could—and +he saw its meaning.</p> + +<p>"Mike!" he snapped sharply. "Get set! Report what we do! +Everybody set for acceleration! Steering rockets ready, Chief! +Get set to help, Haney! I don't know whether we'll get out of +this alive, but we'd better get into our space suits."</p> + +<p>Then he literally dived back to his acceleration chair and +strapped in in feverish haste. The ship was then a quarter +of the way to the meeting place and the rocket had very much +farther to go. But it was rising faster.</p> + +<p>The ship's gyros whined and squealed as Joe jammed on +their controls. The little ship spun in emptiness. Its bow +turned and pointed down. The steering rockets made their +roarings.</p> + +<p>Joe found himself panting. "The—rocket's rising faster—than +we are. It's been gaining—altitude maybe—two minutes. +It's lighter than when—it started but—it can't stop—less than +a minute, anyhow so we duck under it——"</p> + +<p>He did not make computations. There was no time. The +war rocket might have started at four or five gravities acceleration, +but it would speed up as its fuel burned. It might be +accelerating at fifteen gravities now, and have an attained +velocity of four miles a second and still increasing. If the +little ship ducked under it, it could not kill that rate-of-climb +in time to follow in a stern chase.</p> + +<p>"Haney!" panted Joe. "Watch out the port! Are we going +to make it?"</p> + +<p>Haney crawled forward. Joe had forgotten the radar because +he'd seen the rocket with his own eyes. It seemed to +need eyes to watch it. Mike spoke curtly into the microphone +broadcasting to ground. He was reporting each action and +order as it took place and was given. There was no time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +explain anything. But Mike thought of the radar. He watched +it.</p> + +<p>It showed the vast curve of Earth's surface, 400 miles down. +It showed a moving pip, much too much nearer, which was +the war rocket. Mike made a dot on the screen with a grease +pencil where the pip showed. It moved. He made another +dot. The pip continued to move. He made other dots.</p> + +<p>They formed a curving line—curved because the rocket +was accelerating—which moved inexorably toward the center +of the radar screen. The curve would cut the screen's exact +center. That meant collision.</p> + +<p>"Too close, Joe!" said Mike shrilly. "We may miss it, but +not enough!"</p> + +<p>"Then hold fast," yelled Joe. "Landing rockets firing, three—two—one!"</p> + +<p>The bellowing of the landing-rockets smote their ears. +Weight seized upon them, three gravities of acceleration +toward the rushing flood of clouds and solidity which was the +Earth. The ship plunged downward with all its power. It was +intolerable—and ten times worse because they had been +weightless so long and were still shaken and sore and bruised +from the air-graze only minutes back.</p> + +<p>Mike took acceleration better than the others, but his voice +was thin when he gasped, "Looks—like this does it, Joe!" +Seconds later he gasped again, "Right! The rocket's above us +and still going away!"</p> + +<p>The gyros squealed again. The ship plunged into vapor +which was the trail of the enemy rocket. For an instant the +flowing confusion which was Earth was blotted out. Then it +was visible again. The ship was plunging downward, but its +sidewise speed was undiminished and much greater than +its rate of fall.</p> + +<p>"Mike," panted Joe. "Get the news out. What we did—and +why. I'm—going to turn the ship's head back on our—course. +We can't slow enough but—I'd rather crash on Earth +than let them blast us——"</p> + +<p>The ship turned again. It pointed back in the direction +from which it had come. With the brutal sternward pressure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +produced by the landing-rockets, it felt as if it were speeding +madly back where it had come from. It was the sensation +they'd felt when the ship took off from Earth, so long before. +But then the cloud masses and the earth beneath had flowed +toward the ship and under it. Now they flowed away. The +appearance was that of an unthinkably swift wake left behind +by a ship at sea. The Earth's surface fled away and fled +away from them.</p> + +<p>"Crazy, this!" Joe muttered thickly. "If the ship were +lighter—or we had more power—we could land! I'm sorry, +but I'd rather——"</p> + +<p>Haney turned his head from where he clung near the bow-ports. +His features changed slowly as he talked because of +acceleration-driven blood engorging his lips and bloating his +cheeks. After one instant he closed his eyes fiercely. They +felt as if they would pop out of his head. He gasped, "Yes! +Get down to air-resistance. A chance—not good but a chance—ejection +seats—with space suits—might make it...."</p> + +<p>He began to let himself back toward his acceleration chair. +He could not possibly have climbed forward. It was a horrible +task to let himself down, with triple his normal weight +pulling at him and after the beating taken a little while ago.</p> + +<p>Sweat stood out on his skin as he lowered himself sternward. +Once his grip on a hand-line slipped and he had to +sustain the drag of nearly six hundred pounds by a single hand +and arm. It would not be a good idea to fall at three gravities.</p> + +<p>The landing rockets roared and roared, and Joe tilted the +bow down a little farther, so that the streaming flood of +clouds drew nearer.</p> + +<p>Haney got to his acceleration chair. He let himself into it +and his eyes closed.</p> + +<p>Mike's sharp voice barked: "What's the chance, Haney?"</p> + +<p>Haney's mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. +"Rocket flames," he gasped, "pushed back—wind—splash on +hull—may melt—lighten weight—hundred to one against——"</p> + +<p>The odds were worse than that. The ship couldn't land +because its momentum was too great for the landing rockets +to cancel out. If it had weighed five tons instead of twenty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +landing might have been possible. Haney was saying that +if the ship were to be lowered into air while rushing irresistibly +sternward despite its rockets, that the rocket flames +might be splashed out by the wind. Instead of streaking +astern in a lance-like shape, they might be pushed out like a +rocket blast when it hits the earth in a guided missile take-off. +Such a blast spreads out flat in all directions. Here the +rocket flames might be spread by wind until they played upon +the hull of the ship. If they did, they might melt it as they +melted their own steel cases in firing. And three-fourths or +more of the hull might be torn loose from the cabin bow +section. So much was unlikely, but it was possible.</p> + +<p>The impossible odds were that the four could survive even +if the cabin were detached. They were decelerating at three +gravities now. If part of the ship burned or melted or was +torn away, the rocket thrust might speed the cabin up to +almost any figure. And there is a limit to the number of +gravities a man can take, even in an acceleration chair.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, that was what Haney proposed. They were +due to be killed anyhow. Joe tried it.</p> + +<p>He dived into atmosphere. At 60 miles altitude a thin +wailing seemed to develop without reason. At 40 miles, the +ship had lost more than two miles per second of its speed since +the landing-rockets were ignited, and there was a shuddering +in all its fabric—though because of the loss of speed it was +not as bad as the atmosphere-graze. At 30 it began to shake +and tremble. At 25 miles high there was as horrible a vibration +and as deadly a deceleration as at the air-graze. At 12 +miles above the surface of the Earth the hull temperature indicators +showed the hind part of the hull at red heat. The +ship happened to be traveling backward at several times the +speed of sound, and air could not move away from before it. +It was compressed to white heat at the entering surface, and +the metal plating went to bright red heat at that point. But +the hull just aft of the rocket mouths was hotter still. There +the splashing rocket flames bathed it in intolerable incandescence. +Hull plates, braces and beams glared white——</p> + +<p>The tip of the tail caved in. The ship's empty cargo space<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +was instantly filled with air at intolerable pressure and heat.</p> + +<p>The hull exploded outward where the rocket flames played. +There was a monstrous, incredible jerking of the cabin that +remained. That fraction of the ship received the full force +of the rocket thrust. They could decelerate it at a rate of +fifteen gravities or more.</p> + +<p>They did.</p> + +<p>Joe lost consciousness as instantly and as peacefully as if +he had been hit on the jaw.</p> + +<p>An unknown but brief time later, he found himself listening +with a peculiar astonishment. The rockets had burned +out. They had lasted only seconds after the separation of the +ship into two fragments. Radars on the ground are authority +for this. Those few seconds were extremely important. The +cabin lost an additional half-mile per second of velocity, +which was enough to make the difference between the cabin +heating up too, and the cabin being not quite destroyed.</p> + +<p>The cabin remnant was heavy, of course, but it was an +irregular object, some twenty feet across. It was below orbital +velocity, and wind-resistance slowed it. Even so, it traveled +47 miles to the east in falling the last 10 miles to Earth. It +hit a hillside and dug itself a 70-foot crater in the ground.</p> + +<p>But there was nobody in it, then. A little over a month +before, it had seemed to Joe that ejection seats were the most +useless of all possible pieces of equipment to have in a space +ship. He'd been as much mistaken as anybody could be. +With an ejection seat, a jet pilot can be shot out of a plane +traveling over Mach one, and live to tell about it. This +crumpling cabin fell fast, but Joe stuffed Mike in an ejection +seat and shot him out. He and the Chief dragged Haney to a +seat, and then the Chief shoved Joe off—and the four of them, +one by one, were flung out into a screaming stream of air. +But the ribbon-parachutes did not burst. They nearly broke +the necks of their passengers, but they let them down almost +gently.</p> + +<p>And it was quite preposterous, but all four landed intact. +Mike, being lightest and first to be ejected, came down by +himself in a fury because he'd been treated with special favor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +The Chief and Joe landed almost together. After a long +time, Joe staggered out of his space suit and harness and tried +to help the Chief, and they held each other up as they stumbled +off together in search of Haney.</p> + +<p>When they found him he was sleeping heavily, exhausted, +in a canebrake. He hadn't even bothered to disengage his +parachute harness or take off his suit.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c6" id="c6"></a><i>6</i></h2> + + +<p>A good deal of that landing remained confused +in Joe's mind. While it was going on he was much too busy to +be absorbing impressions. When he landed, he was as completely +exhausted as anybody wants to be. It was only during +the next day that he even tried to sort out his recollections.</p> + +<p>Then he woke up suddenly, with a muffled roaring going +on all about him. He blinked his eyes open and listened. +Presently he realized what the noise was, and wondered that +he hadn't realized before. It was the roaring of the motors of +a multi-engined plane. He knew, without remembering the +details at the moment, that he and the other three were on a +plane bound across the Pacific for America. He was in a +bunk—and he felt extraordinarily heavy. He tried to move, +and it was an enormous effort to move his arm. He struggled +to turn over, and found straps holding his body down.</p> + +<p>He fumbled at them. They had readily releasable clasps, +and he loosened them easily. After a bit he struggled to sit upright. +He was horribly heavy or horribly weak. He couldn't +tell which. And each separate muscle in his whole body ached. +Twinges of pain accompanied every movement. He sat up, +swaying a little with the slow movements of the plane, and +gradually, things came back.</p> + +<p>The landing in the ribbon-chute. They'd come down somewhere +on the west coast of India, not too far from the sea. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +remembered crashing into the edge of a thin jungle and +finding the Chief, and the two of them searching out Haney +and stumbling to open ground. After laying out a signal for +air searchers, they went off into worn-out slumber while they +waited.</p> + +<p>He remembered that there'd been a patrol of American +destroyers in the Arabian Sea, as everywhere under the orbit +of the Platform. Their radar had reported the destruction of +one space ship and the frantic diving of the other, its division +into two parts, and then the tiny objects, which flew out from +the smaller cabin section, which had descended as only ejection-seat +parachutes could possibly have done. Two destroyers +steamed onward underneath those drifting specks, to pick +them up when they should come down. But the other nearby +destroyers had other business in hand.</p> + +<p>The two trailing destroyers reached Goa harbor within +hours of the landing of the four from space. A helicopter found +the first three of them within hours after that. They were +twenty miles inland and thirty south from Goa. Mike wasn't +located until the next day. He'd been shot out of the ship's +cabin earlier and higher; he was lighter, and he'd floated +farther.</p> + +<p>But things—satisfying things—had happened in the interval. +Sitting almost dizzily on the bunk in the swiftly roaring plane +while blood began sluggishly to flow through his body, Joe +remembered the gleeful, unofficial news passed around on the +destroyers. They waited for Mike to be brought in. But they +rejoiced vengefully.</p> + +<p>The report was quite true, but it never reached the newspapers. +Nobody would ever admit it, but the rockets aimed +at the returning space ships had been spotted by Navy radar +as they went up from the Arabian Sea. And the ships of the +radar patrol couldn't do anything about the rockets, but they +could and did converge savagely upon the places from which +they had been launched. Planes sped out to spot and bomb. +Destroyers arrived.</p> + +<p>Somewhere there was a navy department that could write +off two modern submarines with rocket-launching equipment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +last heard from west of India. American naval men would profess +bland ignorance of any such event, but there were acres +of dead fish floating on the ocean where depth-bombs had +hunted down and killed two shapes much too big to be fish, +which didn't float when they were killed and which would +never report back how they'd destroyed two space ships. +There'd be seagulls feasting over that area, and there'd be +vague tales about the happening in the bazaars of Hadhramaut. +But nobody would ever admit knowing anything for +certain.</p> + +<p>But Joe knew. He got to his feet, wobbling a little bit in +the soaring plane. He ached everywhere. His muscles protested +the strain of holding him erect. He held fast, summoning +strength. Before his little ship broke up he'd been shaken intolerably, +and his body had weighed half a ton. Where his +safety-belt had held him, his body was one wide bruise. +There'd been that killing acceleration when the ship split in +two. The others—except Mike—were in as bad a case or +worse. Haney and the Chief were like men who'd been rolled +down Mount Everest in a barrel. All of them had slept for +fourteen hours straight before they even woke up for food. +Even now, Joe didn't remember boarding this plane or getting +into the bunk. He'd probably been carried in.</p> + +<p>Joe stood up, doggedly, until enough strength came to him +to justify his sitting down again. He began to dress. It was +astonishing how many places about his body were sore to +the touch. It was startling how heavy his arms and legs felt, +and how much of an effort even sitting erect was. But he began +to remember Mike's adventure, and managed to grin feebly. +It was the only thing worth a smile in all the things that had +happened.</p> + +<p>Because Mike's landing had been quite unlike the others. +Joe and the Chief landed near the edge of a jungle. Haney +landed in a canebrake. But Mike came floating down from +the sky, swaying splendidly, into the estate of a minor godling.</p> + +<p>He was relatively unharmed by the shaking-up he'd had. +The strength of muscles depends on their cross-section, but +their weight depends on their volume. The strength of a man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +depends on the square of his size, but his weight on the cube. +So Mike had taken the deceleration and the murderous vibration +almost in his stride. He floated longer and landed +more gently than the rest.</p> + +<p>Joe grinned painfully at the memory of Mike's tale. He'd +come on board the rescue destroyer in a towering, explosive +rage. When his ribbon-parachute let him down out of the +sky, it deposited him gently on ploughed fields not far from +a small and primitive Hindu village. He'd been seen to descend +from the heavens. He was a midget—not as other men—and +he was dressed in a space suit with glittering metal +harness.</p> + +<p>The pagan villagers greeted him with rapture.</p> + +<p>When the searching-party found Mike, they were just in +time to prevent a massacre—by Mike. <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: The original reads 'Adorning'.">Adoring</ins> natives had +seized upon him, conveyed him in high state to a red mud +temple, seemingly tried to suffocate him with evidences of +their pride and joy at his arrival, and dark-skinned maidens +were trying hopefully to win his approval of their dancing. +But the rescue-party found him with a club in his hand and +blood in his eye, setting out furiously to change the tone of his +reception.</p> + +<p>Joe still didn't know all the details, but he tried to concentrate +on what he did know as he put his uniform on again. +He didn't want to think how little it meant, now. The silver +space ship badge didn't mean a thing, any more. There +weren't any more space ships. The Platform wasn't a ship, +but a satellite. There'd never been but two ships. Both had +ceased to exist.</p> + +<p>Joe walked painfully forward in the huge, roaring plane. +The motors made a constant, humming thunder in his ears. +It was not easy to walk. He held on to handholds as he +moved. But he progressed past the bunk space. And there +was Mike, sitting at a table and stuffing himself with good +honest food. There was a glass port beside him, and Joe +caught a glimpse of illimitable distances filled with cloud and +sky and sea.</p> + +<p>Mike nodded. He didn't offer to help Joe walk. That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +wouldn't have been practical. He waited until Joe sank into +a seat opposite.</p> + +<p>"Good sleep?" asked Mike.</p> + +<p>"I guess so," said Joe. He added ruefully, "It hurts to nod, +and I think it would hurt worse to shake my head. What's +the matter with me, Mike? I didn't get banged up in the +landing!"</p> + +<p>"You got banged up before you landed," said Mike. "Worse +than that, you spent better than six weeks out of gravity, +where in an average day you took less actual exercise than a +guy in bed with two broken legs!"</p> + +<p>Joe eased himself back into his chair. He felt about 600 +years old. Somebody poked a head into view and withdrew it. +Joe lifted his arm and regarded it.</p> + +<p>"Weighty! I guess you're right, Mike."</p> + +<p>"I know I'm right!" said Mike. "If you spent six weeks in +bed you'd expect to feel wobbly when you tried to walk. Up +on the Platform you didn't even use energy to stand up! We +didn't realize it, but we were living like invalids! We'll get our +strength back, but next time we'll take measures. Huh! Take a +trip to Mars in free fall, and by the time a guy got there his +muscles'd be so flabby he couldn't stand up in half-gravity! +Something's got to be done about that, Joe!"</p> + +<p>Joe said sombrely, "Something's got to be done about space +ships before that comes up again!"</p> + +<p>Somebody appeared with a tray. There was food on it. +Smoking hot food. Joe looked at it and knew that his appetite, +anyhow, was back to Earth normal.</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" he mumbled appreciatively, and attacked the +food.</p> + +<p>Mike drank his coffee. Then he said, "Joe, do you know +anything about powder metallurgy?"</p> + +<p>Joe shrugged. It hurt. "Powder metallurgy? Yes, I've seen +it used, at my father's plant. They've made small precision +parts with it. Why?"</p> + +<p>"D'you know if anybody ever made a weld with it?" asked +Mike.</p> + +<p>Joe chewed. Then he said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think so. Yes. At the plant they did. They had trouble +getting the surfaces properly cleaned for welding. But they +managed it. Why?"</p> + +<p>"One more question," said Mike tensely. "How much Portland +cement is used to make a cubic yard of concrete?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't know," admitted Joe. "Why? What's all this +about?"</p> + +<p>"Haney and the Chief. Those two big apes have been +kidding me—as long as they could stay awake—for what happened +to me when I landed. Those infernal savages—" Mike +seethed. "They got my clothes off and they had me smeared all +over with butter and forty-'leven necklaces around my neck +and flowers in my hair! They thought I was some kind of +heathen god! Hanuman, somebody told me. The Hindu +monkey-god!" He raged. "And those two big apes think it's +funny! Joe, I never knew I <i>knew</i> all the words for the cussings +I gave those heathen before our fellas found me! And Haney +and the Chief will drive me crazy if I can't slap 'em down! +Powder metallurgy does the trick, from what you told me. +That's okay, then."</p> + +<p>He stood up and stalked toward the front of the plane. Joe +roused himself with an effort. He turned to look about him. +Haney lay slumped in a reclining chair, on the other side of +the plane cabin. His eyes were closed. The Chief lay limply in +another chair. He smiled faintly at Joe, but he didn't try to +talk. He was too tired. The return to normal gravity bothered +him, as it did Joe.</p> + +<p>Joe looked out the window. In neat, geometric spacing on +either side of the transport there were fighter jets. There +was another flight above and farther away. Joe saw, suddenly, +a peeling-off of planes from the farther formation. They +dived down through the clouds. He never knew what they +went to look for or what they found. He went groggily back +to his bunk in a strange and embarrassing weakness.</p> + +<p>He woke when the plane landed. He didn't know where it +might be. It was, he knew, an island. He could see the wide, +sun-baked white of the runways. He could see sea-birds in +clouds over at the edge. The plane trundled and lurched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +slowly to a stop. A service-truck came growling up, and +somebody led cables from it up into the engines. Somebody +watched dials, and waved a hand.</p> + +<p>There was silence. There was stillness. Joe heard voices +and footsteps. Presently he heard the dull booming of surf.</p> + +<p>The plane seemed to wait for a very long time. Then there +was a faint, faint distant whine of jets, and a plane came from +the east. It was first a dot and then a vague shape, and then +an infinitely graceful dark object which swooped down and +landed at the other end of the strip. It came taxiing up alongside +the transport ship and stopped.</p> + +<p>An officer in uniform climbed out, waved his hand, and +walked over to the transport. He climbed up the ladder and +the pilot and co-pilot followed him. They took their places. +The door closed. One by one, the jets chugged, then roared to +life.</p> + +<p>The officer talked to the pilot and co-pilot for a moment. +He came down the aisle toward Joe. Mike the midget regarded +him suspiciously.</p> + +<p>The plane stirred. The newly arrived officer said pleasantly, +"The Navy Department's sent me out here, Kenmore, to be +briefed on what you know and to do a little briefing in turn."</p> + +<p>The transport plane turned clumsily and began to taxi down +the runway. It jolted and bumped over the tarmac, then lifted, +and Joe saw that the island was nearly all airfield. There were +a few small buildings and distance-dwarfed hangars. Beyond +the field proper there was a ring of white surf. That was all. +The rest was ocean.</p> + +<p>"I haven't much briefing to do," admitted Joe.</p> + +<p>Then he looked at the briefcase the other man opened. It +had sheets and sheets of paper in it—hundreds, it seemed. +They were filled with questions. He'd be called on to find +answers for most of them, and to admit he didn't know the +answers to the rest. When he was through with this questioning, +every possible useful fact he knew would be on file for +future use. And now he wrily recognized that this was part +payment for the efficiency and speed with which the Navy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +had trailed them on their landing, and for the use of a transport +plane to take them back to the United States.</p> + +<p>"I'll try to answer what I can," he said cautiously. "But +what're you to brief me about?"</p> + +<p>"That you're not back on Earth yet," said the officer curtly, +pulling out the first sheaf of questions. "Officially you haven't +even started back. Ostensibly you're still on the Platform."</p> + +<p>Joe blinked at him.</p> + +<p>"If your return were known," continued the lieutenant, +"the public would want to make heroes of you. First space +travelers, and so on. They'd want you on television—all of +you—telling about your adventures and your return. Inevitably, +what happened to your ship would leak out. And if the public +knew you'd been waylaid and shot down there'd be demands +that the government take violent action to avenge the attack. +It'd be something like the tumult over the sinking of the +<i>Maine</i>, or the <i>Lusitania</i>—or even Pearl Harbor. It's much +better for your return to be a secret for now."</p> + +<p>Joe said wrily: "I don't think any of us want to be ridden +around to have ticker-tape dumped on us. That part's all +right. I'm sure the others will agree."</p> + +<p>"Good! One more difficulty. We had two space ships. Now +we have none. Our most likely enemies haven't only been +building rockets, they've got a space fleet coming along. Intelligence +just found out they're nearly ready for trial trips. +They've been yelling to high heaven that we were building a +space fleet to conquer the world. We weren't. They were. +And it looks very much as if they may have beaten us."</p> + +<p>The lieutenant got out the dreary mass of papers, intended +to call for every conscious or unconscious observation Joe +might have made in space. It was the equivalent of the interviews +extracted from fliers after a bombing raid, and it was +necessary, but Joe was very tired.</p> + +<p>Wearily, he said, "Start your questions. I'll try to answer +them."</p> + +<p>They arrived in Bootstrap some forty-six hours after the +crashing of their ship. Joe, at least, had slept nearly thirty of +those hours. So while he was still wobbly on his feet and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +would be for days to come, his disposition was vastly improved.</p> + +<p>There was nobody waiting on the airfield by the town of +Bootstrap, but as they landed a black car came smoothly out +and stopped close by the transport. Joe got down and climbed +into it. Sally Holt was inside. She took both his hands and +cried, and he was horribly embarrassed when the Chief came +blundering into the car after him. But the Chief growled, "If +he didn't kiss you, Sally, I'm going to kick his pants for him."</p> + +<p>"He—he did," said Sally, gulping. "And I'm glad you're +back, Chief. And Haney. And Mike."</p> + +<p>Mike grinned as he climbed in the back too. Haney +crowded in after him. They filled the rear of the car entirely. +It started off swiftly across the field, swerving to the roadway +that led to the highway out of Bootstrap to the Shed. It sped +out that long white concrete ribbon, and the desert was +abruptly all around them. Far ahead, the great round half-dome +of the Shed looked like a cherry-pit on the horizon.</p> + +<p>"It's good to be back!" said the Chief warmly. "I feel like +I weigh a ton, but it's good to be back! Mike's the only one +who was happier out yonder. He figures he belongs there. I +got a story to tell you, Sally——"</p> + +<p>"Chief!" said Mike fiercely. "Shut up!"</p> + +<p>"Won't," said the Chief amiably. "Sally, this guy Mike——"</p> + +<p>Mike went pale. "You're too big to kill," he said bitterly, +"but I'll try it!"</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted at him. "Quit being modest. Sally——"</p> + +<p>Mike flung himself at the Chief, literally snarling. His small +fist hit the Chief's face—and Mike was small but he was not +puny. The "crack" of the impact was loud in the car. Haney +grabbed. There was a moment's frenzied struggling. Then +Mike was helplessly wrapped in Haney's arms, incoherent with +fury and shame.</p> + +<p>"Crazy fool!" grunted the Chief, feeling his jaw. "What's +the matter with you? Don't you feel good?"</p> + +<p>He was angry, but he was more concerned. Mike was white +and raging.</p> + +<p>"You tell that," he panted shrilly, "and so help me——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's got into you?" demanded Haney anxiously. "I'd be +bragging, I would, if I'd got a brainstorm like you did! That +guy Sanford woulda wiped us all out——"</p> + +<p>The Chief said angrily, between unease and puzzlement:</p> + +<p>"I never knew you to go off your nut like this before! What's +got into you, anyway?"</p> + +<p>Mike gulped suddenly. Haney still held him firmly, but +both Haney and the Chief were looking at him with worried +eyes. And Mike said desperately: "You were going to tell +Sally——"</p> + +<p>The Chief snorted.</p> + +<p>"Huh! You fool little runt! No! I was going to tell her +about you opening up that airlock when Sanford locked us +out! Sure I kidded you about what you're talking about! Sure! +I'm going to do it again! But that's amongst us! I don't tell that +outside!"</p> + +<p>Haney made an inarticulate exclamation. He understood, +and he was relieved. But he looked disgusted. He released +Mike abruptly, rumbling to himself. He stared out the window. +And Mike stood upright, an absurd small figure. His +face worked a little.</p> + +<p>"Okay," said Mike, with a little difficulty. "I was dumb. +Only, Chief, you owe me a sock on the jaw when you feel like +it. I'll take it."</p> + +<p>He swallowed. Sally was watching wide-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Sally," said Mike bitterly, "I'm a bigger fool than I look. +I thought the Chief was going to tell you what happened +when I landed. I—I floated down in a village over there in India, +and those crazy savages'd never seen a parachute, and +they began to yell and make gestures, and first thing I knew +they had a sort of litter and were piling me in it, and throwing +flowers all over me, and there was a procession——"</p> + +<p>Sally listened blankly. Mike told the tale of his shame with +the very quintessence of bitter resentment. When he got to his +installation in a red-painted mud temple, and the reverent +and forcible removal of his clothes so he could be greased with +butter, Sally's lips began to twitch. At the picture of Mike +in a red loincloth, squirming furiously while brown-skinned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +admirers zestfully sang his praises, howling his rage while +they celebrated some sort of pious festival in honor of his +arrival, Sally broke down and laughed helplessly.</p> + +<p>Mike stared at her, aghast. He felt that he'd hated the +Chief when he thought the Chief was going to tell the tale +on him as a joke. He'd told it on himself as a penance, in the +place of the blow he'd given the Chief and which the Chief +wouldn't return. To Mike it was still tragedy. It was still an +outrage to his dignity. But Sally was laughing. She rocked +back and forth next to Joe, helpless with mirth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mike!" she gasped. "It's beautiful! They must have +been saying such lovely, respectful things, while you were calling +them names and wanting to kill them! They'd have been +bragging to each other about how you were—visiting them because +they'd been such good people, and—this was the reward +of well-spent lives, and you—you——"</p> + +<p>She leaned against Joe and shook. The car went on. The +Chief chuckled. Haney grinned. Joe watched Mike as this new +aspect of his disgrace got into his consciousness. It hadn't occurred +to Mike, before, that anybody but himself had been +ridiculous. It hadn't occurred to him, until he lost his temper, +that Haney and the Chief would ride him mercilessly among +themselves, but would not dream of letting anybody outside +the gang do so.</p> + +<p>Presently Mike managed to grin a little. It was a twisty +grin, and not altogether mirthful.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," he said wrily. "I see it. They were crazy too. I +should've had more sense than to get mad." Then his grin +grew a trifle twistier. "I didn't tell you that the thing that +made me maddest was when they wanted to put earrings on +me. I grabbed a club then and—uh—persuaded them I +didn't like the idea."</p> + +<p>Sally chortled. The picture of the small, truculent Mike in +frenzied revolt with a club against the idea of being decked +with jewelry.... Mike turned to the two big men and +shoved at them imperiously.</p> + +<p>"Move over!" he growled. "If you two big lummoxes had +dropped in on those crazy goofs instead of me, they'd've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +thought you were elephants and set you to work hauling logs!"</p> + +<p>He squirmed to a seat between them. He still looked +ashamed, but it was shame of a different sort. Now he looked +as if he wished he hadn't mistrusted his friends for even a moment. +And he included Sally.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," he said suddenly in a different tone, "maybe it +did do some good for me to get all worked up! I got kind +of frantic. I figured somebody'd made a fool of me, and I +was going to put something over on you."</p> + +<p>"Mike!" said Sally reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"Not like you think, Sally," said Mike, grinning a little. "I +made up my mind to beat these lummoxes at their own game. +I asked Joe about my <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: Hyphen removed to conform to majority usage.">brainstorm</ins> in the plane. He didn't know +what I was driving at, but he said what I hoped was so. So +I'm telling you—and," he added fiercely, "if it's any good +everybody gets credit for it, because all of us four—even two +big apes who try kidding—are responsible for it!"</p> + +<p>He glared at them. Joe asked. "What is it, Mike?"</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mike, "I think I've got a trick to make space +ships quicker than anybody ever dreamed of. Joe says you can +make a weld with powder metallurgy. And I think we can +use that trick to make one-piece ships—lighter and stronger +and tighter—and fast enough to make your head swim! And +you guys are in on it!"</p> + +<p>The black car braked by the entrance to the Security offices +outside the Shed. It looked completely deserted. There was +only a skeleton force here since the Platform had been +launched three months before. There was almost nobody to be +seen, but Mike pressed his lips pugnaciously together as they +got out of the car and went inside.</p> + +<p>The four of them, with Sally, went along the empty corridors +to the major's office. He was waiting for them. He shook +hands all around. But it was not possible for Major Holt to give +an impression of cordiality.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to see all of you back," he said curtly. "It +didn't look like you'd make it. Joe, you will be able to reach +your father by long-distance telephone as soon as you finish +here. I—ah—thought it would not be indiscreet to tell him you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +had landed safely, though I did ask him to keep the fact to +himself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," said Joe.</p> + +<p>"You answered most of the questions you needed to answer +on the plane," added the major, grimly, "and now you may +want to ask some. You know there is no ship for you. You +know that the enemies of the Platform copied our rocket fuel. +You know they've made rockets with it. You've met them! +And Intelligence says they're building a fleet of space ships—not +for space exploration, but simply to smash the Platform and +get set for an ultimatum to the United States to backwater or +be bombarded from space."</p> + +<p>Mike said crisply: "How long before they can do it?"</p> + +<p>Major Holt turned uncordial eyes upon him. "It's anybody's +guess. Why?"</p> + +<p>"We've been working something out," said Mike, firmly +but in part untruthfully. He stood sturdily before the major's +desk, which he barely topped. "The four of us have been +working it out. Joe says they've done powder metallurgy +welds, back at his father's plant. Joe and Haney and the +Chief and me, we've been working out an idea."</p> + +<p>Major Holt waited. His hands moved nervously on his desk. +Joe looked at Mike. Haney and the Chief regarded him warily. +The Chief cocked his head on one side.</p> + +<p>"It'll take a minute to get it across," said Mike. "You have +to think of concrete first. When you want to make a cubic +yard of concrete, you take a cubic yard of gravel. Then you +add some sand—just enough to fill in the cracks between the +gravel. Then you put in some cement. It goes in the cracks +between the grains of sand. A little bit of cement makes a lot +of concrete. See?"</p> + +<p>Major Holt frowned. But he knew these four. "I see, but +I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"You can weld metals together with powder-metallurgy +powder at less than red heat. You can take steel filings for +sand and steel turnings for gravel and powdered steel for +cement—"</p> + +<p>Joe jolted erect. He looked startledly at Haney and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +Chief. And Haney's mouth was dropping open. A great, +dreamy light seemed to be bursting upon him. The Chief regarded +Mike with very bright eyes. And Mike sturdily, +forcefully, coldly, made a sort of speech in his small and +brittle voice.</p> + +<p>Things could be made of solid steel, he said sharply, without +rolling or milling or die-casting the metal, and without +riveting or arc-welding the parts together. The trick was powder +metallurgy. Very finely powdered metal, packed tightly +and heated to a relatively low temperature—"sintered" is the +word—becomes a solid mass. Even alloys can be made by +mixing powdered metals. The process had been used only for +small objects, but—there was the analogy to concrete. A very +little powder could weld much metal, in the form of turnings +and smaller bits. And the result would be solid steel!</p> + +<p>Then Mike grew impassioned. There was a wooden mockup +of a space ship in the Shed, he said. It was an absolutely +accurate replica, in wood, of the ships that had been destroyed. +But one could take castings of it, and use them for +molds, and fill them with powder and filings and turnings, +and heat them not even red-hot and there would be steel +hulls in one piece. Solid steel hulls! Needing no riveting nor +anything else—and one could do it fast! While the first hull +was fitting out a second could be molded——</p> + +<p>The Chief roared: "You fool little runt!" he bellowed. +"Tryin' to give us credit for that! You got more sense than any +of us! You worked that out in your own head——"</p> + +<p>Haney rubbed his hands together. He said softly, "I like +that! I do like that!"</p> + +<p>Major Holt turned his eyes to Joe. "What's your opinion?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's the sort of thing, sir, that a professional engineer +would say was a good idea but not practical. He'd mean +it would be a lot of trouble to get working. But I'd like to ask +my father. They have done powder welding at the plant +back home, sir."</p> + +<p>Major Holt nodded. "Call your father. If it looks promising, +I'll pull what wires I can."</p> + +<p>Joe went out, with the others. Mike was sweating. All unconsciously,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +he twisted his hands one within the other. He had +had many humiliations because he was small, but lately he +had humiliated himself by not believing in his friends. Now +he needed desperately to do something that would reflect +credit on them as well as himself.</p> + +<p>Joe made the phone call. As he closed the door of the +booth, he heard the Chief kidding Mike blandly.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Einstein," said the Chief. "How about putting that +brain of yours to work on a faster-than-light drive?"</p> + +<p>But then he began to struggle with the long distance operator. +It took minutes to get the plant, and then it took +time to get to the point, because his father insisted on asking +anxiously how he was and if he was hurt in any way. Personal +stuff. But Joe finally managed to explain that this call +dealt with the desperate need to do something about a space +fleet.</p> + +<p>His father said grimly, "Yes. The situation doesn't look too +good right now, Joe."</p> + +<p>"Try this on for size, sir," said Joe. He outlined Mike's +scheme. His father interrupted only to ask crisp questions +about the mockup of the tender, already in existence though +made of wood. Then he said, "Go on, son!"</p> + +<p>Joe finished. He heard his father speaking to someone +away from the phone. Questions and answers, and then +orders. His father spoke to him direct.</p> + +<p>"It looks promising, Joe," said his father. "Right here at +the plant we've got the gang that can do it if anybody can. +I'm getting a plane and coming out there, fast! Get Major Holt +to clear things for me. This is no time for red tape! If he has +trouble, I'll pull some wires myself!"</p> + +<p>"Then I can tell Mike it's good stuff?"</p> + +<p>"It's not good stuff," said his father. "There are about forty-seven +things wrong with it at first glance, but I know how to +take care of one or two, and we'll lick the rest. You tell your +friend Mike I want to shake him by the hand. I hope to do it +tonight!"</p> + +<p>He hung up, and Joe went out of the phone booth. Mike<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +looked at him with yearning eyes. Joe lied a little, because +Mike rated it.</p> + +<p>"My father's on the way here to help make it work," he +told Mike. Then he added untruthfully: "He said he thought +he knew all the big men in his line, and where've you been +that he hasn't heard of you?"</p> + +<p>He turned away as the Chief whooped with glee. He +hurried back to Major Holt as the Chief and Haney began +zestfully to manhandle Mike in celebration of his genius.</p> + +<p>The major held up his hand as Joe entered. He was using +the desk phone. Joe waited. When he hung up, Joe reported. +The major seemed unsurprised.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had Washington on the wire," he said detachedly. +"I talked to a personal friend who's a three-star general. There +will be action started at the Pentagon. When you came in I +was arranging with the largest producers of powder-metallurgy +products in the country to send their best men here by +plane. They will start at once. Now I have to get in touch +with some other people."</p> + +<p>Joe gaped at him. The major moved impatiently, waiting +for Joe to leave. Joe gulped. "Excuse me, sir, but—my father +didn't say it was certain. He just thinks it can be made to +work. He's not sure."</p> + +<p>"I didn't even wait for that, something has to turn up to +take care of this situation!" said the Major with asperity. "It +has to! This particular scheme may not work, but if it doesn't, +something will come out of the work on it! You should look at a +twenty-five cent piece occasionally, Joe!"</p> + +<p>He moved impatiently, and Joe went out. Sally was smiling +in the outer office. There were whoopings in the corridor +beyond. The Chief and Haney were celebrating Mike's +brainstorm with salutary indignity, because if they didn't +make a joke of it he might cry with joy.</p> + +<p>"Things look better?"</p> + +<p>"They do," said Joe. "If it only works...."</p> + +<p>Then he hunted in his pocket. He found a quarter and +examined it curiously. On one side he found nothing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +major could have referred to. On the other side, though, +just by George Washington's chin——</p> + +<p>He put the quarter away and took Sally's arm.</p> + +<p>"It'll be all right," he said slowly.</p> + +<p>But there were times when it seemed in doubt. Joe's father +arrived by plane at sunset of that same day, and he and +three men from the Kenmore Precision Tool Company instantly +closeted themselves with Mike in Major Holt's quarters. +The powder metallurgy men turned up an hour later, +and a three-star general from Washington. They joined the +highly technical discussion.</p> + +<p>Joe waited around outside, feeling left out of things. He +sat on the porch with Sally while the moon rose over the +desert and stars shone down. Inside, matters of high importance +were being battled over with the informality and heat +with which practical men get things settled. But Joe wasn't +in on it. He said annoyedly, "You'd think my father'd have +something to say to me, in all this mess! After all, I have been—well, +I have been places! But all he said was, 'How are you, +Son? Where's this Mike you talked about?'"</p> + +<p>Sally said calmly, "I know just how you feel. You've made +me feel that way." She looked up at the moon. "I thought +about you all the time you were gone, and I—prayed for you, +Joe. And now you're back and not even busy! But you +don't—— It would be nice for you to think about me for a +while!"</p> + +<p>"I am thinking about you!" said Joe indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Now what," said Sally interestedly, "in the world could +you be thinking about me?"</p> + +<p>He wanted to scowl at her. But he grinned instead.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c7" id="c7"></a><i>7</i></h2> + + +<p>Time passed. Hours, then days. Things began to +happen. Trucks appeared, loaded down with sacks of white +powder. The powder was very messily mixed with water and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +smeared lavishly over the now waterproofed wooden mockup +of a space ship. It came off again in sections of white plaster, +which were numbered and set to dry in warm chambers that +were constructed with almost magical speed. More trucks arrived, +bearing such diverse objects as loads of steel turnings, +a regenerative helium-cooling plant from a gaswell—it could +cool metal down to the point where it crumbled to impalpable +powder at a blow—and assorted fuel tanks, dynamos, and electronic +machinery.</p> + +<p>Ten days after Mike's first proposal of concreted steel as a +material for space ship construction, the parts of the first +casting of the mockup were assembled. They were a mold +for the hull of a space ship. There were more plaster sections +for a second mold ready to be dried out now, but meanwhile +vehicles like concrete mixers mixed turnings and filings and +powder in vast quantities and poured the dry mass here and +there in the first completed mold. Then men began to wrap +the gigantic object with iron wire. Presently that iron wire +glowed slightly, and the whole huge mold grew hotter and +hotter and hotter. And after a time it was allowed to cool.</p> + +<p>But that did not mean a ceasing of activity. The plaster +casts had been made while the concreting process was worked +out. The concreting process—including the heating—was in +action while fittings were being flown to the Shed. But other +hulls were being formed by metal-concrete formation even +before the first mold was taken down.</p> + +<p>When the plaster sections came off, there was a long, +gleaming, frosty-sheened metal hull waiting for the fittings. It +was a replacement of one of the two shot-down space craft, +ready for fitting out some six weeks ahead of schedule. Next +day there was a second metal hull, still too hot to touch. The +day after that there was another.</p> + +<p>Then they began to be turned out at the rate of two a +day, and all the vast expanse of the Shed resounded with the +work on them. Drills drilled and torches burned and hammers +hammered. Small diesels rumbled. Disk saws cut metal +like butter by the seemingly impractical method of spinning +at 20,000 revolutions per minute. Convoys of motor busses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +rolled out from Bootstrap at change-shift time, and there +were again Security men at every doorway, moving continually +about.</p> + +<p>But it still didn't look too good. There is apparently no +way to beat arithmetic, and a definitely grim problem still remained. +Ten days after the beginning of the new construction +program, Joe and Sally looked down from a gallery high up +in the outward-curving wall of the Shed. Acres of dark flooring +lay beneath them. There was a spiral ramp that wound +round and round between the twin skins of the fifty-story-high +dome. It led finally to the Communications Room at the very +top of the Shed itself.</p> + +<p>Where Joe and Sally looked down, the floor was 300 feet +below. Welding arcs glittered. Rivet guns chattered. Trucks +came in the doorways with materials, and there was already a +gleaming row of eighty-foot hulls. There were eleven of them +already uncovered, and small trucks ran up to their sides to +feed the fitting-out crews such items as air tanks and gyro +assemblies and steering rocket piping and motors, and short +wave communicators and control boards. Exit doors were +being fitted. The last two hulls to be uncovered were being +inspected with portable x-ray outfits, in search of flaws. And +there were still other ungainly white molds, which were +other hulls in process of formation—the metal still pouring into +the molds in powder form, or being tamped down, or being +sintered to solidity.</p> + +<p>Joe leaned on the gallery-railing and said unhappily, "I +can't help worrying, even though the Platform hasn't been +shot at since we landed."</p> + +<p>That wasn't an expression of what he was thinking. He +was thinking about matters the enemies of the Platform would +have liked to know about. Sally knew these matters too. But +top secret information isn't talked about by the people who +know it, unless they are actively at work on it. At all other +times one pretends even to himself that he doesn't know it. +That is the only possible way to avoid leaks.</p> + +<p>The top secret information was simply that it was still impossible +to supply the Platform. Ships could be made faster<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +than had ever been dreamed of before, but so long as any +ship that went up could be destroyed on the way down, the +supply of the Platform was impractical. But the ships were +being built regardless, against the time when a way to get +them down again was thought of. As of the moment it hadn't +been thought of yet.</p> + +<p>But building the ships anyhow was unconscious genius, +because nobody but Americans could imagine anything so +foolish. The enemies of the Platform and of the United States +knew that full-scale production of ships by some fantastic +new method was in progress. The fact couldn't be hidden. +But nobody in a country where material shortages were +chronic could imagine building ships before a way to use +them was known. So the Platform's enemies were convinced +that the United States had something wholly new and very +remarkable, and threatened their spies with unspeakable fates +if they didn't find out what it was.</p> + +<p>They didn't find out. The rulers of the enemy nations +knew, of course, that if a new—say—space-drive had been invented, +they would very soon have to change their tune. So +there were no more attacks on the Platform. It floated serenely +overhead, sending down astronomical observations and solar-constant +measurements and weather maps, while about it +floated a screen of garbage and discarded tin cans.</p> + +<p>But Joe and Sally looked down where the ships were being +built while the problem of how to use them was debated.</p> + +<p>"It's a tough nut to crack," said Joe dourly.</p> + +<p>It haunted him. Ships going up had to have crews. Crews +had to come down again because they had to leave supplies +at the Platform, not consume them there. Getting a ship up to +orbit was easier than getting it down again.</p> + +<p>"The Navy's been working on light guided missiles," said +Sally.</p> + +<p>"No good," snapped Joe.</p> + +<p>It wasn't. He'd been asked for advice. Could a space ship +crew control guided missiles and fight its way back to ground +with them? The answer was that it could. But guided missiles +used to fight one's way down would have to be carried up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +first. And they would weigh as much as all the cargo a ship +could carry. A ship that carried fighting rockets couldn't carry +cargo. Cargo at the Platform was the thing desired.</p> + +<p>"All that's needed," said Sally, watching Joe's face, "is a +slight touch of genius. There's been genius before now. Burning +your cabin free with landing-rocket flames——"</p> + +<p>"Haney's idea," growled Joe dispiritedly.</p> + +<p>"And making more ships in a hurry with metal-concrete——"</p> + +<p>"Mike did that," said Joe ruefully.</p> + +<p>"But you made the garbage-screen for the Platform," insisted +Sally.</p> + +<p>"Sanford had made a wisecrack," said Joe. "And it just +happened that it made sense that he hadn't noticed." He +grimaced. "You say something like that, now...."</p> + +<p>Sally looked at him with soft eyes. It wasn't really his job, +this worrying. The top-level brains of the armed forces were +struggling with it. They were trying everything from redesigned +rocket motors to really radical notions. But there wasn't +anything promising yet.</p> + +<p>"What's really needed," said Sally regretfully, "is a way +for ships to go up to the Platform and not have to come back."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" said Joe ironically. Then he said, "Let's go down!"</p> + +<p>They started down the long, winding ramp which led between +the two skins of the Shed's wall. It was quite empty, this +long, curving, descending corridor. It was remarkably private. +In a place like the Shed, with frantic activity going on all +around, and even at Major Holt's quarters where Sally lived +and Joe was a guest, there wasn't often a chance for them to +talk in any sort of actual privacy.</p> + +<p>But Joe went on, scowling. Sally went with him. If she +seemed to hang back a little at first, he didn't notice. Presently +she shrugged her shoulders and ceased to try to make him notice +that nobody else happened to be around. They made a +complete circuit of the Shed within its wall, Joe staring ahead +without words.</p> + +<p>Then he stopped abruptly. His expression was unbelieving. +Sally almost bumped into him.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You had it, Sally!" he said amazedly. "You did it! You said +it!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"The touch of genius!" He almost babbled. "Ships that can +go up to the Platform and not have to come back! Sally, you +did it! You did it!"</p> + +<p>She regarded him helplessly. He took her by the shoulders +as if to shake her into comprehension. But he kissed her exuberantly +instead.</p> + +<p>"Come on!" he said urgently. "I've got to tell the gang!"</p> + +<p>He grabbed her hand and set off at a run for the bottom of +the ramp. And Sally, with remarkably mingled emotions +showing on her face, was dragged in his wake.</p> + +<p>He was still pulling her after him when he found the Chief +and Haney and Mike in the room at Security where they were +practically self-confined, lest their return to Earth become +too publicly known. Mike was stalking up and down with +his hands clasped behind his back, glum as a miniature Napoleon +and talking bitterly. The Chief was sprawled in a +chair. Haney sat upright regarding his knuckles with a +thoughtful air.</p> + +<p>Joe stepped inside the door. Mike continued without a +pause: "I tell you, if they'll only use little guys like me, the +cabin and supplies and crew can be cut down by tons! Even +the instruments can be smaller and weigh less! Four of us in a +smaller cabin, less grub and air and water—we'll save tons +in cabin-weight alone! Why can't you big lummoxes see it?"</p> + +<p>"We see it, Mike," Haney said mildly. "You're right. But +people won't do it. It's not fair, but they won't."</p> + +<p>Joe said, beaming, "Besides, Mike, it'd bust up our gang! +And Sally's just gotten the real answer! The answer is for +ships to go up to the Platform and not come back!"</p> + +<p>He grinned at them. The Chief raised his eyebrows. Haney +turned his head to stare. Joe said exuberantly: "They've been +talking about arming ships with guided missiles to fight with. +Too heavy, of course. But—if we could handle guided missiles, +why couldn't we handle drones?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>The three of them gaped at him. Sally said, startled, "But—but, +Joe, I didn't——"</p> + +<p>"We've got plenty of hulls!" said Joe. Somehow he still +looked astonished at what he'd made of Sally's perfectly obvious +comment. "Mike's arranged for that! Make—say—six of +'em into drones—space barges. Remote-controlled ships. Control +them from one manned ship—the tug! We'll ride that! Take +'em up to the Platform exactly like a tug tows barges. The +tow-line will be radio beams. We'll have a space-tow up, and +not bother to bring the barges back! There won't be any landing +rockets! They'll carry double cargo! That's the answer! A +space tug hauling a tow to the Platform!"</p> + +<p>"But, Joe," insisted Sally, "I didn't think of——"</p> + +<p>The Chief heaved himself up. Haney's voice cut through +what the Chief was about to say. Haney said drily: "Sally, if +Joe hadn't kissed you for thinking that up, I would. Makes +me feel mighty dumb."</p> + +<p>Mike swallowed. Then he said loyally, "Yeah. Me too. I'd've +made a two-ton cargo possible—maybe. But this adds up. +What does the major say?"</p> + +<p>"I—haven't talked to him. I'd better, right away." Joe +grinned. "I wanted to tell you first."</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted. "Good idea. But hold everything!" He +fumbled in his pocket. "The arithmetic is easy enough, Joe. +Cut out the crew and air and you save something." He felt +in another pocket. "Leave off the landing rockets, and you +save plenty more. Count in the cargo you could take anyhow"—— he +searched another pocket still——"and you get forty-two +tons of cargo per space barge, delivered at the Platform. +Six drones—that's 252 tons in one tow! Here!" He'd found +what he wanted. It was a handkerchief. He thrust it upon +Joe. "Wipe that lipstick off, Joe, before you go talk to the +major. He's Sally's father and he might not like it."</p> + +<p>Joe wiped at his face. Sally, her eyes shining, took the +handkerchief from him and finished the job. She displayed +that remarkable insensitivity of females in situations productive +of both pride and embarrassment. When a girl or a woman is +proud, she is never embarrassed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>She and Joe went away, and Sally rushed right into her +father's office. In fifteen minutes technical men began to arrive +for conferences, summoned by telephone. Within forty-five +minutes, messengers carried orders out to the Shed floor +and stopped the installation of certain types of fittings in all +but one of the hulls. In an hour and a half, top technical designers +were doing the work of foremen and getting things +done without benefit of blueprints. The proposal was beautifully +simple to put into practice. Guided-missile control systems +were already in mass production. They could simply be +adjusted to take care of drones.</p> + +<p>Within twelve hours there were truck-loads of new sorts +of supplies arriving at the Shed. Some were Air Force supplies +and some were Ordnance, and some were strictly Quartermaster. +These were not component parts of space ships. They +were freight for the Platform.</p> + +<p>And, just forty-eight hours after Joe and Sally looked dispiritedly +down upon the floor of the Shed, there were seven +gleaming hulls in launching cages and the unholy din of +landing pushpots outside the Shed. They came with hysterical +cries from their airfield to the south, and they flopped flat +with extravagant crashings on the desert outside the eastern +door.</p> + +<p>By the time the pushpots had been hauled in, one by one, +and had attached themselves to the launching cages, Joe and +Haney and the Chief and Mike had climbed into the cabin +of the one ship which was not a drone. There were now seven +cages in all to be hoisted toward the sky. A great double triangular +gore had been jacked out and rolled aside to make an +exit in the side of the Shed. Nearly as many pushpots, it +seemed, were involved in this launching as in the take-off of +the Platform itself.</p> + +<p>The routine test before take-off set the pushpot motors to +roaring inside the Shed. The noise was the most sustained and +ghastly tumult that had been heard on Earth since the departure +of the Platform.</p> + +<p>But this launching was not so impressive. It was definitely +untidy, imprecise, and unmilitary. There were seven eighty-foot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +hulls in cages surrounded by clustering, bellowing, preposterous +groups of howling objects that looked like over-sized +black beetles. One of the seven hulls had eyes. The +others were blind—but they were equipped with radio antennae. +The ship with eyes had several small basket-type +radar bowls projecting from its cabin plating.</p> + +<p>The seven objects rose one by one and went bellowing and +blundering out to the open air. At 40 and 50 feet above the +ground, they jockeyed into some sort of formation, with much +wallowing and pitching and clumsy maneuvering.</p> + +<p>Then, without preliminary, they started up. They rose +swiftly. The noise of their going diminished from a bellow +to a howl, and from a howl to a moaning noise, and then to +a faint, faint, ever-dwindling hum.</p> + +<p>Presently that faded out, too.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c8" id="c8"></a><i>8</i></h2> + + +<p>All the sensations were familiar, the small +fleet of improbable objects rose and rose. Of all flying objects +ever imagined by man, the launching cages supported by +pushpots were most irrational.</p> + +<p>The squadron, though, went bumbling upward. In the +manned ship, Joe was more tense than on his other take-off—if +such a thing was possible. His work was harder this trip. +Before, he'd had Mike at communications and the Chief at the +steering rockets while Haney kept the pushpots balanced for +thrust. Now Joe flew the manned ship alone. Headphones and +a mike gave him communications with the Shed direct, and the +pushpots were balanced in groups, which cost efficiency but +helped on control. He would have, moreover, to handle his +own steering rockets during acceleration and when he could—and +dared—he should supervise the others. Because each of the +other three had two drone-ships to guide. True, they had only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +to keep their drones in formation, but Joe had to navigate for +all. The four of them had been assigned this flight because +of its importance. They happened to be the only crew alive +who had ever flown a space ship designed for maneuvering, +and their experience consisted of a single trip.</p> + +<p>The jet stream was higher this time than on that other +journey now two months past. They blundered into it at +36,000 feet. Joe's headphones buzzed tinnily. Radar from the +ground told him his rate-of-rise, his ground speed, his orbital +speed, and added comments on the handling of the drones.</p> + +<p>The last was not a precision job. On the way up Joe protested, +"Somebody's ship—Number Four—is lagging! Snap it +up!"</p> + +<p>Mike said crisply, "Got it, Joe. Coming up!"</p> + +<p>"The Shed says three separate ships are getting out of formation. +And we need due east pointing. Check it."</p> + +<p>The Chief muttered, "Something whacky here ... come +round, you! Okay, Joe."</p> + +<p>Joe had no time for reflection. He was in charge of the +clumsiest operation ever designed for an exact result. The +squadron went wallowing toward the sky. The noise was horrible. +A tinny voice in his headphones:</p> + +<p>"<i>You are at 65,000 feet. Your rate-of-climb curve is flattening. +You should fire your jatos when practical. You have some +leeway in rocket power.</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe spoke into the extraordinary maze of noise waves and +pressure systems in the air of the cabin.</p> + +<p>"We should blast. I'm throwing in the series circuit for +jatos. Try to line up. We want the drones above us and with +a spread, remember! Go to it!"</p> + +<p>He watched his direction indicator and the small graphic +indicators telling of the drones. The sky outside the ports was +dark purple. The launching cage responded sluggishly. Its +open end came around toward the east. It wobbled and wavered. +It touched the due-east point. Joe stabbed the firing-button.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it. The seven ships +had to keep in formation. They had to start off on one course—with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +a slight spread as a safety measure—and at one time. So +the firing-circuits were keyed to relays in series. Only when +all seven firing-keys were down at the same time would any of +the jatos fire. Then all would blast together.</p> + +<p>The pilots in the cockpit-bubbles of the pushpots had an +extraordinary view of the scene. At something over twelve +miles height, seven aggregations of clumsy black things clung +to frameworks of steel, pushing valorously. Far below there +were clouds and there was Earth. There was a horizon, which +wavered and tilted. The pushpots struggled with seeming lack +of purpose. One of the seven seemed to drop below the others. +They pointed vaguely this way and that—all of them. But +gradually they seemed to arrive at an uncertain unanimity.</p> + +<p>Joe pushed the firing-button again as his own ship touched +the due-east mark. Again nothing happened. Out of the corner +of his eye he saw Haney pressing down both buttons. The +Chief's finger lifted. Mike pushed down one button and held +off the other.</p> + +<p>Roarings and howlings of pushpots. Wobblings and heart-breaking +clumsinesses of the drone-ships. They hung in the +sky while the pushpots used up their fuel.</p> + +<p>"We've got to make it soon," said Joe grimly. "We've got +forty seconds. Or we'll have to go down and try again."</p> + +<p>There was a clock dial with a red sweep-hand which moved +steadily and ominously toward a deadline time for firing. +Up to that deadline, the pushpots could let the ships back +down to Earth without crashing them. After it, they'd run out +of fuel before a landing could be made.</p> + +<p>The deadline came closer and closer. Joe snapped:</p> + +<p>"Take a degree leeway. We've got ten seconds."</p> + +<p>He had the manned ship nearly steady. He held down the +firing-button, holding aim by infinitesimal movements of the +controls. Haney pushed both hands down, raised one, pushed +again. The Chief had one finger down. Mike had both firing +buttons depressed.... The Chief pushed down his second +button, quietly.</p> + +<p>There was a monstrous impact. Every jato in every pushpot +about every launching cage fired at once. Joe felt himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +flung back into his acceleration chair. Six gravities. He began +the horrible fight to stay alive, while the blood tried to drain +from the conscious forepart of his brain, and while every +button of his garments pressed noticeably against him, and +objects in his pockets pushed. The sides of his mouth dragged +back, and his cheeks sagged, and his tongue strove to sink back +into his throat and strangle him.</p> + +<p>It was very bad. It seemed to last for centuries.</p> + +<p>Then the jatos burned out. There was that ghastly feeling +of lunging forward to weightlessness. One instant, Joe's body +weighed half a ton. The next instant, it weighed less than a +dust grain. His head throbbed twice as if his skull were about +to split open and let his brains run out. But these things he had +experienced before.</p> + +<p>There were pantings in the cabin about him. The ship fell. +It happened to be going up, but the sensation and the fact was +free fall. Joe had been through this before, too. He gasped +for breath and croaked, "Drones?"</p> + +<p>"Right," said Haney.</p> + +<p>Mike panted anxiously, "Four's off course. I'll fix it."</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted guttural Mohawk. His hands stirred on +the panel for remote control of the drones he had to handle.</p> + +<p>"Crazy!" he growled. "Got it now, Joe. Fire when ready."</p> + +<p>"Okay, Mike?"</p> + +<p>A half-second pause.</p> + +<p>"Okay!"</p> + +<p>Joe pressed the firing-button for the take-off rockets. And +he was slammed back into his acceleration chair again. But +this was three gravities only. Pressed heavily against the acceleration +cushions, he could perform the navigation for the +fleet. He did. The mother-ship had to steer a true course, regardless +of the vagaries of its rockets. The drones had simply +to be kept in formation with it. The second task was simpler. +But Joe was relieved, this time, of the need to report back instrument-readings. +A telemetering device took care of that.</p> + +<p>The take-off rockets blasted and blasted and blasted. The +mere matter of staying alive grew very tedious. The ordeal +seemed to last for centuries. Actually it could be measured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +only in minutes. But it seemed millennia before the headphones +said, staccato fashion: "<i>You are on course and will +reach speed in fourteen seconds. I will count for you.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Relays for rocket release," panted Joe. "Throw 'em over!"</p> + +<p>Three hands moved to obey. Joe could release the drive +rockets on all seven ships at will.</p> + +<p>The voice counted:</p> + +<p>"<i>Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five +... four ... three ... two ... one ... cut!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe pressed the master-key. The remnants of the solid-fuel +take-off rockets let go. They flashed off into nothingness at +unbelievable speed, consuming themselves as they went.</p> + +<p>There was again no weight.</p> + +<p>This time there was no resting. No eager gazing out the +cabin ports. Now they weren't curious. They'd had over a +month in space, and something like sixteen days back on +Earth, and now they were back in space again.</p> + +<p>Mike and Haney and the Chief worked doggedly at their +control boards. The radar bowls outside the cabin shifted +and moved and quivered. The six drone ships showed on the +screens. But they also had telemetering apparatus. They faithfully +reported their condition and the direction in which their +bows pointed. The radars plotted their position with relation +to each other and the mother-ship.</p> + +<p>Presently Joe cast a glance out of a port and saw that the +dark line of sunset was almost below. The take-off had been +timed to get the ships into Earth's shadow above the area from +which war rockets were most likely to rise. It wouldn't prevent +bombing, of course. But there was a gadget....</p> + +<p>Joe spoke into the microphone: "Reporting everything all +right so far. But you know it."</p> + +<p>The voice from solid ground said, "<i>Report acknowledged.</i>"</p> + +<p>The ships went on and on and on. The Chief muttered to +himself and made very minute adjustments of the movement +of one of his drones. Mike fussed with his. Haney regarded +the controls of his drones with a profound calm.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened, except that they seemed to be falling +into a bottomless pit and their stomach-muscles knotted and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +cramped in purely reflex response to the sensation. Even that +grew tedious.</p> + +<p>The headphones said, "<i>You will enter Earth's shadow in +three minutes. Prepare for combat.</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe said drily, "We're to prepare for combat."</p> + +<p>The Chief growled. "I'd like to do just that!"</p> + +<p>The phrasing, of course, was intentional—in case enemy +ears were listening. Actually, the small fleet was to use a +variant on the tin can shield which protected the Platform. +It would be most effective if visual observation was impossible. +The fleet was seven ships in very ragged formation. Most improbably, +after the long three-gravity acceleration, they were +still within a fifty-mile globe of space. Number Four loitered +behind, but was being brought up by judicious bursts of steering-rocket +fire. Number Two was some distance ahead. The +others were simply scattered. They went floating on like a +group of meteors. Out the ports, two of them were visible. The +others might be picked out by the naked eye—but it wasn't +likely.</p> + +<p>Drone Two, far ahead and clearly visible, turned from a +shining steel speck to a reddish pin-point of light. The red +color deepened. It winked out. The sunlight in the ports of +the mother-ship turned red. Then it blacked out.</p> + +<p>"Shoot the ghosts," said Joe.</p> + +<p>The three drone-handlers pushed their buttons. Nothing +happened that anybody could see. Actually, though, a small +gadget outside the hull began to cough rhythmically. Similar +devices on the drones coughed, too. They were small, multiple-barreled +guns. Rifle shells fired two-pound missiles at random +targets in emptiness. They wouldn't damage anything they +hit. They'd go varying distances, explode and shoot small lead +shot ahead to check their missile-velocity, and then emit dense +masses of aluminum foil. There was no air resistance. The +shredded foil would continue to move through emptiness at +the same rate as the convoy-fleet. The seven ships had fired +a total of eighty-four such objects away into the blackness of +Earth's shadow. There were, then, seven ships and eighty-four<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +masses of aluminum foil moving through emptiness. They +could not be seen by telescopes.</p> + +<p>And radars could not tell ships from masses of aluminum +foil.</p> + +<p>If enemy radars came probing upward, they reported ninety-one +space ships in ragged but coherent formation, soaring +through emptiness toward the Platform. And a fleet like that +was too strong to attack.</p> + +<p>The radar operators had been prepared to forward details +of the speed and course of a single ship to waiting rocket-launching +submarines half-way across the Pacific. But they +reported to Very High Authority instead.</p> + +<p>He received the report of an armada—an incredible fleet—in +space. He didn't believe it. But he didn't dare disbelieve it.</p> + +<p>So the fleet swam peacefully through the darkness that was +Earth's shadow, and no attempt at attack was made. They +came out into sunlight to look down at the western shore of +America itself. With seven ships to get on an exact course, at +an exact speed, at an exact moment, time was needed. So the +fleet made almost a complete circuit of the Earth before +reaching the height of the Platform's orbit.</p> + +<p>They joined it. A single man in a space suit, anchored to its +outer plates, directed a plastic hose which stretched out impossibly +far and clamped to one drone with a magnetic grapple. +He maneuvered it to the hull and made it fast. He captured +a second, which was worked delicately within reach +by coy puffs of steering-rocket vapor.</p> + +<p>One by one, the drones were made fast. Then the manned +ship went in the lock and the great outer door closed, and the +plastic-fabric walls collapsed behind their nets, and air came +in.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Commander Brown was the one to come into the +lock to greet them. He shook hands all around—and it again +seemed strange to all the four from Earth to find themselves +with their feet more or less firmly planted on a solid floor, but +their bodies wavering erratically to right and left and before +and back, because there was no up or down.</p> + +<p>"Just had reports from Earth," Brown told Joe comfortably.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +"The news of your take-off was released to avoid panic in +Europe. But everybody who doesn't like us is yelling blue +murder. Somebody—you may guess who—is announcing that +a fleet of ninety-one war rockets took off from the United +States and now hangs poised in space while the decadent +American war-mongers prepare an ultimatum to all the world. +Everybody's frightened."</p> + +<p>"If they'll only stay scared until we get unloaded," said +Joe in some satisfaction, "the government back home can tell +them how many we were and what we came up for. But we'll +probably make out all right, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"My crew will unload," said Brown, in conscious thoughtfulness. +"You must have gotten pretty well exhausted by that +acceleration."</p> + +<p>Joe shook his head. "I think we can handle the freight faster. +We found out a few things by going back to Earth."</p> + +<p>A section of plating at the top of the lock—at least it had +been the top when the Platform was built on Earth—opened +up as on the first journey here. A face grinned down. But from +this point on, the procedure was changed. Haney and Joe +went into the cargo-section of the rocketship and heaved its +contents smoothly through weightlessness to the storage chamber +above. The Chief and Mike stowed it there. The speed and +precision of their work was out of all reason. Brown stared +incredulously.</p> + +<p>The fact was simply that on their first trip to the Platform, +Joe and his crew didn't know how to use their strength where +there was no weight. By the time they'd learned, their muscles +had lost all tone. Now they were fresh from Earth, with Earth-strength +muscles—and they knew how to use them.</p> + +<p>"When we got back," Joe told Brown, "we were practically +invalids. No exercise up here. This time we've brought some +harness to wear. We've some for you, too."</p> + +<p>They moved out of the airlock, and the ship was maneuvered +to a mooring outside, and a drone took its place. +Brown's eyes blinked at the unloading of the drone. But he +said, "Navy style work, that!"</p> + +<p>"Out here," said Joe, "you take no more exercise than an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +invalid on Earth—in fact, not as much. By now the original +crew would have trouble standing up on a trip back to Earth. +You'd feel pretty heavy, yourself."</p> + +<p>Brown frowned.</p> + +<p>"Hm. I—ah—I shall ask for instructions on the matter."</p> + +<p>He stood erect. He didn't waver on his feet as the others +did. But he wore the same magnetic-soled shoes. Joe knew, +with private amusement, that Brown must have worked hard +to get a dignified stance in weightlessness.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kenmore," said Brown suddenly. "Have you been +assigned a definite rank as yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of," said Joe without interest. "I skipper +the ship I just brought up. But——"</p> + +<p>"Your ship has no rating!" protested Brown irritably. "The +skipper of a Navy ship may be anything from a lieutenant +junior grade to a captain, depending on the size and rating of +the ship. In certain circumstances even a noncommissioned +officer. Are you an enlisted man?"</p> + +<p>"Again, not that I know of," Joe told him. "Nor my crew, +either."</p> + +<p>Brown looked at once annoyed and distressed.</p> + +<p>"It isn't regular!" he objected. "It isn't shipshape! I should +know whether you are under my command or not! For +discipline! For organization! It should be cleared up! I shall +put through an urgent inquiry."</p> + +<p>Joe looked at him incredulously. Lieutenant Commander +Brown was a perfectly amiable man, but he had to have things +in a certain pattern for him to recognize that they were in a +pattern at all. He was more excited over the fact that he didn't +know whether he ranked Joe, than over the much more important +matter of physical deterioration in the absence of +gravity. Yet he surely understood their relative importance. +The fact was, of course, that he could confidently expect exact +instructions about the last, while he had to settle matters of +discipline and routine for himself.</p> + +<p>"I shall ask for clarification of your status," he said worriedly. +"It shouldn't have been left unclear. I'd better attend +to it at once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>He looked at Joe as if expecting a salute. He didn't get it. +He clanked away, his magnetic shoe-soles beating out a singularly +martial rhythm. He must have practised that walk, in +private.</p> + +<p>Joe got out of the airlock as another of the space barges +was warped in. Brent, the crew's psychologist, joined him +when he went to unload. Brent nodded in a friendly fashion to +Joe.</p> + +<p>"Quite a change, eh?" he said drily. "Sanford turned out +to be a crackpot with his notions of grandeur. I'm not sure +that Brown's notions of discipline aren't worse."</p> + +<p>Joe said, "I've something rather important to pass on," and +told about the newly discovered physical effects of a long +stay where there was no gravity. The doctors now predicted +that anybody who spent six months without weight would +suffer a deterioration of muscle tone which could make a return +to Earth impossible without a long preliminary process of +retraining. One's heart would adjust to the absence of any +need to pump blood against gravity.</p> + +<p>"Which," said Joe, "means that you're going to have to be +relieved before too long. But we brought up some gravity-simulator +harness that may help."</p> + +<p>Brent said desolately: "And I was so pleased! We all had +trouble with insomnia, at first, but lately we've all been sleeping +well! Now I see why! Normally one sleeps because he's +tired. We had trouble sleeping until our muscles got so weak +we tired anyhow!"</p> + +<p>Another drone came in and was unloaded. And another +and another. But the last of them wasn't only unloaded. +Haney took over the Platform's control board and—grinning +to himself—sent faint, especially-tuned short wave impulses +to the steering-rockets of the drone. The liquid-fuel rockets +were designed to steer a loaded ship. With the airlock door +open, the silvery ship leaped out of the dock like a frightened +horse. The liquid-fuel rocket had a nearly empty hull to accelerate. +It responded skittishly.</p> + +<p>Joe watched out a port as it went hurtling away. The vast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +Earth rolled beneath it. It sped on and vanished. Its fumes +ceased to be visible. Joe told Brent:</p> + +<p>"Another nice job, that! We sent it backward, slowing it +a little. It'll have a new orbit, independent of ours and below +it. But come sixty hours it will be directly underneath. We'll +haul it up and refuel it. And our friends the enemy will hate +it. It's a radio repeater. It'll pick up short-wave stuff beamed +to it, and repeat it down to Earth. And they can try to jam +that!"</p> + +<p>It was a mildly malicious trick to play. Behind the Iron +Curtain, broadcasts from the free world couldn't be heard because +of stations built to emit pure noise and drown them out. +But the jamming stations were on the enemy nations' borders. +If radio programs came down from overhead, jamming would +be ineffective at least in the center of the nations. Populations +would hear the truth, even though their governments objected.</p> + +<p>But that was a minor matter, after all. With space ship hulls +coming into being by dozens, and with one convoy of hundreds +of tons of equipment gotten aloft, the whole picture of +supply for the Platform had changed.</p> + +<p>Part of the new picture was two devices that Haney and +the Chief were assembling. They were mostly metal backbone +and a series of tanks, with rocket motors mounted on ball and +socket joints. They looked like huge red insects, but they were +officially rocket recovery vehicles, and Joe's crew referred to +them as space wagons. They had no cabin, but something like +a saddle. Before it there was a control-board complete with +radar-screens. And there were racks to which solid-fuel rockets +of divers sizes could be attached. They were literally short-range +tow craft for travel in space. They had the stripped, +barren look of farm machinery. So the name "space wagon" +fitted. There were two of them.</p> + +<p>"We're putting the pair together," the Chief told Joe. +"Looks kinda peculiar."</p> + +<p>"It's only for temporary use," said Joe. "There's a bigger +and better one being built with a regular cabin and hull. But +some experience with these two will be useful in running a +regular space tug."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Chief said with a trace too much of casualness: "I'm +kind of looking forward to testing this."</p> + +<p>"No," said Joe doggedly. "I'm responsible. I take the first +chance. But we should all be able to handle them. When this +is assembled you can stand by with the second one. If the first +one works all right, we'll try the second."</p> + +<p>The Chief grimaced, but he went back to the assembly of +the spidery device.</p> + +<p>Joe got out the gravity-simulator harnesses. He showed +Brent how they worked. Brown hadn't official instructions to +order their use, but Joe put one on himself, set for full Earth-gravity +simulation. He couldn't imitate actual gravity, of +course. Only the effect of gravity on one's muscles. There +were springs and elastic webbing pulling one's shoulders and +feet together, so that it was as much effort to stand extended—with +one's legs straight out—as to stand upright on Earth. Joe +felt better with a pull on his body.</p> + +<p>Brent was upset when he found that to him more than a +tenth of normal gravity was unbearable. But he kept it on at +that. If he increased the pull a very little every day, he might +be able to return to Earth, in time. Now it would be a very +dangerous business indeed. He went off to put the other members +of the crew in the same sort of harness.</p> + +<p>After ten hours, a second drone broadcaster went off into +space. By that time the articulated red frameworks were assembled. +They looked more than ever like farm machinery, +save that their bulging tanks made them look insectile, too. +They were actually something between small tow-boats and +crash-wagons. A man in a space suit could climb into the saddle +of one of these creations, plug in the air-line of his suit to +the crash-wagon's tanks, and travel in space by means of the +space wagon's rockets. These weird vehicles had remarkably +powerful magnetic grapples. They were equipped with steering +rockets as powerful as those of a ship. They had banks of +solid-fuel rockets of divers power and length of burning. And +they even mounted rocket missiles, small guided rockets which +could be used to destroy what could not be recovered. They +were intended to handle unmanned rocket shipments of supplies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +to the Platform. There were reasons why the trick should +be economical, if it should happen to work at all.</p> + +<p>When they were ready for testing, they seemed very small +in the great space lock. Joe and the Chief very carefully +checked an extremely long list of things that had to work right +or nothing would work at all. That part of the job wasn't thrilling, +but Joe no longer looked for thrills. He painstakingly did +the things that produced results. If a sense of adventure +seemed to disappear, the sensations of achievement more than +made up for it.</p> + +<p>They got into space suits. They were in an odd position on +the Platform. Lieutenant Commander Brown had avoided Joe +as much as possible since his arrival. So far he'd carefully +avoided giving him direct orders, because Joe was not certainly +and officially his subordinate. Lacking exact information, the +only thing a conscientious rank-conscious naval officer could +do was exercise the maximum of tact and insistently ask +authority for a ruling on Joe's place in the hierarchy of rank.</p> + +<p>Joe flung a leg over his eccentric, red-painted mount. He +clipped his safety-belt, plugged in his suit air-supply to the +space wagon's tanks, and spoke into his helmet transmitter.</p> + +<p>"Okay to open the lock. Chief, you keep watch. If I make +out all right, you can join me. If I get in serious trouble, come +after me in the ship we rode up. But only if it's practical! Not +otherwise!"</p> + +<p>The Chief said something in Mohawk. He sounded indignant.</p> + +<p>The plastic walls of the lock swelled inward, burying and +overwhelming them. Pumps pounded briefly, removing what +air was left. Then the walls drew back, straining against their +netting, and Joe waited for the door to open to empty space.</p> + +<p>Instead, there came a sharp voice in his helmet-phones. It +was Brown. "<i>Radar says there's a rocket on the way up! It's +over at what is the edge of the world from here. Three gravities +only. Better not go out!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe hesitated. Brown still issued no order. But defense +against a single rocket would be a matter of guided missiles—Brown's +business—if the tin can screen didn't handle it. Joe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +would have no part in it. He wouldn't be needed. He couldn't +help. And there'd be all the elaborate business of checking to +go through again. He said uncomfortably:</p> + +<p>"It'll be a long time before it gets here—and three gravities +is low! Maybe it's a defective job. There have been misfires +and so on. It won't take long to try this wagon, anyhow. +They're anxious to send up a robot ship from the Shed and +these have to be tested first. Give me ten minutes."</p> + +<p>He heard the Chief grumbling to himself. But one tested +space wagon was better than none.</p> + +<p>The airlock doors opened. Huge round valves swung wide. +Bright, remote, swarming stars filled the opening. Joe cracked +the control of his forward liquid-fuel rockets. The lock filled +instantly with swirling fumes. And instantly the tiny space +wagon moved. It did not have to lift from the lock floor. Once +the magnetic clamps were released it was free of the floor. But +it did have mass. One brief push of the rockets sent it floating +out of the lock. It was in space. It kept on.</p> + +<p>Joe felt a peculiar twinge of panic. Nobody who is accustomed +only to Earth can quite realize at the beginning the +conditions of handling vehicles in space. But Joe cracked +the braking rockets. He stopped. He hung seemingly motionless +in space. The Platform was a good half-mile away.</p> + +<p>He tried the gyros, and the space wagon went into swift +spinning. He reversed them and straightened out—almost. +The vastness of all creation seemed still to revolve slowly +about him. The monstrous globe which was Earth moved +sedately from above his head to under his feet and continued +the slow revolution. The Platform rotated in a clockwise direction. +He was drifting very slowly away.</p> + +<p>"Chief," he said wrily, "you can't do worse than I'm doing, +and we're rushed for time. You might come out. But listen! +You don't run your rockets! On Earth you keep a motor going +because when it stops, you do. But out here you have to use +your motor to stop, but not to keep on going. Get it? When +you do come out, don't burn your rockets more than half a +second at a time."</p> + +<p>The Chief's voice came booming:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Right, Joe! Here I come!</i>"</p> + +<p>There was a billowing of frantically writhing fumes, which +darted madly in every direction until they ceased to be. The +Chief in his insect-like contraption came bolting out of the +hole which was the airlock. He was a good half-mile away. +The rocket fumes ceased. He kept on going. Joe heard him +swear. The Chief felt the utterly helpless sensation of a man +in a car when his brakes don't work. But a moment later the +braking rockets did flare briefly, yet still too long. The Chief +was not only stopped, but drifting backwards toward the +Platform. He evidently tried to turn, and he spun as dizzily as +Joe had done. But after a moment he stopped—almost. There +were, then, two red-painted things in space, somewhat like +giant water-spiders floating forlornly in emptiness. They +seemed very remote from the great bright steel Platform and +that gigantic ball which was Earth, turning very slowly and +filling a good fourth of all that could be seen.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you head toward me, Chief," said Joe absorbedly. +"Aim to pass, and remember that what you have to estimate +is not where I am, but where you have to put on the brakes +to stop close by. That's where you use your braking-rockets."</p> + +<p>The Chief tried it. He came to a stop a quarter-mile past +Joe.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm heavy-handed</i>," said his voice disgustedly.</p> + +<p>"I'll try to join you," said Joe.</p> + +<p>He did try. He stopped a little short. The two weird objects +drifted almost together. The Chief was upside down with regard +to Joe. Presently he was sidewise on.</p> + +<p>"This takes thinking," said Joe ruefully.</p> + +<p>A voice in his headphones, from the Platform, said:</p> + +<p>"<i>That rocket from Earth is still accelerating. Still at three +gravities. It looks like it isn't defective. It might be carrying +a man. Hadn't you better come in?</i>"</p> + +<p>The Chief growled: "<i>We won't be any safer there! I want to +get the hang of this.</i>" Then his voice changed sharply. "<i>Joe! +D'you get that?</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe heard his own voice, very cold.</p> + +<p>"I didn't. I do now. Brown, I'd suggest a guided missile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +at that rocket coming up. If there's a man in it, he's coming +up to take over guided missiles that'll overtake him, and try +to smash the Platform by direct control, since proximity +fuses don't work. I'd smash him as far away as possible."</p> + +<p>Brown's voice came very curt and worried. "<i>Right.</i>"</p> + +<p>There was an eruption of rocket fumes from the side of the +Platform. Something went foaming away toward Earth. It +dwindled with incredible rapidity. Then Joe said:</p> + +<p>"Chief, I think we'd better go down and meet that rocket. +We'll learn to handle these wagons on the way. I think we're +going to have a fight on our hands. Whoever's in that rocket +isn't coming up just to shake hands with us."</p> + +<p>He steadied the small red vehicle and pointed it for Earth. +He added:</p> + +<p>"I'm firing a six-two solid-fuel job, Chief. Counting three. +Three—two—one."</p> + +<p>His mount vanished in rocket fumes. But after six seconds +at two gravities acceleration the rocket burned out. The +Chief had fired a matching rocket. They were miles apart, but +speeding Earthward on very nearly identical courses.</p> + +<p>The Platform grew smaller. That was their only proof of +motion.</p> + +<p>A very, very long time passed. The Chief fired his steering +rockets to bring him closer to Joe. It did not work. He had +to aim for Joe and fire a blast to move noticeably nearer. +Presently he would have to blast again to keep from passing.</p> + +<p>Joe made calculations in his head. He worried. He and the +Chief were speeding Earthward—away from the Platform—at +more than four miles a minute, but it was not enough. The +manned rocket was accelerating at a great deal more than that +rate. And if the Platform's enemies down on Earth had sent +a manned rocket up to destroy the Platform, the man in it +would have ways of defending himself. He would expect +guided missiles—but he probably wouldn't expect to be attacked +by space wagons.</p> + +<p>Joe said suddenly:</p> + +<p>"Chief! I'm going to burn a twelve-two. We've got to +match velocities coming back. Join me? Three—two—one."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>He fired a twelve-two. Twelve seconds burning, two gravities +acceleration. It built up his speed away from the Platform +to a rate which would have been breathless, on Earth. But +here there was no sensation of motion, and the distances were +enormous. Things which happen in space happen with insensate +violence and incredible swiftness. But long, long, long +intervals elapse between events. The twelve-two rocket burned +out. The Chief had matched that also.</p> + +<p>Brown's voice in the headphones said, "<i>The rocket's cut +acceleration. It's floating up, now. It should reach our orbit +fifty miles behind us. But our missile should hit it in forty +seconds.</i>"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't bet on that," said Joe coldly. "Figure interception +data for the Chief and me. Make it fast!"</p> + +<p>He spotted the Chief, a dozen miles away and burning his +steering rockets to close, again. The Chief had the hang of it, +now. He didn't try to steer. He drove toward Joe.</p> + +<p>But nothing happened. And nothing happened. And nothing +happened. The two tiny space wagons were 90 miles from +the Platform, which was now merely a glittering speck, hardly +brighter than the brightest stars.</p> + +<p>There was a flare of light to Earthward. It was brighter than +the sun. The light vanished.</p> + +<p>Brown's voice came in the headphones, "<i>Our missile went +off 200 miles short! He sent an interceptor to set it off!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Then he's dangerous," said Joe. "There'll be war rockets +coming up any second now for him to control from right at +hand. We won't be fighting rockets controlled from 4,000 +miles away! They've found proximity fuses don't work, so he's +going to work in close. Give us our course and data, quick! +The Chief and I have got to try to smash things!"</p> + +<p>The two tiny space wagons—like stick-insects in form, absurdly +painted a brilliant red—seemed inordinately lonely. It +was hardly possible to pick out the Platform with the naked +eyes. The Earth was thousands of miles below. Joe and the +Chief, in space suits, rode tiny metal frameworks in an emptiness +more vast, more lonely, more terrible than either could +have imagined.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the war rockets started up. There were eight of +them. They came out to do murder at ten gravities acceleration.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c9" id="c9"></a><i>9</i></h2> + + +<p>But even at ten gravities' drive it takes time +to travel 4,000 miles. At three, and coasting a great deal of the +way, it takes much longer. The Platform circled Earth in +four hours and a little more. Anything intending interception +and rising straight up needed to start skyward long before +the Platform was overhead. A three-g rocket would start while +the Platform was still below the western horizon from its +launching-spot. Especially if it planned to coast part of its +journey—and a three-gravity rocket would have to coast most +of the way.</p> + +<p>So there was time. Coasting, the rising manned rocket would +be losing speed. If it planned to go no higher than the Platform's +orbit, its upward velocity would be zero there. If it +were intercepted 500 miles down, it would be rising at an almost +leisurely rate, and Joe and the Chief could check their +Earthward plunge and match its rising rate.</p> + +<p>This they did. But what they couldn't do was match its +orbital velocity, which was zero. They had the Platform's eastward +speed to start with—over 200 miles a minute. No matter +how desperately they fired braking-rockets, they couldn't stop +and maneuver around the rising control-ship. Inevitably they +would simply flash past it in the fraction of an instant. To fire +their tiny guided missiles on ahead would be almost to assure +that they would miss. Also, the enemy ship was manned. It +could fight back.</p> + +<p>But Joe had been on the receiving end of one attack in +space. It wasn't much experience, but it was more than anybody +but he and his own crew possessed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Chief," said Joe softly into his helmet-mike, as if by +speaking softly he could keep from being overheard, "get +close enough to me to see what I do, and do it too. I can't tell +you more. Whoever's running this rocket might know English."</p> + +<p>There was a flaring of vapor in space. The Chief was using +his steering-rockets to draw near.</p> + +<p>Joe spun his little space wagon about, so that it pointed +back in the direction from which he had come. He had four +guided missiles, demolition type. Very deliberately, he fired +the four of them astern—away from the rising rocket. They +were relatively low-speed missiles, intended to blow up a +robot ship that couldn't be hooked onto, because it was +traveling too much faster or slower than the Platform it was +intended to reach. The missiles went away. Then Joe faced +about again in the direction of his prospective target. The +Chief fumed—Joe heard him—but he duplicated Joe's maneuver. +He faced his own eccentric vessel in the direction of +its line of flight.</p> + +<p>Then his fuming suddenly ceased. Joe's headphones brought +his explosive grunt when he suddenly saw the idea.</p> + +<p>"<i>Joe! I wish you could talk Indian! I could kiss you for this +trick!</i>"</p> + +<p>Brown's voice said anxiously: "<i>I'm going to let that manned +rocket have a couple more shots.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Let us get by first," said Joe. "Then maybe you can use +them on the bombs coming up."</p> + +<p>He could see the trails of war-rockets on the way out from +Earth. They were infinitesimal threads of vapor. They were the +thinnest possible filaments of gossamer white. But they enlarged +as they rose. They were climbing at better than two +miles per second, now, and still increasing their speed.</p> + +<p>But the arena in which this conflict took place was so vast +that everything seemed to take place in slow motion. There +was time to reason out not only the method of attack from +Earth, but the excuse for it. If the Platform vanished from +space, no matter from what cause, its enemies would announce +vociferously that it had been destroyed by its own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +atomic bombs, exploding spontaneously. Even in the face +of proof of murder, enemy nations would stridently insist that +bombs intended for the enslavement of humanity—in the +Platform—had providentially detonated and removed that +instrument of war-mongering scoundrelly imperialists from +the skies. There might be somebody, somewhere, who would +believe it.</p> + +<p>Joe and the Chief were steadied now nearly on a line to +intercept the rising manned rocket. They had already fired +their missiles, which trailed them. They went into battle, not +prepared to shoot, but with their ammunition expended. For +which there was excellent reason.</p> + +<p>Something came foaming toward them from the nearby +man-carrying rocket. It seemed like a side-spout from the +column of vapor rising from Earth. Actually it was a guided +missile.</p> + +<p>"Now we dodge," said Joe cheerfully. "Remember the +trick of this maneuvering business!"</p> + +<p>It was simple. Speeding toward the rising assassin, and +with his missiles rushing toward them, the relative speeds of +the wagons and the missiles were added together. If the space +wagons dodged, the missile operator had less time to swing +his guided rockets to match the change of target course. And +besides, the attacker hadn't made a single turn in space. Not +yet. He might know that a rocket doesn't go where it's pointed, +as a matter of theory. He might even know intellectually that +the final speed and course of a rocket is the sum of all its +previous speeds and courses. But he hadn't used the knowledge +Joe and the Chief had.</p> + +<p>Something rushed at them. They went into evasive action. +And they didn't merely turn the noses of their space wagons. +They flung them about end-for-end, and blasted. They used +wholly different accelerations at odd angles. Joe shot away +from Earth on steering rocket thrust, and touched off a four-three +while he faced toward Earth's north pole, and halfway +along that four-second rush he flipped his craft in a somersault +and the result was nearly a right-angled turn. When the +four-three burned out he set off a twelve-two, and halfway<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +through its burning fired a three-two with it, so that at the +beginning he had two gravities acceleration, then four gravities +for three seconds, and then two again.</p> + +<p>With long practice, a man might learn marksmanship in +space. But all a man's judgment of speeds is learned on +Earth, where things always, always, always move steadily. +Nobody making his first space-flight could possibly hit such +targets as Joe and the Chief made of themselves. The man in +the enemy rocket was making his first flight. Also, Joe and +the Chief had an initial velocity of 200 miles a minute toward +him. The marksman in the rising rocket hadn't a chance. +He fired four more missiles and tried desperately to home them +in. But——</p> + +<p>They flashed past his rising course. And then they were +quite safe from his fire, because it would take a very long time +indeed for anything he shot after them to catch up. But their +missiles had still to pass him—and Joe and the Chief could +steer them without any concern about their own safety or +anything else but a hit.</p> + +<p>They made a hit.</p> + +<p>Two of the eight little missiles flashed luridly, almost together, +where the radar-pips showed the rocket to be. Then +there were two parts to the rocket, separating. One was small +and one was fairly large. Another demolition-missile hit the +larger section. Still another exploded as that was going to +pieces. The smaller fragment ceased to be important. The +explosions weren't atomic bombs, of course. They were only +demolition-charges. But they demolished the manned rocket +admirably.</p> + +<p>Brown's voice came in the headphones, still tense. "<i>You +got it! How about the others?</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe felt a remarkable exhilaration. Later he might think +about the poor devil—there could have been only one—who +had been destroyed some 3,700 miles above the surface of +the Earth. He might think unhappily of that man as a victim +of hatred rather than as a hater. He might become extremely +uncomfortable about this, but at the moment he felt merely +that he and the Chief had won a startling victory.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think," he said, "that you can treat them with silent contempt. +They won't have proximity fuses. Those friends of +ours who want so badly to kill us have found that proximity +fuses don't work. Unless one is on a collision course I don't +think you need to do anything about them."</p> + +<p>The Chief was muttering to himself in Mohawk, twenty +miles away. Joe said:</p> + +<p>"Chief, how about getting back to the Platform?"</p> + +<p>The Chief growled. "<i>My great-grandfather would disown +me! Winning a fight and no scalp to show! Not even counting +coup! He'd disown me!</i>"</p> + +<p>But Joe saw his rockets flare, away off against the stars.</p> + +<p>The war rockets were very near, now. They still emitted +monstrous jettings of thick white vapor. They climbed up with +incredible speed. One went by Joe at a distance of little more +than a mile, and its fumes eddied out to half that before they +thinned to nothingness. They went on and on and on....</p> + +<p>They burned out somewhere. It would be a long time before +they fell back to Earth. Hours, probably. Then they would +be meteors. They'd vaporize before they touched solidity. +They wouldn't even explode.</p> + +<p>But Joe and the Chief rode back to the Platform. It was +surprising how hard it was to match speed with it again, to +make a good entrance into the giant lock. They barely made +it before the Platform made its plunge into that horrible +blackness which was the Earth's shadow. And Joe was very +glad they did make it before then. He wouldn't have liked to +be merely astride a skinny framework in that ghastly darkness, +with the monstrous blackness of the Abyss seeming to be +trying to devour him.</p> + +<p>Haney met them in the airlock. He grinned.</p> + +<p>"Nice job, Joe! Nice job, Chief!" he said warmly. "Uh—the +Lieutenant Commander wants you to report to him, Joe. Right +away."</p> + +<p>Joe cocked an eyebrow at him.</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>Haney spread out his hands. The Chief grunted. "That guy +bothers me. I'll bet, Joe, he's going to explain you shouldn't've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +gone out when he didn't want you to. Me, I'm keeping away +from him!"</p> + +<p>The Chief shed his space suit and swaggered away, as well +as anyone could swagger while walking on what happened +to be the ceiling, from Joe's point of view. Joe put his space +gear in its proper place. He went to the small cubbyhole that +Brown had appropriated for the office of the Platform Commander. +Joe went in, naturally without saluting.</p> + +<p>Brown sat in a fastened-down chair with thigh grips holding +him in place. He was writing. On Joe's entry, he carefully +put the pen down on a magnetized plate that would hold it +until he wanted it again. Otherwise it could have floated anywhere +about the room.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kenmore," said Brown awkwardly, "you did a very +nice piece of work. It's too bad you aren't in the Navy."</p> + +<p>Joe said: "It did work out pretty fortunately. It's lucky the +Chief and I were out practicing, but now we can take off when +a rocket's reported, any time."</p> + +<p>Brown cleared his throat. "I can thank you personally," he +said unhappily, "and I do. But—really this situation is intolerable! +How can I report this affair? I can't suggest commendation, +or a promotion, or—anything! I don't even know how to +refer to you! I am going to ask you, Mr. Kenmore, to put +through a request that your status be clarified. I would imagine +that your status would mean a rank—hm—about equivalent +to a lieutenant junior grade in the Navy."</p> + +<p>Joe grinned.</p> + +<p>"I have—ah—prepared a draft you might find helpful," said +Brown earnestly. "It's necessary for something to be done. +It's urgent! It's important!"</p> + +<p>"Sorry," said Joe. "The important thing to me is getting +ready to load up the Platform with supplies from Earth. +Excuse me."</p> + +<p>He went out of the office. He made his way to the quarters +assigned himself and his crew. Mike greeted him with reproachful +eyes. Joe waved his hand.</p> + +<p>"Don't say it, Mike! The answer is yes. See that the tanks +are refilled, and new rockets put in place. Then you and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +Haney go out and practice. But no farther than ten miles from +the Platform. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Mike rebelliously. "It's a dirty trick!"</p> + +<p>"Which," Joe assured him, "I commit only because there's +a robot ship from Bootstrap coming up any time now. And +we'll need to pick it up and tow it here."</p> + +<p>He went to the control-room to see if he could get a vision +connection to Earth.</p> + +<p>He got the beam, and he got Sally on the screen. A report +of the attack on the Platform had evidently already gone +down to Earth. Sally's expression was somehow drawn and +haunted. But she tried to talk lightly.</p> + +<p>"Derring-do and stuff, Joe?" she asked. "How does it feel +to be a victorious warrior?"</p> + +<p>"It feels rotten," he told her. "There must have been somebody +in the rocket we blew up. He felt like a patriot, I guess, +trying to murder us; But I feel like a butcher."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you didn't do it," she said. "Maybe the Chief's +bombs——"</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said Joe. He hesitated. "Hold up your hand."</p> + +<p>She held it up. His ring was still on it. She nodded. "Still +there. When will you be back?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. He didn't know. It was curious that +one wanted so badly to talk to a girl after doing something +that was blood-stirring—and left one rather sickish afterward. +This business of space travel and even space battle was what +he'd dreamed of, and he still wanted it. But it was very comforting +to talk to Sally, who hadn't had to go through any of it.</p> + +<p>"Write me a letter, will you?" he asked. "We can't tie up +this beam very long."</p> + +<p>"I'll write you all the news that's allowed to go out," she +assured him. "Be seeing you, Joe."</p> + +<p>Her image faded from the screen. And, thinking it over, he +couldn't see that either of them had said anything of any +importance at all. But he was very glad they'd talked together.</p> + +<p>The first robot ship came up some eight hours later—two +revolutions after the television call. Mike was ready hours in +advance, fidgeting. The robot ship started up while the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Platform was over the middle of the Pacific. It didn't try to +make a spiral approach as all other ships had done. It came +straight up, and it started from the ground. No pushpots. Its +take-off rockets were monsters. They pushed upward at ten +gravities until it was out of atmosphere, and then they stepped +up to fifteen. Much later, the robot turned on its side and fired +orbital speed rockets to match velocity with the Platform.</p> + +<p>There were two reasons for the vertical rise, and the high +acceleration. If a robot ship went straight up, it wouldn't +pass over enemy territory until it was high enough to be protected +by the Platform. And—it costs fuel to carry fuel to be +burned. So if the rocketship could get up speed for coasting +to orbit in the first couple of hundred miles, it needn't haul its +fuel so far. It was economical to burn one's fuel fast and get +an acceleration that would kill a human crew. Hence robots.</p> + +<p>The landing of the first robot ship at the Platform was almost +as matter-of-fact as if it had been done a thousand +times before. From the Platform its dramatic take-off couldn't +be seen, of course. It first appeared aloft as a pip on a radar +screen. Then Mike prepared to go out and hook on to it and +tow it in. He was in his space suit and in the landing lock, +though his helmet faceplate was still open. A <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: Hyphen removed to conform to the majority usage.">loudspeaker</ins> +boomed suddenly in Brown's voice: "<i>Evacuate airlock and prepare +to take off!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe roared: "Hold that!"</p> + +<p>Brown's voice, very official, came: "<i>Withhold execution of +that order. You should not be in the airlock, Mr. Kenmore. +You will please make way for operational procedure.</i>"</p> + +<p>"We're checking the space wagon," snapped Joe. "That's +operational procedure!"</p> + +<p>The loudspeaker said severely: "<i>The checking should have +been done earlier!</i>"</p> + +<p>There was silence. Mike and Joe, together, painstakingly +checked over the very many items that had to be made sure. +Every rocket had to have its firing circuit inspected. The +tanks' contents and pressure verified. The air connection to +Mike's space suit. The air pressure. The device that made +sure that air going to Mike's space suit was neither as hot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +as metal in burning sunlight, nor cold as the chill of a shadow +in space.</p> + +<p>Everything checked. Mike straddled his red-painted mount. +Joe left the lock and said curtly:</p> + +<p>"Okay to pump the airlock. Okay to open airlock doors +when ready. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>Mike went out, and Joe watched from a port in the Platform's +hull. The drone from Earth was five miles behind the +Platform in its orbit, and twenty miles below, and all of ten +miles off-course. Joe saw Mike scoot the red space wagon to +it, stop short with a sort of cocky self-assurance, hook on to +the tow-ring in the floating space-barge's nose, and blast +off back toward the Platform with it in tow.</p> + +<p>Mike had to turn about and blast again to check his motion +when he arrived. And then he and Haney—Haney in the other +space wagon—nudged at it and tugged at it and got it in the +great spacelock. They went in after it and the lock doors +closed.</p> + +<p>Neither Mike nor Haney were out of their space suits when +Kent brought Joe a note. A note was an absurdity in the +Platform. But this was a formal communication from Brown.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<i>From: Lt. Comdr. Brown</i></p> + +<p><i>To: Mr. Kenmore</i></p> + +<p><i>Subject: Cooperation and courtesy in rocket recovery vehicle launchings.</i></p> + +<ol style="font-style: italic;"> +<li>There is a regrettable lack of coordination and courtesy +in the launching of rocket-recovery vehicles (space +wagons) in the normal operation of the Platform.</li> + +<li>The maintenance of discipline and efficiency requires +that the commanding officer maintain overall control +of all operations at all times.</li> + +<li>Hereafter when a space vehicle of any type is to be +launched, the commanding officer will be notified in +writing not less than one hour before such launching.</li> + +<li>The time of such proposed launching will be given in +such notification in hours and minutes and seconds, +Greenwich Mean Time.</li> + +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>All commands for launching will be given by the commanding +officer or an officer designated by him."</li> +</ol></div> + +<p>Joe received the memo as he was in the act of writing a +painstaking report on the maneuver Mike had carried out. +Mike was radiant as he discussed possible improvements with +later and better equipment. After all, this had been a lucky +landing. For a robot to end up no more than 30 miles from +its target, after a journey of 4,000 miles, and with a difference +in velocity that was almost immeasurable—such good fortune +couldn't be expected as a regular thing. The space wagons +were tiny. If they had to travel long distances to recover erratic +ships coming up from Earth——</p> + +<p>Joe forgot all about Lieutenant Commander Brown and +his memo when the mail was distributed. Joe had three letters +from Sally. He read them in the great living compartment of +the Platform with its sixty-foot length and its carpet on floor +and ceiling, and the galleries without stairs outside the sleeping +cabins. He sat in a chair with thigh grips to hold him in +place, and he wore a gravity simulation harness. It was necessary. +The regular crew of the Platform, by this time, couldn't +have handled space wagons in action against enemy manned +rockets. Joe meant to stay able to take acceleration.</p> + +<p>It was just as he finished his mail that Brent came in.</p> + +<p>"Big news!" said Brent. "They're building a big new ship +of new design—almost half as big as the Platform. With concreted +metal they can do it in weeks."</p> + +<p>"What's it for?" demanded Joe.</p> + +<p>"It'll be a human base on the Moon," said Brent relievedly. +"An expedition will start in six weeks, according to plan. As +long as we're the only American base in space, we're going to +be shot at. But a base on the Moon will be invulnerable. So +they're going ahead with it."</p> + +<p>Joe said hopefully:</p> + +<p>"Any orders for me to join it?"</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head. "We're to be loaded up with supplies +for the Moon expedition. We're to be ready to take a robot ship +every round. Actually, they can't hope to send us more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +two a day for a while, but even that'll be eighty tons of supplies +to be stored away."</p> + +<p>The Chief grumbled, but somehow his grumbling did not +sound genuine. "They're going to the Moon—and leave us +here to do stevedore stuff?" His tone was odd. He looked +at a letter he'd been reading and gave up pretense. He said +self-consciously: "Listen, you guys.... My tribe's got all excited. +I just got a letter from the council. They've been having +an argument about me. Wanna hear?"</p> + +<p>He was a little amused, and a little embarrassed, but something +had happened to make him feel good.</p> + +<p>"Let's have it," said Joe. Mike was very still in another +chair. He didn't look up, though he must have heard. Haney +cocked an interested ear.</p> + +<p>The Chief said awkwardly, "You know—us Mohawks are +kinda proud. We got something to be proud of. We were +one of the Five Nations, when that was a sort of United Nations +and all Europe was dog-eat-dog. My tribe had a big pow-wow +about me. There's a tribe member that's a professor of +anthropology out in Chicago. He was there. And a couple of +guys that do electronic research, and doctors and farmers and +all sorts of guys. All Mohawks. They got together in tribal +council."</p> + +<p>He stopped and flushed under his dark skin. "I wouldn't +tell you, only you guys are in on it."</p> + +<p>Still he hesitated. Joe found a curious picture forming in +his mind. He'd known the Chief a long time, and he knew +that part of the tribe lived in Brooklyn, and individual members +were widely scattered. But still there was a certain remote +village which to all the tribesmen was home. Everybody +went back there from time to time, to rest from the +strangeness of being Indians in a world of pale-skinned folk.</p> + +<p>Joe could almost imagine the council. There'd be old, old +men who could nearly remember the days of the tribe's former +glory, who'd heard stories of forest warfare and zestful hunts, +and scalpings and heroic deeds from their grandfathers. But +there were also doctors and lawyers and technical men in that +council which met to talk about the Chief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's addressed to me," said the Chief with sudden clumsiness, +"in the World-by-itself Canoe. That's the Platform here. +And it says—I'll have to translate, because it's in Mohawk." +He took a deep breath. "It says, 'We your tribesmen have +heard of your journeyings off the Earth where men have never +traveled before. This has given us great pride, that one of +our tribe and kin had ventured so valiantly.'" The Chief +grinned abashedly. He went on. "'In full assembly, the +elders of the tribe have held counsel on a way to express their +pride in you, and in the friends you have made who accompanied +you. It was proposed that you be given a new +name to be borne by your sons after you. It was proposed +that the tribe accept from each of its members a gift to be +given you in the name of the tribe. But these were not considered +great enough. Therefore the tribe, in full council, has +decreed that your name shall be named at every tribal council +of the Mohawks from this day to the end of time, as one the +young braves would do well to copy in all ways. And the +names of your friends Joe Kenmore, Mike Scandia, and +Thomas Haney shall also be named as friends whose like all +young braves should strive to seek out and to be.'"</p> + +<p>The Chief sweated a little, but he looked enormously +proud. Joe went over to him and shook hands warmly. The +Chief almost broke his fingers. It was, of course, as high an +honor as could be paid to anybody by the people who paid it.</p> + +<p>Haney said awkwardly, "Lucky they don't know me like you +do, Chief. But it's swell!"</p> + +<p>Which it was. But Mike hadn't said a word. The Chief +said exuberantly:</p> + +<p>"Did you hear that, Mike? Every Mohawk for ten thousand +years is gonna be told that you were a swell guy! Crazy, huh?"</p> + +<p>Mike said in an odd voice: "Yeah. I didn't mean that, Chief. +It's fine! But I—I got a letter. I—never thought to get a letter +like this."</p> + +<p>He looked unbelievingly at the paper in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Mash note?" asked the Chief. His tone was a little bit harsh. +Mike was a midget. And there were women who were fools. +It would be unbearable if some half-witted female had written<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +Mike the sort of gushing letter that some half-witted females +might write.</p> + +<p>Mike shook his head, with an odd, quick smile.</p> + +<p>"Not what you think, Chief. But it is from a girl. She sent +me her picture. It's a—swell letter. I'm—going to answer it. +You can look at her picture. She looks kind of—nice."</p> + +<p>He handed the Chief a snapshot. The Chief's face changed. +Haney looked over his shoulder. He passed the picture to Joe +and said ferociously: "You Mike! You doggoned Don Juan! +The Chief and me have got to warn her what kinda guy you +are! Stealing from blind men! Fighting cops——"</p> + +<p>Joe looked at the picture. It was a very sweet small face, +and the eyes that looked out of the photograph were very +honest and yearning. And Joe understood. He grinned at +Mike. Because this girl had the distinctive look that Mike +had. She was a midget, too.</p> + +<p>"She's—<ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: The original reads 'thiry-nine'.">thirty-nine</ins> inches tall," said Mike, almost stunned. +"She's just two inches shorter than me. And—she says she +doesn't mind being a midget so much since she heard about +me. I'm going to write her."</p> + +<p>But it would be, of course, a long time before there was a +way for mail to get down to Earth.</p> + +<p>It was a long time. Now it was possible to send up robot +rockets to the Platform. They came up. When the second arrived, +Haney went out to pull it in. Joe forgot to notify Brown, +in writing, an hour before launching a rocket recovery vehicle +(space wagon) according to paragraph 3 of the formal memo, +nor the time of launching in hours, minutes, etc., by Greenwich +Mean Time (paragraph 4), nor was the testing of all equipment +made before moving it into the airlock. This was because +the testing equipment was in the airlock, where it belonged. +And the commands for launching were not given by +Brown or an officer designated by him, because Joe forgot all +about it.</p> + +<p>Brown made a stormy scene about the matter, and Joe was +honestly apologetic, but the Chief and Haney and Mike glared +venomously.</p> + +<p>The result was completely inconclusive. Joe had not been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +put under Brown's command. He and his crew were the only +people on the Platform physically in shape to operate the +space wagons, considering the acceleration involved. Brent +and the others were wearing gravity simulators, and were +building back to strength. But they weren't up to par as yet. +They'd been in space too long.</p> + +<p>So there was nothing Brown could do. He retreated into +icily correct, outraged dignity. And the others hauled in and +unloaded rockets as they arrived. They came up fast. The +processes of making them had been improved. They could be +made faster, heated to sintering temperature faster, and the +hulls cooled to usefulness in a quarter of the former time. The +production of space ship hulls went up to four a day, while +the molds for the Moonship were being worked even faster. +The Moonship, actually, was assembled from precast individual +cells which then were welded together. It would have +features the Platform lacked, because it was designed to be a +base for exploration and military activities in addition to research.</p> + +<p>But only twenty days after the recovery and docking of the +first robot ship to rise, a new sort of ship entirely came blindly +up as a robot. The little space wagons hauled it to the airlock +and inside. They unloaded it—and it was no longer a robot. It +was a modified hull designed for the duties of a tug in space. +It could carry a crew of four, and its cargohold was accessible +from the cabin. It had an airlock. More, it carried a cargo of +solid-fuel rockets which could be shifted to firing racks outside +its hull. Starting from the platform, where it had no effective +weight, it was capable of direct descent to the Earth without +spiralling or atmospheric braking. To make that descent it +would, obviously, expend four-fifths of its loaded weight in +rockets. And since it had no weight at the Platform, but only +mass, it was capable of far-ranging journeying. It could literally +take off from the Platform and reach the Moon and land +on it, and then return to the Platform.</p> + +<p>But that had to wait.</p> + +<p>"Sure we could do it," agreed Joe, when Mike wistfully +pointed out the possibility. "It would be good to try it. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +unfortunately, space exploration isn't a stunt. We've gotten +this far because—somebody wanted to do something. But——" +Then he said, "It could be done and the United Nations +wouldn't do it. So the United States had to, or—somebody +else would have. You can figure who that would be, and what +use they'd make of space travel! So it's important. It's more +important than stunt flights we could make!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody could stop us if we wanted to take off!" Mike said +rebelliously.</p> + +<p>"True," Joe said. "But we four can stand three gravities +acceleration and handle any more manned rockets that start +out here. We've lived through plenty more than that! But +Brent and the others couldn't put up a fight in space. They're +wearing harness now, and they're coming back to strength. +But we're going to stay right here and do stevedoring—and +fighting too, if it comes to that—until the job is done."</p> + +<p>And that was the way it was, too. Of stevedoring there was +plenty. Two robot ships a day for weeks on end. Three ships +a day for a time. Four. Sometimes things went smoothly, and +the little space wagons could go out and bring back the great, +rocket-scarred hulls from Earth. But once in three times the +robots were going too fast or too slow. The space wagons +couldn't handle them. Then the new ship, the space tug, went +out and hooked onto the robot with a chain and used the power +it had to bring them to their destination. And sometimes the +robots didn't climb straight. At least once the space tug captured +an erratic robot 400 miles from its destination and +hauled it in. It used some heavy solid-fuel rockets on that trip.</p> + +<p>The Platform had become, in fact, a port in space, though +so far it had had only arrivals and no departures. Its storage +compartments almost bulged with fuel stores and food stores +and equipment of every imaginable variety. It had a stock +of rockets which were enough to land it safely on Earth, +though there was surely no intention of doing so. It had food +and air for centuries. It had repair parts for all its own equipment. +And it had weapons. It contained, in robot hulls anchored +to its sides, enough fissionable material to conduct a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +deadly war—which was only stored for transfer to the Moon +base when that should be established.</p> + +<p>And it had communication with Earth of high quality. So +far the actual mail was only a one-way service, but even entertainment +came up, and news. Once there was a television +shot of the interior of the Shed. It was carefully scrambled before +transmission, but it was a heartening sight. The Shed on +the TV screen appeared a place of swarming activity. Robot +hulls were being made. They were even improved, fined +down to ten tons of empty weight apiece, and their controls +were assembly line products now. And there was the space +flight simulator with men practicing in it, although for the +time being only robots were taking off from Earth. And there +was the Moonship.</p> + +<p>It didn't look like the Platform, but rather like something +a child might have put together out of building blocks. It was +built up out of welded-together cells with strengthening members +added. It was 60 feet high from the floor and twice as +long, and it did not weigh nearly what it seemed to. Already +it was being clad in that thick layer of heat insulation it would +need to endure the two-week-long lunar night. It could take +off very soon now.</p> + +<p>The pictured preparations back on Earth meant round-the-clock +drudgery for Joe and the others. They wore themselves +out. But the storage space on the Platform filled up. Days and +weeks went by. Then there came a time when literally nothing +else could be stored, so Joe and his crew made ready to go +back to Earth.</p> + +<p>They ate hugely and packed a very small cargo in their +ship. They picked up one bag of mail and four bags of scientific +records and photographs which had only been transmitted +by facsimile TV before. They got into the space tug. It +floated free.</p> + +<p>"<i>You will fire in ten seconds</i>," said a crisp voice in Joe's +headphones. "<i>Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six +... five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... fire!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe crooked his index finger. There was an explosive jolt. +Rockets flamed terribly in emptiness. The space tug rushed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +toward the west. The Platform seemed to dwindle with startling +suddenness. It seemed to rush away and become lost in +the myriads of stars. The space tug accelerated at four gravities +in the direction opposed to its orbital motion.</p> + +<p>As the acceleration built up, it dropped toward Earth and +home like a tumbled stone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c10" id="c10"></a>10</h2> + + +<p>There was bright sunshine at the <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: The original reads 'shed'.">Shed</ins>, not a +single cloud in all the sky. The radar bowls atop the roof—they +seemed almost invisibly small compared with its vastness—wavered +and shifted and quivered. Completely invisible +beams of microwaves lanced upward. Atop the Shed, in +the communication room, there was the busy quiet of absolute +intentness. Signals came down and were translated into visible +records which fed instantly into computers. Then the computers +clicked and hummed and performed incomprehensible +integrations, and out of their slot-mouths poured billowing +ribbons of printed tape. Men read those tapes and talked +crisply into microphones, and their words went swiftly aloft +again.</p> + +<p>Down by the open eastern door of the Shed at the desert's +edge, Sally Holt and Joe's father waited together, watching +the sky. Sally was white and scared. Joe's father patted her +shoulder reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"He'll make it, all right," said Sally, dry-throated.</p> + +<p>Joe's father nodded. "Of course he will!" But his voice was +not steady.</p> + +<p>"Nothing could happen to him now!" said Sally fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Joe's father.</p> + +<p>A loudspeaker close to them said abruptly: "<i>Nineteen +miles.</i>"</p> + +<p>There was a tiny, straggling thread of white visible in the +now. It thinned out to nothingness, but its nearest part<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +flared out and flared out and flared out. It grew larger, came +closer with a terrifying speed.</p> + +<p>"<i>Twelve miles</i>," said the speaker harshly. "<i>Rockets firing.</i>"</p> + +<p>The downward-hurtling trail of smoke was like a crippled +plane falling flaming from the sky, except that no plane ever +fell so fast.</p> + +<p>At seven miles the white-hot glare of the rocket flames was +visible even in broad daylight. At three miles the light was unbearably +bright. At two, the light winked out. Sally saw something +which glittered come plummeting toward the ground, +unsupported.</p> + +<p>It fell almost half a mile before rocket fumes flung furiously +out again. Then it checked. Visibly, its descent was +slowed. It dropped more slowly, and more slowly, and more +slowly still....</p> + +<p>It hung in mid-air a quarter-mile up. Then there was a +fresh burst of rocket fumes, more monstrous than ever, and it +went steadily downward, touched the ground, and stayed +there spurting terrible incandescent flames for seconds. Then +the bottom flame went out. An instant later there were no +more flames at all.</p> + +<p>Sally began to run toward the ship. She stopped. A procession +of rumbling, clanking, earth-moving machinery moved +out of the Shed and toward the upright space tug. Prosaically, +a bulldozer lowered its wide blade some fifty yards from the +ship. It pushed a huge mass of earth before it, covering over +the scorched and impossibly hot sand about the rocket's +landing place. Other bulldozers began to circle methodically +around and around, overturning the earth and burying the +hot surface stuff. Water trucks sprayed, and thin steam arose.</p> + +<p>But also an exit-port opened and Joe stood in the opening.</p> + +<p>Then Sally began to run again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Joe sat at dinner in the major's quarters. Major Holt was +there, and Joe's father, and Sally.</p> + +<p>"It feels good," said Joe warmly, "to use a knife and fork +again, and to pick food up from a plate where it stays until +it's picked up!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The crew of the Platform——" Major Holt began.</p> + +<p>"They're all right," said Joe, with his mouth full. "They're +wearing gravity simulator harness. Brent's got his up to three-quarters +gravity. They get tired, wearing the harness. They +sleep better. Everything's fine! They can handle the space +wagons we left and they've got guided missiles to spare! +They're all right!"</p> + +<p>Joe's father said unsteadily, "You'll stay on Earth a while +now, son?"</p> + +<p>Sally moved quickly. She looked up, tense. But Joe said, +"They're going to get the Moonship up, sir. We came back—my +gang and me—to help train the crew. We only have a week +to do it in, but we've got some combat tactics to show them on +the training gadget in the Shed." He added anxiously, "And, +sir—they'll have to take the Moonship off in a spiral orbit. She +can't go straight up! That means she's got to pass over enemy +territory, and—we've got to have a real escort for her. A +fighting escort. It's planned for the space tug to take off a +few minutes after the Moonship and blast along underneath. +We'll dump guided missiles out—like drones—and if anything +comes along we can start their rockets and fight our way +through. And we four have had more experience than anybody +else. We're needed!"</p> + +<p>"You've done enough, surely!" Sally cried.</p> + +<p>"The United States," said Joe awkwardly, "is going to take +over the Moon. I—can't miss having a hand in that! Not if it's +at all possible!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you will miss it, Joe," Major Holt said detachedly. +"The occupation of the Moon will be a Navy enterprise. +Space Exploration Project facilities are being used to prepare +for it, but the Navy won the latest battle of the Pentagon. The +Navy takes over the Moon."</p> + +<p>Joe looked startled. "But——"</p> + +<p>"You're Space Exploration personnel," said the major with +the same coolness. "You will be used to instruct naval personnel, +and your space tug will be asked to go along to the +Platform as an auxiliary vessel. For purposes of assisting in +the landing of the Moonship at the Platform, you understand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +You'll haul her away from the Platform when she's refueled +and supplied, so she can start off for the Moon. But the occupation +of the Moon will be strictly Navy."</p> + +<p>Joe's expression became carefully unreadable. "I think," he +said evenly, "I'd better not comment."</p> + +<p>Major Holt nodded. "Very wise—not that we'd repeat anything +you did say. But the point is, Joe, that just one day before +the Moonship does take off, the United Nations will be +informed that it is a United States naval vessel. The doctrine of +the freedom of space—like the freedom of the seas—will be +promulgated. And the United States will say that a United +States naval task force is starting off into space on an official +mission. To attack a Space Exploration ship is one thing. +That's like a scientific expedition. But to fire on an American +warship on official business is a declaration of war. Especially +since that ship can shoot back—and will."</p> + +<p>Joe listened. He said, "It's daring somebody to try another +Pearl Harbor?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the major. "It's time for us to be firm—now +that we can back it up. I don't think the Moonship will be +fired on."</p> + +<p>"But they'll need me and my gang just the same," said Joe +slowly, "for tugboat work at the Platform?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the major.</p> + +<p>"Then," Joe said doggedly, "they get us. My gang will +gripe about being edged out of the trip. They won't like it. +But they'd like backing out still less. We'll play it the way it's +dealt—but we won't pretend to like it."</p> + +<p>Major Holt's expression did not change at all, but Joe had an +odd feeling that the major approved of him.</p> + +<p>"Yes. That's right, Joe," his father added. "You—you'll have +to go aloft once more, son. After that, we'll talk it over."</p> + +<p>Sally hadn't said a word during the discussion, but she'd +watched Joe every second. Later, out on the porch of the +major's quarters, she had a great deal to say. But that couldn't +affect the facts.</p> + +<p>The world at large, of course, received no inkling of the +events in preparation. The Shed and the town of Bootstrap and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +all the desert for a hundred-mile circle round about, were absolutely +barred to all visitors. Anybody who came into that +circle stayed in. Most people were kept out. All that anyone +outside could discover was that enormous quantities of cryptic +material had poured and still were pouring into the Shed. But +this time security was genuinely tight. Educated guesses could +be made, and they were made; but nobody outside the closed-in +area save a very few top-ranking officials had any real +knowledge. The world only knew that something drastic and +remarkable was in prospect.</p> + +<p>Mike, though, was able to write a letter to the girl who'd +written him. Major Holt arranged it. Mike wrote his letter on +paper supplied by Security, with ink supplied by Security, +and while watched by Security officers. His letter was censored +by Major Holt himself, and it did not reveal that Mike +was back on Earth. But it did invite a reply—and Mike +sweated as he waited for one.</p> + +<p>The others had plenty to sweat about. Joe and Haney and +the Chief were acting as instructors to the Moonship's crew. +They taught practical space navigation. At first they thought +they hadn't much to pass on, but they found out otherwise. +They had to pass on data on everything from how to walk to +how to drink coffee, how to eat, sleep, why one should wear +gravity harness, and the manners and customs of ships in +space. They had to show why in space fighting a ship might +send missiles on before it, but would really expect to do damage +with those it left behind. They had to warn of the dangers +of unshielded sunshine, and the equal danger of standing in +shadow for more than five minutes, and——</p> + +<p>They had material for six months of instruction courses, but +there was barely a week to pass it on. Joe was run ragged, but +in spite of everything he managed to talk at some length with +Sally. He found himself curiously anxious to discuss any number +of things with his father, too, who suddenly appeared to +be much more intelligent than Joe had ever noticed before.</p> + +<p>He was almost unhappy when it was certain that the Moonship +would take off for space on the following day. He talked +about it with Sally the night before take-off.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look," he said awkwardly. "As far as I'm concerned this +has turned out a pretty sickly business. But when we have got +a base on the Moon, it'll be a good job done. There will be +one thing that nobody can stop! Everybody's been living in +terror of war. If we hold the Moon the cold war will be ended. +You can't kick on my wanting to help end that!"</p> + +<p>Sally smiled at him in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"And—meanwhile," said Joe clumsily, "well—when I come +back we can do some serious talking about—well—careers and +such things. Until then—no use. Right?"</p> + +<p>Sally's smile wavered. "Very sensible," she agreed wrily. +"And awfully silly, Joe. I know what kind of a career I want! +What other fascinating topic do you know to talk about, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know of any. Oh, yes! Mike got a letter from his +girl. I don't know what she said, but he's walking on air."</p> + +<p>"But it isn't funny!" said Sally indignantly. "Mike's a person! +A fine person! If he'll let me, I'll write to his girl myself and—try +to make friends with her so when you come back I—maybe +I can be a sort of match-maker."</p> + +<p>"That, I like!" Joe said warmly. "You're swell sometimes, +Sally!"</p> + +<p>Sally looked at him enigmatically in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"There are times when it seems to escape your attention," +she observed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The next morning she cried a little when he left her, to +climb in the space tug which was so small a part of today's +activity. Joe and his crew were the only living men who had +ever made a round trip to the Platform and back. But now +there was the Moonship to go farther than they'd been allowed. +It was even clumsier in design than the Platform, +though it was smaller. But it wasn't designed to stay in space. +It was to rest on the powdery floor of a ring-mountain's central +plain.</p> + +<p>Let it get off into space, and somehow get to the Platform +to reload. Then let it replace the rockets it would burn in this +take-off and it could go on out to emptiness. It would make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +history as the first serious attempt by human beings to reach +the Moon.</p> + +<p>Joe and his followers would go along simply to handle +guided missiles if it came to a fight, and to tow the Moonship +to its wharf—the Platform—and out into midstream again when +it resumed its journey. And that was all.</p> + +<p>The Moonship lifted from the floor of the Shed to the sound +of hundreds of pushpot engines.</p> + +<p>Then the space tug roared skyward. Her take-off rockets +here substituted for the pushpots. Her second-stage rockets +were also of the nonpoisonous variety, because she fired them +at a bare 60,000 feet. They were substitutes for the jatos the +pushpots carried.</p> + +<p>She was out in space when the third-stage rockets roared +dully outside her hull.</p> + +<p>When the Moonship crossed the west coast of Africa, the +space tug was 400 miles below and 500 miles behind. When +the Moonship crossed Arabia, the difference was 200 miles +vertically and less than 100 in line.</p> + +<p>Then the Moonship released small objects, steadied by gyroscopes +and flung away by puffs of compressed air. The small +objects spread out. Haney and Mike and the Chief had reloaded +the firing racks from inside the ship, and now were +intent upon control boards and radar. They pressed buttons. +One by one, little puffs of smoke appeared in space. They had +armed the little space missiles, setting off tiny flares which had +no function except to prove that each missile was ready for use.</p> + +<p>By the time the two space craft floated toward India, above +an area from which war rockets had been known to rise, there +were more little weapons floating with them. One screen of +missiles hurtled on before the space tug, and another behind. +Anything that came up from Earth would instantly be attacked +by dozens of midget ships bent upon suicide.</p> + +<p>Radar probed the space formation, but enemies of the fleet +and the Platform very wisely did no more than probe. The +Moonship and its attendants went across the Pacific, still rising. +Above the longitude of Washington, the space tug left its +former post and climbed, nudging the Moonship this way and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +that. And from behind, the Platform came floating splendidly.</p> + +<p>Tiny figures in space suits extended the incredibly straight +lines which were plastic hoses filled with air. Very, very +gently indeed, the great, bulbous Platform and the squat, +flat Moonship came together and touched. They moored in +contact.</p> + +<p>And then the inert small missiles that had floated below, all +the way up, flared simultaneously. Their rockets emitted +smoke. In fine alignment, they plunged forward through +emptiness, swerved with a remarkable precision, and headed +out for emptiness beyond the Platform's orbit. Their function +had been to protect the Moonship on its way out. That function +was performed. There were too many of them to recover, +so they went out toward the stars.</p> + +<p>When their rockets burned out they vanished. But a good +hour later, when it was considered that they were as far out +as they were likely to go, they began to blow up. Specks of +flame, like the tiniest of new stars, flickered against the background +of space.</p> + +<p>But Joe and the others were in the Platform by then. They'd +brought up mail for the crew. And they were back on duty.</p> + +<p>The Platform seemed strange with the Moonship's crew +aboard. It had been a gigantic artificial world with very few +inhabitants. With twenty-five naval ratings about, plus the +four of its regular crew, plus the space tug's complement, it +seemed excessively crowded.</p> + +<p>And it was busy. There were twenty-five new men to be +guided as they applied what they'd been taught aground +about life in space. It was three full Earthdays before the +stores intended for the journey to the Moon and the maintenance +of a base there really began to move. The tug and the +space wagons had to be moored outside and reached only +by space suits through small personnel airlocks.</p> + +<p>And there was the matter of discipline. Lieutenant Commander +Brown had been put in command of the Platform for +experience in space. He was considered to be prepared for +command of the Moonship by that experience. So now he +turned over command of the Platform to Brent—he made a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +neat ceremony of it—and took over the ship that would go out +to the Moon. He made another ceremony out of that.</p> + +<p>In command of the Moonship, his manner to Joe was absolutely +correct. He followed regulations to the letter—to a degree +that left Joe blankly uncomprehending. But he wouldn't +have gotten along in the Navy if he hadn't. He'd tried to do +the same thing in the Platform, and it wasn't practical. But he +ignored all differences between Joe and himself. He made no +overtures of friendship, but that was natural. Unintentionally, +Joe had defied him. He now deliberately overlooked all that, +and Joe approved of him—within limits.</p> + +<p>But Mike and Haney and the Chief did not. They laid for +him. And they considered that they got him. When he took +over the Moonship, Lieutenant Commander Brown naturally +maintained naval discipline and required snappy, official +naval salutes on all suitable occasions, even in the Platform. +And Joe's gang privately tipped off the noncommissioned +personnel of the Moonship. Thereafter, no enlisted man ever +saluted Lieutenant Brown without first gently detaching his +magnet-soled shoes from the floor. When a man was free, a +really snappy salute gave a diverting result. The man's body +tilted forward to meet his rising arm, the upward impetus +was one-sided, and every man who saluted Brown immediately +made a spectacular kowtow which left him rigidly at salute +floating somewhere overhead with his back to Lieutenant +Brown. With a little practice, it was possible to add a somersault +to the other features. On one historic occasion, Brown +walked clanking into a storeroom where a dozen men were +preparing supplies for transfer to the Moonship. A voice cried, +"Shun!" And instantly twelve men went floating splendidly +about the storeroom, turning leisurely somersaults, all rigidly +at salute, and all wearing regulation poker faces.</p> + +<p>An order abolishing salutes in weightlessness followed +shortly after.</p> + +<p>It took four days to get the transfer of supplies properly +started. It took eight to finish the job. Affixing fresh rockets to +the outside of the Moonship's hull alone called for long hours +in space suits. During this time Mike floated nearby in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +space wagon. One of the Navy men was a trifle overcourageous. +He affected to despise safety lines. Completing the +hook-on of a landing rocket, he straightened up too abruptly +and went floating off toward the Milky Way.</p> + +<p>Mike brought him back. After that there was less trouble.</p> + +<p>Even so, the Moonship and the Platform were linked together +for thirteen full days, during which the Platform +seemed extraordinarily crowded. On the fourteenth day the +two ships sealed off and separated. Joe and his crew in the +space tug hauled the Moonship a good five miles from the +Platform.</p> + +<p>The space tug returned to the Platform. A blinker signal +came across the five-mile interval. It was a very crisp, formal, +Navy-like message.</p> + +<p>Then the newly-affixed rockets on the Moonship's hull +spurted their fumes. The big ship began to move. Not outward +from Earth, of course. That was where it was going. +But it had the Platform's 12,000 miles per hour of orbital +speed. If the bonds of gravitation could have been snapped +at just the proper instant, that speed alone would have carried +the Moonship all the way to its destination. But they couldn't. +So the Moonship blasted to increase its orbital speed. It would +swing out and out, and as the Earth's pull grew weaker with +distance the same weight of rockets would move the same mass +farther and farther toward the Moon. The Moonship's course +would be a sort of slowly flattening curve, receding from +Earth and becoming almost a straight line where Earth's and +the Moon's gravitational fields cancelled each other.</p> + +<p>From there, the Moonship would have only to brake its +fall against a gravity one-sixth that of Earth, and reaching +out a vastly shorter distance.</p> + +<p>Joe and the others watched the roiling masses of rocket +fumes as the ship seemed to grow infinitely small.</p> + +<p>"We should've been in that ship," said Haney heavily when +the naked eye could no longer pick it out. "We could've beat +her to the Moon!"</p> + +<p>Joe said nothing. He ached a little inside. But he reflected +that the men who'd guided the Platform to its orbit had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +overshadowed by himself and Haney and the Chief and Mike. +A later achievement always makes an earlier one look small. +Now the four of them would be forgotten. History would +remember the commander of the Moonship.</p> + +<p>Forgotten? Yes, perhaps. But the names of the four of +them, Joe and Haney and the Chief and Mike, would still be +remembered in a language Joe couldn't speak, in a small village +he couldn't name, on those occasions when the Mohawk +tribe met in formal council.</p> + +<p>The Chief grumbled. Mike stared out the port with bitter +envy.</p> + +<p>"It was a dirty trick," growled the Chief. "We shoulda been +part of the first gang ever to land on the Moon!"</p> + +<p>Joe grimaced. His crew needed to be cured of feeling the +same way he did.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't say this outside of our gang," said Joe carefully, +"but if it hadn't been for us four that ship wouldn't be +on the way at all. Haney figured the trick that got us back to +Earth the first time, or else we'd have been killed. If we had +been killed, Mike wouldn't have figured out the metal-concrete +business. But for him, that Moonship wouldn't even be a +gleam in anybody's eye. And if the Chief hadn't blown up that +manned rocket we fought in the space wagons, there wouldn't +be any Platform up here to reload and refuel the Moonship. So +they left us behind! But just among the four of us I think we +can figure that if it hadn't been for us they couldn't have +made it!"</p> + +<p>Haney grinned slowly at Joe. The Chief regarded him with +irony. Mike said, "Yeah. Haney, and me, and the Chief. We +did it all."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," said the Chief sardonically. "Us three. Just us +three. Joe didn't do anything. Just a bum, he is. We oughta tell +Sally he's no good and she oughta pick herself out a guy that'll +amount to something some day." He hit Joe between the +shoulders. "Sure! Just a bum, Joe! That's all! But we got a +weakness for you. We'll let you hang around with us just +the same! Come on, guys! Let's get something to eat!"</p> + +<p>The four of them marched down a steel-floored corridor,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +their magnetic-soled shoes clanking on the plates. Their progress +was uncertain and ungainly and altogether undignified. +Suddenly the Chief began to bawl a completely irrelevant song +to the effect that the inhabitants of the kingdom of Siam were +never known to wash their dishes. Haney chimed in, and Mike. +They were all very close together, and they were not at all +impressive. But it hit Joe very hard, this sudden knowledge +that the others didn't really care. It was the first time it had +occurred to him that Haney and Mike and the Chief would +rather be left behind with him, as a gang, than go on to individual +high achievement in a first landing on the Moon.</p> + +<p>It felt good. It felt <i>real</i> good.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But that, and all other sources of satisfaction, was wiped out +by news that came back from the Moonship a bare six hours +later.</p> + +<p>The Moonship was in trouble. The sequence and timing of +its rocket blasts were worked out on Earth, and checked by +visual and radar observation. The computations were done by +electronic brains the Moonship could not possibly have carried. +And everything worked out. The ship was on course +and its firings were on schedule.</p> + +<p>But then the unexpected happened. It was an error which +no machine could ever have predicted, for which statistics +and computations could never have compensated. It was a +<i>human</i> error. At the signal for the final acceleration blast, the +pilot of the Moonship had fired the wrong set of rockets.</p> + +<p>Inexperience, stupidity, negligence, excitement—the reason +didn't matter. After years of planning and working and +dreaming, one human finger had made a mistake. And the +mistake was fatal!</p> + +<p>When the mistake was realized, they'd had sense enough +to cut loose the still-firing rockets. But the damage had been +done. The ship was still plunging on. It would reach the +Moon. But it wouldn't land in Aristarchus crater as planned. +It would crash. If every rocket remaining mounted on the hull +were to be fired at the best possible instant, the Moonship<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +would hit near Copernicus, and it would land with a terminal +velocity of 800 feet per second—540 miles an hour.</p> + +<p>It could even be calculated that when the Moonship landed, +the explosion ought to be visible from Earth with a fairly +good telescope. It was due to take place in thirty-two hours +plus or minus a few minutes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="c11" id="c11"></a>11</h2> + + +<p>The others got the space tug into the platform's +lock and did things to it, in the way of loading, that +its designers never intended, while Joe was calling Earth for +calculations. The result was infuriating. The Moonship had +taken off for the Moon on the other side of the Platform's +orbit, when it had a velocity of more than 12,000 miles an +hour in the direction it wished to go. The Platform and of +course the space tug was now on the reverse side of the Platform's +orbit. And of course they now had a velocity of more +than 12,000 miles per hour away from the direction in which +it was urgently necessary for the space tug to go. They could +wait for two hours to take off, said Earth, or waste the time +and fuel they'd need to throw away to duplicate the effect of +waiting.</p> + +<p>"But we can't wait!" raged Joe. Then he snapped. "Look +here! Suppose we take off from here, dive at Earth, make a +near-graze, and let its gravity curve our course! Like a +cometary path! Figure that! That's what we've got to do!"</p> + +<p>He kicked off his magnetic-soled shoes and went diving +down to the airlock. Over his shoulder he panted an order +for the radar-duty man to relay anything from Earth down to +him there. He arrived to find Haney and Mike in hot argument +over whether it was possible to load on an extra ton or +two of mass. He stopped it. They would.</p> + +<p>"Everything's loaded?" he demanded. "Okay! Space suits! +All set? Let's get out of this lock and start blasting!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>He drove them into the space tug. He climbed in himself. +He closed the entrance port. The plastic walls of the lock +bulged out, pulled back fast, and the steering rockets jetted. +The space tug came out of the lock. It spun about. It aimed +for Earth and monstrous bursts of rocket-trail spread out behind +it. It dived.</p> + +<p>Naturally! When a ship from the Platform wanted to reach +Earth for atmosphere-deceleration, it was more economical +to head away from it. Now that it was the most urgent of all +possible necessities to get away from Earth, in the opposite direction +to the space tug's present motion, it was logical to dive +toward it. The ship would plunge toward Earth, and Earth's +gravity would help its rockets in the attainment of frenzied +speed. But the tug still possessed its orbital speed. So it would +not actually strike the Earth, but would be carried eastward +past its disk, even though aimed for Earth's mid-bulge. Yet +Earth would continue to pull. As the space tug skimmed past, +its path would be curved by the pull of gravity. At the nearest +possible approach to Earth, the tug would fire its heaviest +rockets for maximum acceleration. And it would swing around +Earth's atmosphere perhaps no more than 500 miles high—just +barely beyond the measurable presence of air—and come out of +that crazy curve a good hour ahead of the Platform for a +corresponding position, and with a greater velocity than could +be had in any other way. Traced on paper, the course of the +tug would be a tight parabola.</p> + +<p>The ship dived. And it happened that it had left the Platform +and plunged deep in Earth's shadow, so that the look +and feel of things was that of an utterly suicidal plunge into +oblivion. There was the seeming of a vast sack of pure blackness +before the nose of the space tug. She started for it at +four gravities acceleration, and Joe got his headphones to his +ears and lay panting while he waited for the figures and information +he had to have.</p> + +<p>He got them. When the four-gravity rockets burned out, +the tug's crew painstakingly adjusted the ship's nose to a +certain position. They flung themselves back into the acceleration +chairs and Joe fired a six-g blast. They came out of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +that, and he fired another. The three blasts gave the ship a +downward speed of a mile and a half a second, and Earth's +pull added to it steadily. The Earth itself was drawing them +down most of a 4,000-mile fall, which added to the speed their +rockets built up.</p> + +<p>Down on Earth, radar-bowls wavered dizzily, hunting for +them to feed them observations of position and data for their +guidance. Back on the Platform, members of the crew feverishly +made their own computations. When the four in the +Space tug were half-way to Earth, they were traveling faster +than any humans had ever traveled before, relative to the +Earth or the Platform itself. When they were a thousand +miles from Earth, it was certain they would clear its edge. +Joe proposed and received an okay to fire a salvo of Mark +Tens to speed the ship still more. When they burned to the +release-point and flashed away past the ports, the Chief and +Haney panted up from their chairs and made their way aft.</p> + +<p>"Going to reload the firing-frames," gasped the Chief.</p> + +<p>They vanished. The space tug could take rockets from its +cargo and set them outside its hull for firing. No other ship +could.</p> + +<p>Haney and the Chief came back. There was dead silence +in the ship, save for a small, tinny voice in Joe's headphones.</p> + +<p>"We'll pass Earth 600 miles high," said Joe in a flat voice. +"Maybe closer. I'm going to try to make it 450. We'll be smack +over enemy territory, but I doubt they could hit us. We'll be +hitting better than six miles a second. If we wanted to, we +could spend some more rockets and hit escape velocity. But +we want to stop, later. We'll ride it out."</p> + +<p>Silence. Stillness. Speed. Out the ports to Earthward there +was purest blackness. On the other side, a universe of stars. +But the blackness grew and grew and grew until it neatly +bisected the cosmos itself, and half of everything that was, +was blackness. Half was tiny colored stars.</p> + +<p>Then there was a sound. A faint sound. It was a moan. +It was a howl. It was a shriek.... And then it was a mere +thin moan again. Then it was not.</p> + +<p>"We touched air," said Joe calmly, "at six and a quarter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +miles per second. Pretty thin, though. At that, we may have +left a meteor-trail for the populace to admire."</p> + +<p>Nobody said anything at all. In a little while there was light +ahead. There was brightness. Instantly, it seemed, they were +out of night and there was a streaming tumult of clouds +flashing past below—but they were 800 miles up now—and +Joe's headphones rattled and he said:</p> + +<p>"Now we can give a touch of course-correction, and maybe +a trace of speed...."</p> + +<p>Rockets droned and boomed and roared outside the hull. +The Earth fell away and away and presently it was behind. +And they were plunging on after the Moonship which was +very, very, very far on before them.</p> + +<p>It was actually many hours before they reached it. They +couldn't afford to overtake it gradually, because they had to +have time to work in after contact. But overtaking it swiftly +cost extra fuel, and they hadn't too much. So they compromised, +and came up behind the Moonship at better than +2,000 feet per second difference in speed—they approached +it as fast as most rifle-bullets travel—and all creation was +blotted out by the fumes of the rockets they fired for deceleration.</p> + +<p>Then the space tug came cautiously close to the Moonship. +Mike climbed out on the outside of the tug's hull, with the +Chief also in space equipment, paying out Mike's safety-line. +Mike leaped across two hundred yards of emptiness with +light-years of gulf beneath him. His metal soles clanked on +the Moonship's hull.</p> + +<p>Then the vision-screen on the tug lighted up. Lieutenant +Commander Brown looked out of it, quietly grim. Joe flicked +on his own transmitter. He nodded.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mr. Kenmore</i>," said Brown evenly, "<i>I did not contact you +before because I was not certain that contact could be made. +How many passengers can you take back to the Platform?</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe blinked at him.</p> + +<p>"I haven't any idea," he said. "But I'm going to hitch on +and use our rockets to land you."</p> + +<p>"<i>I do not think it practicable</i>," said Brown calmly. "<i>I believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +the only result of such a course will be the loss of both +ships with all hands. I will give you a written authorization to +return on my order. But since all my crew can't return, how +many can you take? I have ten married men aboard. Six have +children. Can you take six? Or all ten?</i>" Then he said without +a trace of emphasis, "<i>Of course, none of them will be officers.</i>"</p> + +<p>"If I tried to turn back now, I think my crew would mutiny," +Joe said coldly. "I'd hate to think they wouldn't, +anyhow! We're going to hook on and play this out the way +it lies!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then Brown spoke again. "<i>Mr. Kenmore, +I was hoping you'd say that. Actually—er—not to be +quoted, you understand—actually, intelligent defiance has +always been in the traditions of the Navy. Of course, you're +not in the Navy, Kenmore, but right now it looks like the +Navy is in your hands. Like a battleship in the hands of a tug. +Good luck, Kenmore.</i>"</p> + +<p>Joe flicked off the screen. "You know," he said, winking +at Mike, "I guess Brown isn't such a bad egg after all. Let's +go!"</p> + +<p>In minutes, the space tug had a line made fast. In half an +hour, the two space craft were bound firmly together, but +far enough apart for the rocket blasts to dissipate before they +reached the Moonship. Mike returned to the tug. A pair of the +big Mark Twenty rockets burned frenziedly in emptiness.</p> + +<p>The Moonship was slowed by a fraction of its speed. The +deceleration was hardly perceptible.</p> + +<p>There were more burnings. Back on Earth there were careful +measurements. A tight beam tends to attenuate when it +is thrown a hundred thousand miles. It tends to! When speech +is conducted over it, the lag between comment and reply is +perceptible. It's not great—just over half a second. But one +notices it. That lag was used to measure the speed and distance +of the two craft. The prospect didn't look too good.</p> + +<p>The space tug burned rocket after rocket after rocket. +There was no effect that Joe could detect, of course. It would +have been like noticing the effect of single oar-strokes in a +rowboat miles from shore. But the instruments on Earth found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +a difference. They made very, very, very careful computations. +And the electronic brains did the calculations which battalions +of mathematicians would have needed years to work out. The +electronic calculations which could not make a mistake said—that +it was a toss-up.</p> + +<p>The Moon came slowly to float before the two linked ships. +It grew slowly, slowly larger. The word from Earth was that +considering the rockets still available in the space tug, and +those that should have been fired but weren't on the Moonship, +there must be no more blasts just yet. The two ships +must pass together through the neutral-point where the +gravities of Earth and Moon exactly cancel out. They must +fall together toward the Moon. Forty miles above the lunar +surface such-and-such rockets were to be fired. At twenty +miles, such-and-such others. At five miles the Moonship +itself must fire its remaining fuel-store. With luck, it was a +toss-up. Safety or a smash.</p> + +<p>But there was a long time to wait. Joe and his crew relaxed +in the space tug. The Chief looked out a port and observed:</p> + +<p>"I can see the ring-mountains now. Naked-eye stuff, too! I +wonder if anybody ever saw that before!"</p> + +<p>"Not likely," said Joe.</p> + +<p>Mike stared out a port. Haney looked, also.</p> + +<p>"How're we going to get back, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"The Moonship has rockets on board," Joe told him. "Only +they can't stick them in the firing-racks outside. They're +stowed away, all shipshape, Navy fashion. After we land, we'll +ask politely for rockets to get back to the Platform with. +It'll be a tedious run. Mostly coasting—falling free. But we'll +make it."</p> + +<p>"If everything doesn't blow when we land," said the Chief.</p> + +<p>Joe said uncomfortably: "It won't. Not that somebody won't +try." Then he stopped. After a moment he said awkwardly: +"Look! It's necessary that we humans get to the stars, or +ultimately we'll crowd the Earth until we won't be able to +stay human. We'd have to have wars and plagues and such +things to keep our numbers down. It—it seems to me, and I—think +it's been said before, that it looks like there's something,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +somewhere, that's afraid of us humans. It doesn't want us to +reach the stars. It didn't want us to fly. Before that it didn't +want us to learn how to cure disease, or have steam, or—anything +that makes men different from the beasts."</p> + +<p>Haney turned his head. He listened intently.</p> + +<p>"Maybe it sounds—superstitious," said Joe uneasily, "but +there's always been somebody trying to smash everything the +rest of us wanted. As if—as if something alien and hateful went +around whispering hypnotically into men's ears while they +slept, commanding them irresistibly to do things to smash all +their own hopes."</p> + +<p>The Chief grunted. "Huh! D'you think that's new stuff, +Joe?"</p> + +<p>"N-no," admitted Joe. "But it's true. Something fights us. +You can make wild guesses. Maybe—things on far planets +that know that if ever we reach there.... There's something +that hates men and it tries to make us destroy ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Haney mildly. "I learned about that in Sunday +School, Joe."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I mean that," said Joe helplessly. "But anyhow +there's something we fight—and there's Something that fights +with us. So I think we're going to get the Moonship down all +right."</p> + +<p>Mike said sharply: "You mean you think this is all worked +out in advance. That we'd be here, we'd get here——"</p> + +<p>The Chief said impatiently, "It's figured out so we can do +it if we got the innards. We got the chance. We can duck it. +But if we duck it, it's bad, and somebody else has to have the +chance later. I know what Joe's saying. Us men, we got to +get to the stars. There's millions of 'em, and we need the +planets they've got swimming around 'em."</p> + +<p>Haney said, "Some of them have planets. That's known. +Yeah."</p> + +<p>"Those planets ain't going to go on forever with nobody +using 'em," grunted the Chief. "It don't make sense. And +things in general do make sense. All but us humans," he +finished with a grin. "And I like us, anyhow. Joe's right. We'll +get by this time. And if we don't—some other guys'll have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +do the job of landing on the Moon. But it'll be done—as a +starter."</p> + +<p>"I can see lots of mountains down there. Plain," Mike said +quietly.</p> + +<p>"What's the radar say?"</p> + +<p>Joe looked. Back at the Platform it had shown the curve +of the surface of Earth. Here a dim line was beginning to +show on the vertical-plane screen. It was the curve of the +surface of the Moon.</p> + +<p>"We might as well get set," said Joe. "We've got time but +we might as well. Space suits on. I'll tighten up the chain. +Steering rockets'll do that. Then we'll take a last look. All +firing racks loaded outside?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah," said Haney. He grinned wrily. "You know, Joe, I +know what I know, but still I'm scared."</p> + +<p>"Me, too," said Joe.</p> + +<p>But there were things to do. They took their places. They +watched out the ports. The Moon had seemed a vast round +ball a little while back. Now it appeared to be flattening. Its +edges still curved away beyond a surprisingly nearby horizon. +The ring-mountains were amazingly distinct. There were incredibly +wide, smooth spaces with mottled colorings. But +the mountains....</p> + +<p>When the ships were 40 miles high the space tug blasted +valorously, and all the panorama of the Moon's surface was +momentarily hidden by the racing clouds of mist. The rockets +burned out.</p> + +<p>Haney and the Chief replaced the burned-out rockets. They +were gigantic, heavy-bore tubes which they couldn't have +stirred on Earth. Now they loaded them into the curious locks +which conveyed them outside the hull into firing position.</p> + +<p>The ring-mountains were gigantic when they blasted again! +They were only 20 miles up, then, and some of the peaks +rose four miles from their inner crater floors.</p> + +<p>The ships were still descending fast. Joe spoke into his +microphone.</p> + +<p>"Calling Moonship! Calling——" He stopped and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +matter-of-factly, "I suggest we fire our last blast together. +Shall I give the word? Right!"</p> + +<p>The surface of the Moon came toward them. Craters, cracks, +frozen fountains of stone, swelling undulations of ground interrupted +without rhyme or reason by the gigantic splashings +of missiles from the sky a hundred thousand million years +ago. The colorings were unbelievable. There were reds and +browns and yellows. There were grays and dusty deep-blues +and streaks of completely impossible tints in combination.</p> + +<p>But Joe couldn't watch that. He kept his eyes on a very +special gadget which was a radar range-finder. He hadn't +used it about the Platform because there were too many tin +cans and such trivia floating about. It wouldn't be dependable. +But it did measure the exact distance to the nearest solid +object.</p> + +<p>"Prepare for firing on a count of five," said Joe quietly. +"Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... fire!"</p> + +<p>The space tug's rockets blasted. For the first time since they +overtook the Moonship, the tug now had help. The remaining +rockets outside the Moonship's hull blasted furiously. Out the +ports there was nothing but hurtling whitenesses. The rockets +droned and rumbled and roared....</p> + +<p>The main rockets burned out. The steering rockets still +boomed. Joe had thrown them on for what good their lift +might do.</p> + +<p>"Joe!" said Haney in a surprised tone. "I feel weight! Not +much, but some! And the main rockets are off!"</p> + +<p>Joe nodded. He watched the instruments before him. He +shifted a control, and the space tug swayed. It swayed over +to the limit of the tow-chain it had fastened to the Moonship. +Joe shifted his controls again.</p> + +<p>There was a peculiar, gritty contact somewhere. Joe cut +the steering rockets and it was possible to look out. There were +more gritty noises. The space tug settled a little and leaned +a little. It was still. Then there was no noise at all.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joe. "We've got some weight. We're on the +Moon."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>They went out of the ship in a peculiarly solemn procession. +About them reared cliffs such as no man had ever looked on +before save in dreams. Above their heads hung a huge round +greenish globe, with a white polar ice-cap plainly visible. It +hung in mid-sky and was four times the size of the Moon as +seen from Earth. If one stood still and looked at it, it would +undoubtedly be seen to be revolving, once in some twenty-four +hours.</p> + +<p>Mike scuffled in the dust in which he walked. Nobody had +emerged from the Moonship yet. The four of them were +literally the first human beings ever to set foot on the surface +of the Moon. But none of them mentioned the fact, though +all were acutely aware of it. Mike kicked up dust. It rose in +a curiously liquid-like fashion. There was no air to scatter it. +It settled deliberately back again.</p> + +<p>Mike spoke with an odd constraint. "No green cheese," he +said absurdly.</p> + +<p>"No," agreed Joe. "Let's go over to the Moonship. It looks +all right. It couldn't have landed hard."</p> + +<p>They went toward the bulk of the ship from Earth, which +now was a base for the military occupation of a globe with +more land-area than all Earth's continents put together—but +not a drop of water. The Moonship was tilted slightly askew, +but it was patently unharmed. There were faces at every port +in the hull.</p> + +<p>The Chief stopped suddenly. A sizable boulder rose from +the dust. The Chief struck it smartly with his space-gloved +hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm counting coup on the Moon!" he said zestfully "Tie +that, you guys!"</p> + +<p>Then he joined the others on their way to the Moonship's +main lock.</p> + +<p>"Shall we knock?" asked Mike humorously. "I doubt they've +got a door-bell!"</p> + +<p>But the lock-door was opening to admit them. They +crowded inside.</p> + +<p>Commander Brown was waiting for them with an out-stretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +hand. "Glad to have you aboard." And there was a +genuine smile creeping across his face.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Joe talked with careful distinctness into a microphone. His +voice took a little over a second to reach its destination. Then +there was a pause of the same length before the first syllable +of Sally's reply came to him from Earth.</p> + +<p>"I've reported to your father," said Joe carefully, "and the +Moonship has reported to the Navy. In a couple of hours +Haney and the Chief and Mike and I will be taking off to go +back to the Platform. We got rockets from the stores of the +Moonship."</p> + +<p>Sally's voice was surprisingly clear. It wavered a little, but +there was no sound of static to mar reception.</p> + +<p>"Then what, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"I'm bringing written reports and photographs and first +specimens of geology from the Moon," Joe told her. "I'm a +mailman. It'll probably be sixty hours back to the Platform—free +fall most of the way—and then we'll refuel and I'll come +down to Earth to deliver the reports and such."</p> + +<p>Pause. One second and a little for his voice to go. Another +second and something over for her voice to return.</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm trying to find out," said Joe. "What day +is today?"</p> + +<p>"Tuesday," said Sally after the inevitable pause. "It's ten +o'clock Tuesday morning at the Shed."</p> + +<p>Joe made calculations in his mind. Then he said:</p> + +<p>"I ought to land on Earth some time next Monday."</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Sally.</p> + +<p>"I wondered," said Joe. "How about a date that night?" +Another pause. Then Sally's voice. She sounded glad.</p> + +<p>"It's a date, Joe. And—do you know, I must be the first girl +in the world to make a date with the Man in the Moon?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blurb"> +<h2><a name="COMBAT_MISSION" id="COMBAT_MISSION"></a>COMBAT MISSION!</h2> + + +<p style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Joe Kenmore's mission +was as dangerous as +it sounded simple:</i></b></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"DELIVER SUPPLIES AND ATOMIC +WEAPONS TO THE SPACE +PLATFORM. THEN PREPARE FOR +MAN'S FIRST EXPEDITION +TO THE MOON."</p></div> + +<p><b>Joe had helped launch the first Space +Platform—that initial rung in man's ladder +to the stars. But the enemies who had +ruthlessly tried to destroy the space station +before it left Earth were still at work. +They were plotting to stop Joe's mission!</b></p> + +<p class="sf" style="text-align: right;">Cover painting by Robert Schulz</p></div> +<hr /> +<div class="bbox"> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> +<p>A hyperlinked Table of Contents has been added.</p> +<h4>Hyphens</h4> +<p>Hyphens have been removed from the following words to conform to the +majority use in text.</p> + +<div class="center"><table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr style="font-weight: bold;"><td align='left'>Page</td><td align='left'>Word</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>86</td><td align='left'>brain-storm</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>123</td><td align='left'>loud-speaker</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The following words have been left in both hyphenated and unhyphenated +forms because of equal prevalence of both forms:</p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>half-way</td><td align='left'>halfway</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>pay-load</td><td align='left'>payload</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>rocket-lift</td><td align='left'>rocketlift</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>sun-lamps</td><td align='left'>sunlamps</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>hand-hold</td><td align='left'>handhold</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>pin-points</td><td align='left'>pinpoints</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>"overall" and "over-all" have been left as such since the writers are different (The narrator and a character).</p> + +<h4>Typos</h4> +<p>The following typos have been corrected:</p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr style="font-weight: bold;"><td align='left'>Page</td><td align='left'>Typo</td><td align='left'>Correction</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>14</td><td align='left'>runing</td><td align='left'>running</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>15</td><td align='left'>level</td><td align='left'>lever</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>78</td><td align='left'>Adorning</td><td align='left'>Adoring</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>128</td><td align='left'>thiry-nine</td><td align='left'>thirty-nine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>132</td><td align='left'>shed</td><td align='left'>Shed</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Space Tug, by Murray Leinster + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPACE TUG *** + +***** This file should be named 18719-h.htm or 18719-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1/18719/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/18719-h/images/pocketbook.png b/18719-h/images/pocketbook.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc7b889 --- /dev/null +++ b/18719-h/images/pocketbook.png diff --git a/18719.txt b/18719.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10530e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/18719.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6825 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Space Tug, by Murray Leinster + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Space Tug + +Author: Murray Leinster + +Release Date: June 29, 2006 [EBook #18719] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPACE TUG *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + 30 MINUTES TO LIVE! + + + Joe Kenmore heard the airlock close with a sickening wheeze and then + a clank. In desperation he turned toward Haney. "My God, we've been + locked out!" + + Through the transparent domes of their space helmets, Joe could see + a look of horror and disbelief pass across Haney's face. But it was + true! Joe and his crew were locked out of the Space Platform. + + Four thousand miles below circled the Earth. Under Joe's feet rested + the solid steel hull of his home in outer space. But without tools + there was no hope of getting back inside. Joe looked at his oxygen + meter. It registered thirty minutes to live. + + _Space Tug_ by Murray Leinster is an independent sequel to the + author's popular _Space Platform_, which is also available in a + POCKET BOOK edition. Both books were published originally by Shasta + Publishers. + + +_Of other books by Murray Leinster, the following are science-fiction:_ + + +[A]SPACE PLATFORM + +SIDEWISE IN TIME + +MURDER MADNESS + +THE LAST SPACE SHIP + +THE LAWS OF CHANCE +(_anthology_) + +GREAT STORIES OF SCIENCE FICTION +(_editor_) + + [A] Published in a POCKET BOOK edition. + + +_Murray Leinster_ + + +SPACE TUG + + +_Pocket Books, Inc._ +_New York, N. Y._ + +This Pocket Book includes every word contained in the original, +higher-priced edition. It is printed from brand-new plates made from +completely reset, clear, easy-to-read type. + + * * * * * + +SPACE TUG + +Shasta edition published November, 1953 + +POCKET BOOK edition published January, 1955 +1st printing November, 1954 + +All rights reserved. This book, or any part thereof, may not be +reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, +except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. +For information, address: Shasta Publishers, 5525 South Blackstone +Avenue, Chicago 37, Illinois. + + +_Copyright, 1953, by Will F. Jenkins. This_ POCKET BOOK _edition is +published by arrangement with Shasta Publishers. Library of Congress +Catalog Card Number: 53-7292. Printed in the U. S. A._ + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| Transcriber's Note | +| | +| No evidence has been found that the copyright of this book | +| has been renewed. | +| | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: Pocket Book] + +_Notice_: POCKET BOOK editions are published in the United States by +Pocket Books, Inc., in Canada by Pocket Books of Canada, Ltd. Trade +Marks registered in the United States and British Patent Offices by +Pocket Books, Inc., and registered in Canada by Pocket Books of Canada, +Ltd. + + + + +_To Joan Patricia Jenkins_ + + + + +1 + + +To the world at large, of course, it was just another day. A different +sort entirely at different places on the great, round, rolling Earth, +but nothing out of the ordinary. It was Tuesday on one side of the Date +Line and Monday on the other. It was so-and-so's wedding anniversary and +so-and-so's birthday and another so-and-so would get out of jail today. +It was warm, it was cool, it was fair, it was cloudy. One looked forward +to the future with confidence, with hope, with uneasiness or with terror +according to one's temperament and one's geographical location and past +history. To most of the human race this was nothing whatever but just +another day. + +But to Joe Kenmore it was a most particular day indeed. Here, it was the +gray hour just before sunrise and already there were hints of reddish +colorings in the sky. It was chilly, and somehow the world seemed still +and breathless. To Joe, the feeling of tensity marked this morning off +from all the other mornings of his experience. + +He got up and began to dress, in Major Holt's quarters back of that +giant steel half-globe called the Shed, near the town of Bootstrap. He +felt queer because he felt so much as usual. By all the rules, he should +have experienced a splendid, noble resolution and a fiery exaltation, +and perhaps even an admirable sensation of humility and unworthiness to +accomplish what was expected of him today. And, deep enough inside, he +felt suitable emotion. But it happened that he couldn't take time to +feel things adequately today. + +He was much more aware that he wanted some coffee rather badly, and that +he hoped everything would go all right. He looked out of the windows at +empty, dreary desert under the dawn sky. Today was the day he'd be +leaving on a rather important journey. He hoped that Haney and the +Chief and Mike weren't nervous. He also hoped that nobody had gotten at +the fuel for the pushpots, and that the slide-rule crew that had +calculated everything hadn't made any mistakes. He was also bothered +about the steering-rocket fuel, and he was uncomfortable about the +business of releasing the spaceship from the launching cage. There was, +too, cause for worry in the take-off rockets--if the tube linings had +shrunk there would be some rather gruesome consequences--and there could +always be last-minute orders from Washington to delay or even cancel +everything. + +In short, his mind was full of strictly practical details. He didn't +have time to feel noble aspirations or sensations of high destiny. He +had a very tricky and exacting job ahead of him. + +The sky was growing lighter outside. Stars faded in a paling blue and +the desert showed faint colorings. He tied his necktie. A deep-toned +keening set up off to the southward, over the sere and dreary landscape. +It was a faraway noise, something like the lament of a mountain-sized +calf bleating for its mother. Joe took a deep breath. He looked, but saw +nothing. The noise, though, told him that there'd been no cancellation +of orders so far. He mentally uncrossed one pair of fingers. He couldn't +possibly cross fingers against all foreseeable disasters. There weren't +enough fingers--or toes either. But it was good that so far the schedule +held. + +He went downstairs. Major Holt was pacing up and down the living room of +his quarters. Electric lights burned, but already the windows were +brightening. Joe straightened up and tried to look casual. Strictly +speaking, Major Holt was a family friend who happened also to be +security officer here, in charge of protecting what went on in the giant +construction Shed. He'd had a sufficiently difficult time of it in the +past, and the difficulties might keep on in the future. He was also the +ranking officer here and consequently the immediate boss of Joe's +enterprise. Today's affair was still highly precarious. The whole thing +was controversial and uncertain and might spoil the career of somebody +with stars on his collar if it should fail. So nobody in the high brass +wanted the responsibility. If everything went well, somebody suitable +would take the credit and the bows. Meanwhile Major Holt was boss by +default. + +He looked sharply at Joe. "Morning." + +"Good morning, sir," said Joe. Major Holt's daughter Sally had a sort of +understanding with Joe, but the major hadn't the knack of cordiality, +and nobody felt too much at ease with him. Besides, Joe was wearing a +uniform for the first time this morning. There were only eight such +uniforms in the world, so far. It was black whipcord, with an Eisenhower +jacket, narrow silver braid on the collar and cuffs, and a silver rocket +for a badge where a plane pilot wears his wings. It was strictly +practical. Against accidental catchings in machinery, the trousers were +narrow and tucked into ten-inch soft leather boots, and the wide leather +belt had flat loops for the attachment of special equipment. Its width +was a brace against the strains of acceleration. Sally had had much to +do with its design. + +But it hadn't yet been decided by the Pentagon whether the Space +Exploration Project would be taken over by the Army or the Navy or the +Air Corps, so Joe wore no insignia of rank. Technically he was still a +civilian. + +The deep-toned noise to the south had become a howl, sweeping closer and +trailed by other howlings. + +"The pushpots are on the way over, as you can hear," said the major +detachedly, in the curious light of daybreak and electric bulbs +together. "Your crew is up and about. So far there seems to be no hitch. +You're feeling all right for the attempt today?" + +"If you want the truth, sir, I'd feel better with about ten years' +practical experience behind me. But my gang and myself--we've had all +the training we can get without an actual take-off. We're the +best-trained crew to try it. I think we'll manage." + +"I see," said the major. "You'll do your best." + +"We may have to do better than that," admitted Joe wrily. + +"True enough. You may." The major paused. "You're well aware that there +are--ah--people who do not altogether like the idea of the United States +possessing an artificial satellite of Earth." + +"I ought to know it," admitted Joe. + +The Earth's second, man-constructed moon--out in space for just six +weeks now--didn't seem nowadays like the bitterly contested achievement +it actually was. From Earth it was merely a tiny speck of light in the +sky, identifiable for what it was only because it moved so swiftly and +serenely from the sunset toward the east, or from night's darkness into +the dawn-light. But it had been fought bitterly before it was launched. +It was first proposed to the United Nations, but even discussion in the +Council was vetoed. So the United States had built it alone. Yet the +nations which objected to it as an international project liked it even +less as a national one, and they'd done what they could to wreck it. + +The building of the great steel hull now out there in emptiness had been +fought more bitterly, by more ruthless and more highly trained +saboteurs, than any other enterprise in history. There'd been two +attempts to blast it with atomic bombs. But it was high aloft, rolling +grandly around the Earth, so close to its primary that its period was +little more than four hours; and it rose in the west and set in the east +six times a day. + +Today Joe would try to get a supply ship up to it, a very small +rocket-driven cargo ship named Pelican One. The crew of the Platform +needed food and air and water--and especially the means of self-defense. +Today's take-off would be the first attempt at a rocket-lift to space. + +"The enemies of the Platform haven't given up," said the major +formidably. "And they used spectroscopes on the Platform's rocket fumes. +Apparently they've been able to duplicate our fuel." + +Joe nodded. + +Major Holt went on: "For more than a month Military Intelligence has +been aware that rockets were under construction behind the Iron Curtain. +They will be guided missiles, and they will carry atom bomb heads. One +or more may be finished any day. When they're finished, you can bet +that they'll be used against the Platform. And you will carry up the +first arms for the Platform. Your ship carries half a dozen long-range +interceptor rockets to handle any attack from Earth. It's vitally +important for them to be delivered." + +"They'll attack the Platform?" demanded Joe angrily. "That's war!" + +"Not if they deny guilt," said the major ironically, "and if we have +nothing to gain by war. The Platform is intended to defend the peace of +the world. If it is destroyed, we won't defend the peace of the world by +going to war over it. But while the Platform can defend itself, it is +not likely that anyone will dare to make war. So you have a very +worthwhile mission. I suggest that you have breakfast and report to the +Shed. I'm on my way there now." + +Joe said, "Yes, sir." + +The major started for the door. Then he stopped. He hesitated, and said +abruptly, "If my security measures have failed, Joe, you'll be killed. +If there has been sabotage or carelessness, it will be my fault." + +"I'm sure, sir, that everything anybody could do--" + +"Everything anybody can do to destroy you has been done," said the major +grimly. "Not only sabotage, Joe, but blunders and mistakes and +stupidities. That always happens. But--I've done my best. I suspect I'm +asking your forgiveness if my best hasn't been good enough." + +Then, before Joe could reply, the major went hurriedly away. + +Joe frowned for a moment. It occurred to him that it must be pretty +tough to be responsible for the things that other men's lives depend +on--when you can't share their danger. But just then the smell of coffee +reached his nostrils. He trailed the scent. There was a coffeepot +steaming on the table in the dining-room. There was a note on a plate. + + _Good luck. I'll see you in the Shed. + + Sally_ + +Joe was relieved. Sally Holt had been somewhere around underfoot all +his life. She was a swell girl, but he was grateful that he didn't have +to talk to her just now. + +He poured coffee and looked at his watch. He went to the window. The +faraway howling was much nearer, and dawn had definitely arrived. Small +cloudlets in a pale blue sky were tinted pinkish by the rising sun. +Patches of yucca and mesquite and sage out beyond the officers' quarters +area stretched away to a far-off horizon. They were now visibly +different in color from the red-yellow earth between them, and cast +long, streaky shadows. The cause of the howling was still invisible. + +But Joe cared nothing for that. He stared skyward, searching. And he saw +what he looked for. + +There was a small bright sliver of sunlight high aloft. It moved slowly +toward the east. It showed the unmistakable glint of sunshine upon +polished steel. It was the artificial satellite--a huge steel +hull--which had been built in the gigantic Shed from whose shadow Joe +looked upward. It was the size of an ocean liner, and six weeks since +some hundreds of pushpots, all straining at once, had gotten it out of +the Shed and panted toward the sky with it. They'd gotten it twelve +miles high and speeding eastward at the ultimate speed they could +manage. They'd fired jato rockets, all at once, and so pushed its speed +up to the preposterous. Then they'd dropped away and the giant steel +thing had fired its own rockets--which made mile-long flames--and swept +on out to emptiness. Before its rockets were consumed it was in an orbit +4,000 miles above the Earth's surface, and it hurtled through space at +something over 12,000 miles an hour. It circled the Earth in exactly +four hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds. And it would +continue its circling forever, needing no fuel and never descending. It +was a second moon for the planet Earth. + +But it could be destroyed. + +Joe watched hungrily as it went on to meet the sun. Smoothly, +unhurriedly, serenely, the remote and twinkling speck floated on out of +sight. And then Joe went back to the table and ate his breakfast +quickly. He wolfed it. He had an appointment to meet that minute speck +some 4,000 miles out in space. His appointment was for a very few hours +hence. + +He'd been training for just this morning's effort since before the +Platform's launching. There was a great box swinging in twenty-foot +gimbal rings over in the Shed. There were motors and projectors and over +two thousand vacuum tubes, relays and electronic units. It was a space +flight simulator--a descendant of the Link trainer which once taught +plane pilots how to fly. But this offered the problems and the +sensations of rocketship control, and for many hours every day Joe and +the three members of his crew had labored in it. The simulator +duplicated every sight and sound and feeling--all but heavy +acceleration--to be experienced in the take-off of a rocketship to +space. The similitude of flight was utterly convincing. Sometimes it was +appallingly so when emergencies and catastrophes and calamities were +staged in horrifying detail for them to learn to respond to. In six +weeks they'd learned how to handle a spaceship so far as anybody could +learn on solid ground--if the simulator was correctly built. Nobody +could be sure about that. But it was the best training that could be +devised. + +In minutes Joe had finished the coffee and was out of Major Holt's +quarters and headed for the Shed's nearest entrance. The Shed was a +gigantic metal structure rising out of sheer flat desert. There were +hills to the westward, but only arid plain to the east and south and +north. There was but one town in hundreds of miles and that was +Bootstrap, built to house the workmen who'd built the Platform and the +still invisible, ferociously howling pushpots and now the small supply +ships, the first of which was to make its first trip today. + +The Shed seemed very near because of its monstrous size. When he was +actually at the base of its wall, it seemed to fill half the firmament +and more than half the horizon. He went in, and felt self-conscious when +the guard's eyes fell on his uniform. There was a tiny vestibule. Then +he was in the Shed itself, and it was enormous. + +There were acres of wood-block flooring. There was a vast, +steel-girdered arching roof which was fifty stories high in the center. +All this size had been needed when the Space Platform was being built. +Men on the far side were merely specks, and the rows of windows to +admit light usually did no more than make a gray twilight inside. But +there was light enough today. To the east the Shed's wall was split from +top to bottom. A colossal triangular gore had been loosened and thrust +out and rolled aside, and a doorway a hundred and fifty feet wide let in +the sunshine. Through it, Joe could see the fiery red ball which was the +sun just leaving the horizon. + +But there was something more urgent for him to look at. Pelican One had +been moved into its launching cage. Only Joe, perhaps, would really have +recognized it. Actually it was a streamlined hull of steel, eighty feet +long by twenty in diameter. There were stubby metal fins--useless in +space, and even on take-off, but essential for the planned method of +landing on its return. There were thick quartz ports in the bow-section. +But its form was completely concealed now by the attached, exterior +take-off rockets. It had been shifted into the huge cradle of steel +beams from which it was to be launched. Men swarmed about it and over +it, in and out of the launching cage, checking and rechecking every +possible thing that could make for the success of its flight to space. + +The other three crew-members were ready--Haney and Chief Bender and Mike +Scandia. They were especially entitled to be the crew of this first +supply ship. When the Platform was being built, its pilot-gyros had been +built by a precision tool firm owned by Joe's father. He'd gone by plane +with the infinitely precise apparatus to Bootstrap, to deliver and +install it in the Platform. And the plane was sabotaged, and the gyros +were ruined. They'd consumed four months in the building, and four +months more for balancing with absolute no-tolerance accuracy. The +Platform couldn't wait so long for duplicates. So Joe had improvised a +method of repair. And with Haney to devise special machine-tool setups +and the Chief to use fanatically fine workmanship, and Mike and Joe +aiding according to their gifts, they'd rebuilt the apparatus in an +impossibly short time. The original notion was Joe's, but he couldn't +have done the job without the others. + +And there had been other, incidental triumphs by the team of four. They +were not the only ones who worked feverishly for the glory of having +helped to build the Earth's first artificial moon, but they had +accomplished more than most. Joe had even been appointed to be an +alternate member of the Platform's crew. But the man he was to have +substituted for recovered from an illness, and Joe was left behind at +the Platform's launching. But all of them had rated some reward, and it +was to serve in the small ships that would supply the man-made +satellite. + +Now they were ready to begin. The Chief grinned exuberantly as Joe +ducked through the bars of the launching cage and approached the ship. +He was a Mohawk Indian--one of that tribe which for two generations had +supplied steel workers to every bridge and dam and skyscraper job on the +continent. He was brown and bulky and explosive. Haney looked tense and +strained. He was tall and lean and spare, and a good man in any sort of +trouble. Mike blazed excitement. Mike was forty-one inches high and he +was full-grown. He had worked on the Platform, bucking rivets and making +welds and inspections in places too small for a normal-sized man to +reach. He frantically resented any concessions to his size and he was as +good a man as any. He simply was the small, economy size. + +"Hiya, Joe," boomed the Chief. "All set? Had breakfast?" + +Joe nodded. He began to ask anxious questions. About steering-rocket +fuel and the launching cage release and the take-off rockets and the +reduction valve from the air tanks--he'd thought of that on the way +over--and the short wave and loran and radar. Haney nodded to some +questions. Mike said briskly, "I checked" to others. + +The Chief grunted amiably, "Look, Joe! We checked everything last night. +We checked it again this morning. I even caught Mike polishing the +ejection seats, because there wasn't anything else to make sure of!" + +Joe managed a smile. The ejection seats were assuredly the most unlikely +of all devices to be useful today. They were supposedly life-saving +devices. If the ship came a cropper on take-off, the four of them were +supposed to use ejection-seats like those supplied to jet pilots. They +would be thrown clear of the ship and ribbon-parachutes might open and +might let them land alive. But it wasn't likely. Joe had objected to +their presence. If a feather dropped to Earth from a height of 600 +miles, it would be falling so fast when it hit the atmosphere that it +would heat up and burn to ashes from pure air-friction. It wasn't likely +that they could get out of the ship if anything went wrong. + +Somebody marched stiffly toward the four of them. Joe's expression grew +rueful. The Space Project was neither Army nor Navy nor Air Corps, but +something that so far was its own individual self. But the man marching +toward Joe was Lieutenant Commander Brown, strictly Navy, assigned to +the Shed as an observer. And there were some times when he baffled Joe. +Like now. + +He halted, and looked as if he expected Joe to salute. Joe didn't. + +Lieutenant Commander Brown said, formally: "I would like to offer my +best wishes for your trip, Mr. Kenmore." + +"Thanks," said Joe. + +Brown smiled distantly. "You understand, of course, that I consider +navigation essentially a naval function, and it does seem to me that any +ship, including a spaceship, should be manned by naval personnel. But I +assuredly wish you good fortune." + +"Thanks," said Joe again. + +Brown shook hands, then stalked off. + +Haney rumbled in his throat. "How come, Joe, he doesn't wish all of us +good luck?" + +"He does," said Joe. "But his mind's in uniform too. He's been trained +that way. I'd like to make a bet that we have him as a passenger out to +the Platform some day." + +"Heaven forbid!" growled Haney. + +There was an outrageous tumult outside the wide-open gap in the Shed's +wall. Something went shrieking by the doorway. It looked like the +magnified top half of a loaf of baker's bread, painted gray and equipped +with an air-scoop in front and a plastic bubble for a pilot. It howled +like a lost baby dragon, its flat underside tilted up and up until it +was almost vertical. It had no wings, but a blue-white flame spurted +out of its rear, wobbling from side to side for reasons best known to +itself. It was a pushpot, which could not possibly be called a jet plane +because it could not possibly fly. Only it did. It settled down on its +flame-spouting tail, and the sparse vegetation burst into smoky flame +and shriveled, and the thing--still shrieking like a fog-horn in a +tunnel--flopped flat forward with a resounding _clank!_ It was abruptly +silent. + +But the total noise was not lessened. Another pushpot came soaring +wildly into view, making hysterical outcries. It touched and banged +violently to earth. Others appeared in the air beyond the construction +Shed. One flopped so hard on landing that its tail rose in the air and +it attempted a somersault. It made ten times more noise than before--the +flame from its tail making wild gyrations--and flopped back again with a +crash. Two others rolled over on their sides after touching ground. One +ended up on its back like a tumble-bug, wriggling. + +They seemed to land by hundreds, but their number was actually in +dozens. It was not until the last one was down that Joe could make +himself heard. The pushpots were jet motors in frames and metal skin, +with built-in jato rocket tubes besides their engines. On the ground +they were quite helpless. In the air they were unbelievably clumsy. They +were actually balanced and steered by vanes in the blasts of their jets, +and they combined the absolute maximum of sheer thrust with the +irreducible minimum of flyability. + +Crane-trucks went out to pick them up. Joe said anxiously, "We'd better +check our flight plan again. We have to know it absolutely!" + +He headed across the floor to the flight data board. He passed the hull +of another ship like his own, which was near completion, and the bare +skeletons of two others which needed a lot of work yet. They'd been +begun at distant plants and then hauled here on monstrous trailers for +completion. The wooden mockup of the design for all the ships--in which +every possible arrangement of instruments and machinery had been tested +out--lay neglected by the Shed wall. + +The four stood before the flight data board. It listed the readings +every instrument should show during every instant of the flight. The +readings had been calculated with infinite care, and Joe and the others +needed to know them rather better than they knew their multiplication +tables. Once they started out, they wouldn't have time to wonder if +everything was right for the time and place. They needed to know. + +They stood there, soaking up the information the board contained, +forming mental pictures of it, making as sure as possible that any one +of them would spot anything wrong the instant it showed up, and would +instantly know what had to be done about it. + +A gigantic crane-truck came in through the wide doorway. It dangled a +pushpot. It rolled over to the launching cage in which the spaceship lay +and set the unwieldy metal object against that cage. There was a _clank_ +as the pushpot caught hold of the magnetic grapples. The crane went out +again, passing a second crane carrying a second pushpot. The second +beetle-like thing was presented to the cage. It stuck fast. The crane +went out for more. + +Major Holt came across the floor of the Shed. It took him a long time to +walk the distance from the Security offices to the launching cage. When +he got there, he looked impatiently around. His daughter Sally came out +of nowhere and blew her nose as if she'd been crying, and pointed to the +data board. The major shrugged his shoulders and looked uneasily at her. +She regarded him with some defiance. The major spoke to her sternly. +They waited. + +The cranes brought in more pushpots and set them up against the steel +launching cage. The ship had been nearly hidden before by the rocket +tubes fastened outside its hull. It went completely out of sight behind +the metal monsters banked about it. + +The major looked at his watch and the group about the data board. They +moved away from it and back toward the ship. Joe saw the major and +swerved over to him. + +"I have brought you," said the major in an official voice, "the invoice +of your cargo. You will deliver the invoice with the cargo and bring +back proper receipts." + +"I hope," said Joe. + +"_We_ hope!" said Sally in a strained tone. "Good luck, Joe!" + +"Thanks." + +"There is not much to say to you," said the major without visible +emotion. "Of course the next crew will start its training immediately, +but it may be a month before another ship can take off. It is extremely +desirable that you reach the Platform today." + +"Yes, sir," said Joe wrily. "I have even a personal motive to get there. +If I don't, I break my neck." + +The major ignored the comment. He shook hands formally and marched away. +Sally smiled up at Joe, but her eyes were suddenly full of tears. + +"I--do hope everything goes all right, Joe," she said unsteadily. +"I--I'll be praying for you." + +"I can use some of that, too," admitted Joe. + +She looked at her hand. Joe's ring was on her finger--wrapped with +string on the inside of the band to make it fit. Then she looked up +again and was crying unashamedly. + +"I--will," she repeated. Then she said fiercely, "I don't care if +somebody's looking, Joe. It's time for you to go in the ship." + +He kissed her, and turned and went quickly to the peculiar mass of +clustered pushpots, touching and almost overlapping each other. + +He ducked under and looked back. Sally waved. He waved back. Then he +climbed up the ladder into Pelican One's cabin. Somebody pulled the +ladder away and scuttled out of the cage. + +The others were in their places. Joe slowly closed the door from the +cabin to the outer world. There was suddenly a cushioned silence about +him. Out the quartz-glass ports he could see ahead, out the end of the +cage through the monstrous doorway to the desert beyond. Overhead he +could see the dark, girder-lined roof of the Shed. On either side, +though, he could see only the scratched, dented, flat undersides of the +pushpots ready to lift the ship upward. + +"You can start on the pushpot motors, Haney," he said curtly. + +Joe moved to his own, the pilot's seat. Haney pushed a button. Through +the fabric of the ship came the muted uproar of a pushpot engine +starting. Haney pushed another button. Another. Another. More jet +engines bellowed. The tumult in the Shed would be past endurance, now. + +Joe strapped himself into his seat. He made sure that the Chief at the +steering-rocket manual controls was fastened properly, and Mike at the +radio panel was firmly belted past the chance of injury. + +Haney said with enormous calm, "All pushpot motors running, Joe." + +"Steering rockets ready," the Chief reported. + +"Radio operating," came from Mike. "Communications room all set." + +Joe reached to the maneuver controls. He should have been sweating. His +hands, perhaps, should have quivered with tension. But he was too much +worried about too many things. Nobody can strike an attitude or go into +a blue funk while they are worrying about things to be done. Joe heard +the small gyro motors as their speed went up. A hum and a whine and then +a shrill whistle which went up in pitch until it wasn't anything at all. +He frowned anxiously and said to Haney, "I'm taking over the pushpots." + +Haney nodded. Joe took the over-all control. The roar of engines outside +grew loud on the right-hand side, and died down. It grew thunderous to +the left, and dwindled. The ones ahead pushed. Then the ones behind. Joe +nodded and wet his lips. He said: "Here we go." + +There was no more ceremony than that. The noise of the jet motors +outside rose to a thunderous volume which came even through the little +ship's insulated hull. Then it grew louder, and louder still, and Joe +stirred the controls by ever so tiny a movement. + +Suddenly the ship did not feel solid. It stirred a little. Joe held his +breath and cracked the over-all control of the pushpots' speed a tiny +trace further. The ship wobbled a little. Out the quartz-glass windows, +the great door seemed to descend. In reality the clustered pushpots and +the launching cage rose some thirty feet from the Shed floor and hovered +there uncertainly. Joe shifted the lever that governed the vanes in the +jet motor blasts. Ship and cage and pushpots, all together, wavered +toward the doorway. They passed out of it, rocking a little and pitching +a little and wallowing a little. As a flying device, the combination was +a howling tumult and a horror. It was an aviation designer's nightmare. +It was a bad dream by any standard. + +But it wasn't meant as a way to fly from one place to another on Earth. +It was the first booster stage of a three-stage rocket aimed at outer +space. It looked rather like--well--if a swarm of bumblebees clung +fiercely to a wire-gauze cage in which lay a silver minnow wrapped in +match-sticks; and if the bees buzzed furiously and lifted it in a +straining, clumsy, and altogether unreasonable manner; and if the +appearance and the noise together were multiplied a good many thousands +of times--why--it would present a great similarity to the take-off of +the spaceship under Joe's command. Nothing like it could be graceful or +neatly controllable or even very speedy in the thick atmosphere near the +ground. But higher, it would be another matter. + +It _was_ another matter. Once clear of the Shed, and with flat, sere +desert ahead to the very horizon, Joe threw on full power to the pushpot +motors. The clumsy-seeming aggregation of grotesque objects began to +climb. Ungainly it was, and clumsy it was, but it went upward at a rate +a jet-fighter might have trouble matching. It wobbled, and it swung +around and around, and it tipped crazily, the whole aggregation of jet +motors and cage and burden of spaceship as a unit. But it rose! + +The ground dropped so swiftly that even the Shed seemed to shrivel like +a pricked balloon. The horizon retreated as if a carpet were hastily +unrolled by magic. The barometric pressure needles turned. + +"Communications says our rate-of-climb is 4,000 feet a minute and going +up fast," Mike announced. "It's five.... We're at 17,000 feet ... +18,000. We should get some eastward velocity at 32,000 feet. Our height +is now 21,000 feet...." + +There was no change in the feel of things inside the ship, of course. +Sealed against the vacuum of space, barometric pressure outside made no +difference. Height had no effect on the air inside the ship. + +At 25,000 feet the Chief said suddenly: "We're pointed due east, Joe. +Freeze it?" + +"Right," said Joe. "Freeze it." + +The Chief threw a lever. The gyros were running at full operating speed. +By engaging them, the Chief had all their stored-up kinetic energy +available to resist any change of direction the pushpots might produce +by minor variations in their thrusts. Haney brooded over the reports +from the individual engines outside. He made minute adjustments to keep +them balanced. Mike uttered curt comments into the communicator from +time to time. + +At 33,000 feet there was a momentary sensation as if the ship were +tilted sharply. It wasn't. The instruments denied any change from level +rise. The upward-soaring complex of flying things had simply risen into +a jet-stream, one of those wildly rushing wind-floods of the upper +atmosphere. + +"Eastern velocity four hundred," said Mike from the communicator. "Now +four-twenty-five.... Four-forty." + +There was a 300-mile-an-hour wind behind them. A tail-wind, west to +east. The pushpots struggled now to get the maximum possible forward +thrust before they rose out of that east-bound hurricane. They added a +fierce push to eastward to their upward thrust. Mike's cracked voice +reported 500 miles an hour. Presently it was 600. + +At 40,000 feet they were moving eastward at 680 miles an hour. A +jet-motor cannot be rated except indirectly, but there was over 200,000 +horsepower at work to raise the spacecraft and build up the highest +possible forward speed. It couldn't be kept up, of course. The pushpots +couldn't carry enough fuel. + +But they reached 55,000 feet, which is where space begins for humankind. +A man exposed to emptiness at that height will die just as quickly as +anywhere between the stars. But it wasn't quite empty space for the +pushpots. There was still a very, very little air. The pushpots could +still thrust upward. Feebly, now, but they still thrust. + +Mike said: "Communications says get set to fire jatos, Joe." + +"Right!" he replied. "Set yourselves." + +Mike flung a switch, and a voice began to chatter behind Joe's head. It +was the voice from the communications-room atop the Shed, now far below +and far behind. Mike settled himself in the tiny acceleration-chair +built for him. The Chief squirmed to comfort in his seat. Haney took his +hands from the equalizing adjustments he had to make so that Joe's use +of the controls would be exact, regardless of moment-to-moment +differences in the thrust of the various jets. + +"We've got a yaw right," said the Chief sharply. "Hold it, Joe!" + +Joe waited for small quivering needles to return to their proper +registrations. + +"Back and steady," said the Chief a moment later. "Okay!" + +The tinny voice behind Joe now spoke precisely. Mike had listened to it +while the work of take-off could be divided, so that Joe would not be +distracted. Now Joe had to control everything at once. + +The roar of the pushpots outside the ship had long since lost the volume +and timbre of normal atmosphere. Not much sound could be transmitted by +the near-vacuum outside. But the jet motors did roar, and the sound +which was not sound at such a height was transmitted by the metal cage +as so much pure vibration. The walls and hull of the spaceship picked up +a crawling, quivering pulsation and turned it into sound. Standing waves +set up and dissolved and moved erratically in the air of the cabin. +Joe's eardrums were strangely affected. Now one ear seemed muted by a +temporary difference of air pressure where a standing wave lingered for +a second or two. Then the other eardrum itched. There were creeping +sensations as of things touching one and quickly moving away. + +Joe swung a microphone into place before his mouth. + +"All set," he said evenly. "Brief me." + +The tinny voice said: + +"_You are at 65,000 feet. Your curve of rate-of-climb is flattening out. +You are now rising at near-maximum speed, and not much more forward +velocity can be anticipated. You have an air-speed relative to surface +of six-nine-two miles per hour. The rotational speed of Earth at this +latitude is seven-seven-eight. You have, then, a total orbital speed of +one-four-seven-oh miles per hour, or nearly twelve per cent of your +needed final velocity. Since you will take off laterally and practically +without air resistance, a margin of safety remains. You are authorized +to blast._" + +Joe said: + +"Ten seconds. Nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... +three ... two ... one...." + +He stabbed the master jato switch. And a monstrous jato rocket, built +into each and every one of the pushpots outside, flared chemical fumes +in a simultaneous, gigantic thrust. A small wire-wound jato for +jet-assisted-take-off will weigh a hundred and forty pounds and deliver +a thousand pounds of thrust for fourteen seconds. And that is for +rockets using nonpoisonous compounds. The jatos of the pushpots used the +beryllium-fluorine fuel that had lifted the Platform and that filled the +take-off rockets of Joe's ship. These jatos gave the pushpots themselves +an acceleration of ten gravities, but it had to be shared with the cage +and the ship. Still.... + +Joe felt himself slammed back into his seat with irresistible, +overwhelming force. The vibration from the jets had been bad. Now he +didn't notice it. He didn't notice much of anything but the horrible +sensations of six-gravity acceleration. + +It was not exactly pain. It was a feeling as if a completely intolerable +and unbearable pressure pushed at him. Not only on the outside, like a +blow, but inside too, like nothing else imaginable. Not only his chest +pressed upon his lungs, but his lungs strained toward his backbone. Not +only the flesh of his thighs tugged to flatten itself against his +acceleration-chair, but the blood in his legs tried to flow into and +burst the blood-vessels in the back of his legs. + +The six-gravity acceleration seemed to endure for centuries. Actually, +it lasted for fourteen seconds. In that time it increased the speed of +the little ship by rather more than half a mile per second, something +over 1,800 miles per hour. Before, the ship had possessed an orbital +speed of a shade over 1,470 miles an hour. After the jato thrust, it was +traveling nearly 3,400 miles per hour. It needed to travel something +over 12,000 miles per hour to reach the artificial satellite of Earth. + +The intolerable thrust ended abruptly. Joe gasped. But he could allow +himself only a shake of the head to clear his brain. He jammed down the +take-off rocket firing button. There was a monstrous noise and a mighty +surging, and Haney panted, "Clear of cage...." + +And then they were pressed fiercely against their acceleration chairs +again. The ship was no longer in its launching cage. It was no longer +upheld by pushpots. It was free, with its take-off rockets flaming. It +plunged on up and out. But the acceleration was less. Nobody can stand +six gravities for long. Anybody can take three--for a while. + +Joe's body resisted movement with a weight of four hundred and fifty +pounds, instead of a third as much for normal. His heart had to pump +against three times the normal resistance of gravity. His chest felt as +if it had a leaden weight on it. His tongue tried to crowd the back of +his mouth and strangle him. The sensation was that of a nightmare of +impossible duration. It was possible to move and possible to see. One +could breathe, with difficulty, and with titanic effort one could speak. +But there was the same feeling of stifling resistance to every movement +that comes in nightmares. + +But Joe managed to keep his eyes focused. The dials of the instruments +said that everything was right. The tinny voice behind his head, its +timbre changed by the weighting of its diaphragm, said: "_All readings +check within accuracy of instruments. Good work!_" + +Joe moved his eyes to a quartz window. The sky was black. But there were +stars. Bright stars against a black background. At the same instant he +saw the bright white disks of sunshine that came in the cabin portholes. +Stars and sunshine together. And the sunshine was the sunshine of +space. Even with the polarizers cutting off some of the glare it was +unbearably bright and hot beyond conception. He smelled overheated +paint, where the sunlight smote on a metal bulkhead. Stars and super-hot +sunshine together.... + +It was necessary to pant for breath, and his heart pounded horribly and +his eyes tried to go out of focus, but Joe Kenmore strained in his +acceleration-chair and managed to laugh a little. + +"We did it!" he panted. "In case you didn't notice, we're out of--the +atmosphere and--out in space! We're--headed to join the Space Platform!" + + + + +2 + + +The pressure of three gravities continued. Joe's chest muscles ached +with the exertion of breathing over so long a period. Six gravities for +fourteen seconds had been a ghastly ordeal. Three gravities for minutes +built up to something nearly as bad. Joe's heart began to feel fatigue, +and a man's heart normally simply doesn't ever feel tired. It became +more and more difficult to see clearly. + +But he had work to do. Important work. The take-off rockets were +solid-fuel jobs, like those which launched the Platform. They were +wire-wound steel tubes lined with a very special refractory, with +unstable beryllium and fluorine compounds in them. The solid fuel burned +at so many inches per second. The refractory crumbled away and was +hurled astern at a corresponding rate--save for one small point. The +refractory was not all exactly alike. Some parts of it crumbled away +faster, leaving a pattern of baffles which acted like a maxim silencer +on a rifle, or like an automobile muffler. The baffles set up eddies in +the gas stream and produced exactly the effect of a rocket motor's +throat. But the baffles themselves crumbled and were flung astern, so +that the solid-fuel rockets had always the efficiency of gas-throated +rocket motors; and yet every bit of refractory was reaction-mass to be +hurled astern, and even the steel tubes melted and were hurled away with +a gain in acceleration to the ship. Every fraction of every ounce of +rocket mass was used for drive. No tanks or pumps or burners rode +deadhead after they ceased to be useful. + +But solid-fuel rockets simply can't be made to burn with absolute +evenness as a team. Minute differences in burning-rates do tend to +cancel out. But now and again they reinforce each other and if +uncorrected will throw a ship off course. Gyros can't handle such +effects. So Joe had to watch his instruments and listen to the tinny +voice behind him and steer the ship against accidental wobblings as the +Earth fell away behind him. + +He battled against the fatigue of continuing to live, and struggled with +gyros and steering jets to keep the ship on its hair-line course. He +panted heavily. The beating of his heart became such a heavy pounding +that it seemed that his whole body shook with it. He had to do +infinitely fine precision steering with hands that weighed pounds and +arms that weighed scores of pounds and a body that had an effective +weight of almost a quarter of a ton. + +And this went on and went on and on for what seemed several centuries. + +Then the voice in the speaker said thickly: "_Everything is in the +clear. In ten seconds you can release your rockets. Shall I count?_" + +Joe panted, "Count!" + +The mechanical voice said, "_Seven ... six ... five ... four ... three +... two ... one ... cut!_" + +Joe pressed the release. The small, unburnt stubs of the take-off +rockets went hurtling off toward emptiness. They consumed themselves as +they went, and they attained an acceleration of fifty gravities once +they were relieved of all load but their own substance. They had to be +released lest one burn longer than another. It was also the only way to +stop acceleration by solid-fuel rockets. They couldn't be extinguished. +They had to be released. + +From intolerably burdensome heaviness, there was abruptly no weight at +all in the ship. Joe's laboring heart beat twice with the violence the +weight had called for, though weight had ended. It seemed to him that +his skull would crack open during those two heart-beats. Then he lay +limply, resting. + +There was a completely incredible stillness, for a time. The four of +them panted. Haney was better off than Joe, but the Chief was harder +hit. Mike's small body had taken the strain best of all, and he would +use the fact later in shrill argument that midgets were designed by +nature to be the explorers of space for their bulkier and less +spaceworthy kindred. + +The ending of the steady, punishing drag was infinitely good, but the +new sensation was hardly pleasant. They had no weight. It felt as if +they and the ship about them were falling together down an abyss which +must have a bottom. Actually, they were falling up. But they felt a +physical, crawling apprehension--a cringing from an imaginary imminent +impact. + +They had expected the sensation, but it was not the better for being +understood. Joe flexed and unflexed his fingers slowly. He stirred and +swallowed hastily. But the feeling persisted. He unstrapped himself from +his seat. He stood up--and floated to the ceiling of the cabin. But +there was of course no ceiling. Every way was up and every way was down. +His stomach cramped itself in a hard knot, in the instinctive tensity of +somebody in free fall. + +He fended himself from the ceiling and caught at a hand-line placed +there for just this necessity to grip something. In his absorption, he +did not notice which way his heels went. He suddenly noticed that his +companions, with regard to him, were upside down and staring at him with +wooden, dazed expressions on their faces. + +He tried to laugh, and gulped instead. He pulled over to the +quartz-glass ports. He did not put his hand into the sunlight, but +shifted the glare shutters over those ports which admitted direct +sunshine. Some ports remained clear. Through one of them he saw the +Earth seemingly at arm's length somewhere off. Not up, not down. Simply +out from where he was. It filled all the space that the porthole +showed. It was a gigantic mass of white, fleecy specks and spots which +would be clouds, and between the whiteness there was a muddy dark +greenish color which would be the ocean. Yet it seemed to slide very, +very slowly past the window. + +He saw a tanness between the clouds, and it moved inward from the edge +of his field of view. He suddenly realized what it was. + +"We've just about crossed the Atlantic," he said in a peculiar +astonishment. But it was true the ship had not been aloft nearly as much +as half an hour. "Africa's just coming into sight below. We ought to be +about 1,200 miles high and still rising fast. That was the calculation." + +He looked again, and then drew himself across to the opposite porthole. +He saw the blackness of space, which was not blackness because it was a +carpet of jewels. They were infinite in number and variations in +brightness, and somehow of vastly more colorings than one noticed from +Earth. + +He heard the Chief grunt, and Haney gulp. He was suddenly conscious that +his legs were floating rather ridiculously in mid-air with no particular +relationship to anything. He saw the Chief rise very cautiously, holding +on to the arms of his seat. + +"Better not look at the sun," said Joe, "even though I've put on the +glare-shields." + +The Chief nodded. The glare-shields would keep out most of the heat and +a very great deal of the ultraviolet the sun gave off. But even so, to +look at the sun directly might easily result in a retinal sunburn which +could result in blindness. + +The loudspeaker behind Joe's chair clattered. It had seemed muted by the +weight of its diaphragm at three gravities. Now it blasted +unintelligibly, with no weight at all. Mike threw a switch and took the +message. + +"Communications says radar says we're right on course, Joe," he reported +nonchalantly, "and our speed's okay. We'll reach maximum altitude in an +hour and thirty-six minutes. We ought to be within calculated distance +of the Platform then." + +"Good," said Joe abstractedly. + +He strained his eyes at the Earth. They were moving at an extraordinary +speed and height. It had been reached by just four human beings before +them. The tannishness which was the coast of Africa crept with +astonishing slowness toward the center of what he could see. + +Joe headed back to his seat. He could not walk, of course. He floated. +He launched himself with a fine air of confidence. He misjudged. He was +floating past his chair when he reached down--and that turned his +body--and fumbled wildly. He caught hold of the back as he went by, then +held on and found himself turning a grandly dignified somersault. He +wound up in a remarkably foolish position with the back of his neck on +the back of the chair, his arms in a highly strained position to hold +him there, and his feet touching the deck of the cabin a good five feet +away. + +Haney looked greenish, but he said hoarsely: + +"Joe, don't make me laugh--not when my stomach feels like this!" + +The feeling of weightlessness was unexpectedly daunting. Joe turned +himself about very slowly, with his legs floating indecorously in +entirely unintended kicks. He was breathing hard when he pulled himself +into the chair and strapped in once more. + +"I'll take Communications," he told Mike as he settled his headphones. + +Reluctantly, Mike switched over. + +"Kenmore reporting to Communications," he said briefly. "We have ended +our take-off acceleration. You have our course and velocity. Our +instruments read--" + +He went over the bank of instruments before him, giving the indication +of each. In a sense, this first trip of a ship out to the Platform had +some of the aspects of defusing a bomb. Calculations were useful, but +observations were necessary. He had to report every detail of the +condition of his ship and every instrument-reading because anything +might go wrong, and at any instant. Anything that went wrong could be +fatal. So every bit of data and every intended action needed to be on +record. Then, if something happened, the next ship to attempt this +journey might avoid the same catastrophe. + +Time passed. A lot of time. The feeling of unending fall continued. They +knew what it was, but they had to keep thinking of its cause to endure +it. Joe found that if his mind concentrated fully on something else, it +jerked back to panic and the feel of falling. But the crew of the Space +Platform--now out in space for more weeks than Joe had been +quarter-hours--reported that one got partly used to it, in time. When +awake, at least. Asleep was another matter. + +They were 1,600 miles high and still going out and up. The Earth as seen +through the ports was still an utterly monstrous, bulging mass, specked +with clouds above vast mottlings which were its seas and land. They +might have looked for cities, but they would be mere patches in a +telescope. Their task now was to wait until their orbit curved into +accordance with that of the Platform and they kept their rendezvous. The +artificial satellite was swinging up behind them, and was only a +quarter-circle about Earth behind them. Their speed in miles per second +was, at the moment, greater than that of the Platform. But they were +climbing. They slowed as they climbed. When their path intersected that +of the Platform, the two velocities should be exactly equal. + +Major Holt's voice came on the Communicator. + +"_Joe_," he said harshly, "_I have very bad news. A message came from +Central Intelligence within minutes of your take-off. I--ah--with Sally +I had been following your progress. I did not decode the message until +now. But Central Intelligence has definite information that more than +ten days ago the--ah--enemies of our Space Exploration Project_--" even +on a tight beam to the small spaceship, Major Holt did not name the +nation everybody knew was most desperately resolved to smash space +exploration by anybody but itself--"_completed at least one rocket +capable of reaching the Platform's orbit with a pay-load that could be +an atomic bomb. It is believed that more than one rocket was completed. +All were shipped to an unknown launching station._" + +"Not so good," said Joe. + +Mike had left his post when Joe took over. Now he made a swooping dart +through the air of the cabin. The midget showed no signs of the fumbling +uncertainty the others had displayed--but he'd been a member of a midget +acrobatic team before he went to work at the Shed. He brought himself to +a stop precisely at a hand-hold, grinning triumphantly at the nearly +helpless Chief and Haney. + +Major Holt said in the headphones: "_It's worse than that. Radar may +have told the country in question that you are on the way up. In that +case, if it's even faintly possible to blast the Platform before your +arrival with weapons for its defense, they'll blast._" + +"I don't like that idea," said Joe dourly. "Anything we can do?" + +Major Holt laughed bitterly. "_Hardly!_" he said. "_And do you realize +that if you can't unload your cargo you can't get back to Earth?_" + +"Yes," said Joe. "Naturally!" + +It was true. The purpose of the pushpots and the jatos and the ship's +own take-off rockets had been to give it a speed at which it would +inevitably rise to a height of 4,000 miles--the orbit of the Space +Platform--and stay there. It would need no power to remain 4,000 miles +out from Earth. But it would take power to come down. The take-off +rockets had been built to drive the ship with all its contents until it +attained that needed orbital velocity. There were landing rockets +fastened to the hull now to slow it so that it could land. But just as +the take-off rockets had been designed to lift a loaded ship, the +landing-rockets had been designed to land an empty one. + +The more weight the ship carried, the more power it needed to get out to +the Platform. And the more power it needed to come down again. + +If Joe and his companions couldn't get rid of their cargo--and they +could only unload in the ship-lock of the Platform--they'd stay out in +emptiness. + +The Major said bitterly: "_This is all most irregular, but--here's +Sally._" + +Then Sally's voice sounded in the headphones Joe wore. He was relieved +that Mike wasn't acting as communications officer at the moment to +overhear. But Mike was zestfully spinning like a pin-wheel in the middle +of the air of the control cabin. He was showing the others that even in +the intramural pastimes a spaceship crew will indulge in, a midget was +better than a full-sized man. Joe said: + +"Yes, Sally?" + +She said unsteadily. "_I'm not going to waste your time talking to you, +Joe. I think you've got to figure out something. I haven't the faintest +idea what it is, but I think you can do it. Try, will you?_" + +"I'm afraid we're going to have to trust to luck," admitted Joe +ruefully. "We weren't equipped for anything like this." + +"_No!_" said Sally fiercely. "_If I were with you, you wouldn't think of +trusting to luck!_" + +"I wouldn't want to," admitted Joe. "I'd feel responsible. But just the +same--" + +"_You're responsible now!_" said Sally, as fiercely as before. "_If the +Platform's smashed, the rockets that can reach it will be duplicated to +smash our cities in war! But if you can reach the Platform and arm it +for defense, there won't be any war! Half the world would be praying for +you, Joe, if it knew! I can't do anything else, so I'm going to start on +that right now. But you try, Joe! You hear me?_" + +"I'll try," said Joe humbly. "Thanks, Sally." + +He heard a sound like a sob, and the headphones were silent. Joe himself +swallowed very carefully. It can be alarming to be the object of an +intended murder, but it can also be very thrilling. One can play up +splendidly to a dramatic picture of doom. It is possible to be one's own +audience and admire one's own fine disregard of danger. But when other +lives depend on one, one has the irritating obligation not to strike +poses but to do something practical. + +Joe said somberly: "Mike, how long before we ought to contact the +Platform?" + +Mike reached out a small hand, caught a hand-hold, and flicked his eyes +to the master chronometer. + +"Forty minutes, fifty seconds. Why?" + +Joe said wrily, "There are some rockets in enemy hands which can reach +the Platform. They were shipped to launchers ten days ago. You figure +what comes next." + +Mike's wizened face became tense and angry. Haney growled, "They smash +the Platform before we get to it." + +"Uh-uh!" said Mike instantly. "They smash the Platform _when_ we get to +it! They smash us both up together. Where'll we be at contact-time, +Joe?" + +"Over the Indian Ocean, south of the Bay of Bengal, to be exact," said +Joe. "But we'll be moving fast. The worst of it is that it's going to +take time to get in the airlock and unload our guided missiles and get +them in the Platform's launching-tubes. I'd guess an hour. One bomb +should get both of us above the Bay of Bengal, but we won't be set to +launch a guided missile in defense until we're nearly over America +again." + +The Chief said sourly, "Yeah. Sitting ducks all the way across the +Pacific!" + +"We'll check with the Platform," said Joe. "See if you can get them +direct, Mike, will you?" + +Then something occurred to him. Mike scrambled back to his communication +board. He began feverishly to work the computer which in turn would +swing the tight-beam transmitter to the target the computer worked out, +He threw a switch and said sharply, "Calling Space Platform! Pelican One +calling Space Platform! Come in, Space Platform!..." He paused. "Calling +Space Platform...." + +Joe had a slide-rule going on another problem. He looked up, his +expression peculiar. + +"A solid-fuel rocket can start off at ten gravities acceleration," he +said quietly, "and as its rockets burn away it can go up a lot higher +than that. But 4,000 miles is a long way to go straight up. If it isn't +launched yet--" + +Mike snapped into a microphone: "Right!" To Joe he said, "Space Platform +on the wire." + +Joe heard an acknowledgment in his headphones. "I've just had word from +the Shed," he explained carefully, "that there may be some guided +missiles coming up from Earth to smash us as we meet. You're still +higher than we are, and they ought to be starting. Can you pick up +anything with your radar?" + +The voice from the Platform said: "_We have picked something up. There +are four rockets headed out from near the sunset-line in the Pacific. +Assuming solid-fuel rockets like we used and you used, they are on a +collision course._" + +"Are you doing anything about them?" asked Joe absurdly. + +The voice said caustically: "_Unfortunately, we've nothing to do +anything with._" It paused. "_You, of course, can use the +landing-rockets you still possess. If you fire them immediately, you +will pass our scheduled meeting-place some hundreds of miles ahead of +us. You will go on out to space. You may set up an orbit forty-five +hundred or even five thousand miles out, and wait there for rescue._" + +Joe said briefly: "We've air for only four days. That's no good. It'll +be a month before the next ship can be finished and take off. There are +four rockets coming up, you say?" + +"_Yes._" The voice changed. It spoke away from the microphone. "_What's +that?_" Then it returned to Joe. "_The four rockets were sent up at the +same instant from four separate launching sites. Probably as many +submarines at the corners of a hundred-mile square, so an accident to +one wouldn't set off the others. They'll undoubtedly converge as they +get nearer to us._" + +"I think," said Joe, "that we need some luck." + +"_I think_," said the caustic voice, "_that we've run out of it._" + +There was a click. Joe swallowed again. The three members of his crew +were looking at him. + +"Somebody's fired rockets out from Earth," said Joe carefully. "They'll +curve together where we meet the Platform, and get there just when we +do." + +The Chief rumbled. Haney clamped his jaws together. Mike's expression +became one of blazing hatred. + +Joe's mind went rather absurdly to the major's curious, almost +despairing talk in his quarters that morning, when he'd spoken of a +conspiracy to destroy all the hopes of men. The firing of rockets at +the Platform was, of course, the work of men acting deliberately. But +they were--unconsciously--trying to destroy their own best hopes. For +freedom, certainly, whether or not they could imagine being free. But +the Platform and the space exploration project in general meant benefits +past computing for everybody, in time. To send ships into space for +necessary but dangerous experiments with atomic energy was a purpose +every man should want to help forward. To bring peace on Earth was +surely an objective no man could willingly or sanely combat. And the +ultimate goal of space travel was millions of other planets, circling +other suns, thrown open to colonization by humanity. That prospect +should surely fire every human being with enthusiasm. But something--and +the more one thought about it the more specific and deliberate it seemed +to be--made it necessary to fight desperately against men in order to +benefit them. + +Joe swallowed again. It would have been comforting to be dramatic in +this war against stupidity and malice and blindness. Especially since +this particular battle seemed to be lost. One could send back an +eloquent, defiant message to Earth saying that the four of them did not +regret their journey into space, though they were doomed to be killed by +the enemies of their country. It could have been a very pretty gesture. +But Joe happened to have a job to do. Pretty gestures were not a part of +it. He had no idea how to do it. So he said rather sickishly: + +"The Platform told me we could fire our landing-rockets as additional +take-off rockets and get out of the way. Of course we've got missiles of +our own on board, but we can't launch or control them. Absolutely the +only thing we can choose to do or not do is fire those rockets. I'm open +to suggestions if anybody can think of a way to make them useful." + +There was silence. Joe's reasoning was good enough. When one can't do +what he wants, one tries to make what he can do produce the results he +wants. But it didn't look too promising here. They could fire the +rockets now, or later, or-- + +An idea came out of the blue. It wasn't a good idea, but it was the only +one possible under the circumstances. There was just one distinctly +remote possibility. He told the others what it was. Mike's eyes flamed. +The Chief nodded profoundly. Haney said with some skepticism, "It's all +we've got. We've got to use it." + +"I need some calculations. Spread. Best time of firing. That sort of +thing. But I'm worried about calling back in the clear. A beam to the +Platform will bounce and might be picked up by the enemy." + +The Chief grinned suddenly. "I've got a trick for that, Joe. There's a +tribesman of mine in the Shed. Get Charley Red Fox to the phone, guy, +and we'll talk privately!" + +The small spaceship floated on upward. It pointed steadfastly in the +direction of its motion. The glaring sunshine which at its take-off had +shone squarely in its bow-ports, now poured down slantingly from behind. +The steel plates of the ship gleamed brightly. Below it lay the sunlit +Earth. Above and about it on every hand were a multitude of stars. Even +the moon was visible as the thinnest of crescents against the night of +space. + +The ship climbed steeply. It was meeting the Platform after only half a +circuit of Earth, while the Platform had climbed upward for three full +revolutions. Earth was now 3,000 miles below and appeared as the most +gigantic of possible solid objects. It curved away and away to mistiness +at its horizons, and it moved visibly as the spaceship floated on. + +Invisible microwaves flung arrowlike through emptiness. They traveled +for thousands of miles, spreading as they traveled, and then struck the +strange shape of the Platform. They splashed from it. Some of them +rebounded to Earth, where spies and agents of foreign powers tried +desperately to make sense of the incredible syllables. They failed. + +There was a relay system in operation now, from spaceship to Platform to +Earth and back again. In the ship Chief Bender, Mohawk and steelman +extraordinary, talked to the Shed and to one Charley Red Fox. They +talked in Mohawk, which is an Algonquin Indian language, agglutinative, +complicated, and not to be learned in ten easy lessons. It was not a +language which eavesdroppers were likely to know as a matter of course. +But it was a language by which computations could be asked for, so that +a very forlorn hope might be attempted with the best possible chances of +success. + +Naturally, none of this appeared in the look of things. The small ship +floated on and on. It reached an altitude of 3,500 miles. The Earth was +visibly farther away. Behind the ship the Atlantic with its stately +cloud-formations was sunlit to the very edge of its being. Ahead, the +edge of night appeared beyond India. And above, the Platform appeared as +a speck of molten light, quarter-illuminated by the sun above it. + +Spaceship and Platform moved on toward a meeting place. The ship moved a +trifle faster, because it was climbing. The speeds would match exactly +when they met. The small torpedo-shaped shining ship and the bulging +glowing metal satellite floated with a seeming vast deliberation in +emptiness, while the most gigantic of possible round objects filled all +the firmament beneath them. They were 200 miles apart. It seemed that +the huge Platform overtook the shining ship. It did. They were only 50 +miles apart and still closing in. + +By that time the twilight band of Earth's surface was nearly at the +center of the planet, and night filled more than a quarter of its disk. + +By that time, too, even to the naked eye through the ports of the +supply-ship the enemy rockets had become visible. They were a thin skein +of threads of white vapor which seemed to unravel in nothingness. The +vapor curled and expanded preposterously. It could just be seen to be +jetting into existence from four separate points, two a little ahead of +the others. They came out from Earth at a rate which seemed remarkably +deliberate until one saw with what fury the rocket-fumes spat out to +form the whitish threads. Then one could guess at a three-or even +four-stage launching series, so that what appeared to be mere pinpoints +would really be rockets carrying half-ton atomic warheads with an +attained velocity of 10,000 miles per hour and more straight up. + +The threads unraveled in a straight line aimed at the two metal things +floating in emptiness. One was small and streamlined, with inadequate +landing-rockets clamped to its body and with stubby fins that had no +possible utility out of air. The other was large and clumsy to look at, +but very, very stately indeed in its progress through the heavens. They +floated smoothly toward a rendezvous. The rockets from Earth came +ravening to destroy them at the instant of their intersection. + +The little spaceship turned slowly. Its rounded bow had pointed +longingly at the stars. Now it tilted downward. Its direction of +movement did not change, of course. In the absence of air, it could +tumble indefinitely without any ill effect. It was in a trajectory +instead of on a course, though presently the trajectory would become an +orbit. But it pointed nose-down toward the Earth even as it continued to +hurtle onward. + +The great steel hull and the small spaceship were 20 miles apart. An +infinitesimal radar-bowl moved on the little ship. Tight-beam waves +flickered invisibly between the two craft. The rockets raged toward +them. + +The ship and the Platform were 10 miles apart. The rockets were now +glinting missiles leaping ahead of the fumes that propelled them. + +The ship and the Platform were two miles apart. The rockets rushed +upward.... There were minute corrections in their courses. They +converged.... + +Flames leaped from the tiny ship. Its landing-rockets spouted white-hot +flame and fumes more thick and coiling than even the smoke of the bombs. +The little ship surged momentarily toward the racing monsters. And +then---- + +The rockets which were supposed to let the ship down to Earth flew +free--flung themselves unburdened at the rockets which came with deadly +intent to the meeting of the two Earth spacecraft. + +The landing-rockets plunged down at forty gravities or better. They were +a dwindling group of infinitely bright sparks which seemed to group +themselves more closely as they dwindled. They charged upon the +attacking robot things. They were unguided, of necessity, but the robot +bombs had to be equipped with proximity fuses. No remote control could +be so accurate as to determine the best moment for detonation at 4,000 +miles' distance. So the war rockets had to be devised to explode when +near anything which reflected their probing radar waves. They had to be +designed to be triggered by anything in space. + +And the loosed landing-rockets plunged among them. + +They did not detonate all at once. That was mathematically impossible. +But no human eye could detect the delay. Four close-packed flares of +pure atomic fire sprang into being between the Platform and Earth. Each +was brighter than the sun. For the fraction of an instant there was no +night where night had fallen on the Earth. For thousands of miles the +Earth glowed brightly. + +Then there was a twisting, coiling tumult of incandescent gases, which +were snatched away by nothingness and ceased to be. + +Then there were just two things remaining in the void. One was the +great, clumsy, shining Platform, gigantic in size to anything close by. +The other was the small spaceship which had climbed to it and fought for +it and defended it against the bombs from Earth. + +The little ship now had a slight motion away from the Platform, due to +the instant's tugging by its rockets before they were released. + +It turned about in emptiness. Its steering-rockets spouted smoke. It +began to cancel out its velocity away from the Platform, and to swim +slowly and very carefully toward it. + + + + +3 + + +Making actual contact with the platform was not a matter for instruments +and calculations. It had to be done directly--by hand, as it were. Joe +watched out the ports and played the controls of the steering jets with +a nerve-racked precision. His task was not easy. + +Before he could return to the point of rendezvous, the blinding sunlight +on the Platform took on a tinge of red. It was the twilight-zone of the +satellite's orbit, when for a time the sunlight that reached it was +light which had passed through Earth's atmosphere and been bent by it +and colored crimson by the dust in Earth's air. It glowed a fiery red, +and the color deepened, and then there was darkness. + +They were in Earth's shadow. There were stars to be seen, but no sun. +The Moon was hidden, too. And the Earth was a monstrous, incredible, +abysmal blackness which at this first experience of its appearance +produced an almost superstitious terror. Formerly it had seemed a +distant but sunlit world, flecked with white clouds and with sprawling +differentiations of color beneath them. + +Now it did not look like a solid thing at all. It looked like a hole in +creation. One could see ten thousand million stars of every imaginable +tint and shade. But where the Earth should be there seemed a vast +nothingness. It looked like an opening to annihilation. It looked like +the veritable Pit of Darkness which is the greatest horror men have ever +imagined, and since those in the ship were without weight it seemed that +they were falling into it. + +Joe knew better, of course. So did the others. But that was the look of +things, and that was the feeling. One did not feel in danger of death, +but of extinction--which, in cold fact, is very much worse. + +Lights glowed on the outside of the Platform to guide the supply ship to +it. There were red and green and blue and harsh blue-white electric +bulbs. They were bright and distinct, but the feeling of loneliness +above that awful appearance of the Pit was appalling. No small child +alone at night had ever so desolate a sensation of isolation as the four +in the small ship. + +But Joe painstakingly played the buttons of the steering-rocket control +board. The ship surged, and turned, and surged forward again. Mike, at +the communicator, said, "They say slow up, Joe." + +Joe obeyed, but he was tense. Haney and the Chief were at other +portholes, looking out. The Chief said heavily, "Fellas, I'm going to +admit I never felt so lonesome in my life!" + +"I'm glad I've got you fellows with me!" Haney admitted guiltily. + +"The job's almost over," said Joe. + +The ship's own hull, outside the ports, glowed suddenly in a light-beam +from the Platform. The small, brief surges of acceleration which sent +the ship on produced tremendous emotional effects. When the Platform was +only one mile away, Haney switched on the ship's searchlights. They +stabbed through emptiness with absolutely no sign of their existence +until they touched the steel hull of the satellite. + +Mike said sharply: "Slow up some more, Joe." + +He obeyed again. It would not be a good idea to ram the Platform after +they had come so far to reach it. + +They drifted slowly, slowly, slowly toward it. The monstrous Pit of +Darkness which was the night side of Earth seemed almost about to engulf +the Platform. They were a few hundred feet higher than the great metal +globe, and the blackness was behind it. They were a quarter of a mile +away. The distance diminished. + +A thin straight line seemed to grow out toward them. There was a small, +bulb-like object at its end. It reached out farther than was at all +plausible. Nothing so slender should conceivably reach so far without +bending of its own weight. But of course it had no weight here. It was a +plastic flexible hose with air pressure in it. It groped for the +spaceship. + +The four in the ship held their breaths. + +There was a loud, metallic _clank!_ + +Then it was possible to feel the ship being pulled toward the Platform +by the magnetic grapple. It was a landing-line. It was the means by +which the ship would be docked in the giant lock which had been built to +receive it. + +As they drew near, they saw the joints of the plating of the Platform. +They saw rivets. There was the huge, 30-foot doorway with its valves +swung wide. Their searchlight beam glared into it. They saw the metal +floor, and the bulging plastic sidewalls, restrained by nets. They saw +the inner lock-door. It seemed that men should be visible to welcome +them. There were none. + +The airlock swallowed them. They touched against something solid. There +were more clankings. They seemed to crunch against the metal +floor--magnetic flooring-grapples. Then, in solid contact with the +substance of the Platform, they heard the sounds of the great outer +doors swinging shut. They were within the artificial satellite of Earth. +It was bright in the lock, and Joe stared out the cabin ports at the +quilted sides. There was a hissing of air, and he saw a swirling mist, +and then the bulges of the sidewall sagged. The air pressure gauge was +spinning up toward normal sea-level air pressure. + +Joe threw the ready lever of the steering rockets to _Off_. "We're +landed." + +There was silence. Joe looked about him. The other three looked queer. +It would have seemed natural for them to rejoice on arriving at their +destination. But somehow they didn't feel that they had. + +Joe said wrily, "It seems that we ought to weigh something, now we've +got here. So we feel queer that we don't. Shoes, Mike?" + +Mike peeled off the magnetic-soled slippers from their place on the +cabin wall. He handed them out and opened the door. A biting chill came +in it. Joe slipped on the shoe-soles with their elastic bands to hold +them. He stepped out the door. + +He didn't land. He floated until he reached the sidewall. Then he pulled +himself down by the netting. Once he touched the floor, his shoes seemed +to be sticky. The net and the plastic sidewalls were, of course, the +method by which a really large airlock was made practical. When this +ship was about to take off again, pumps would not labor for hours to +pump the air out. The sidewalls would inflate and closely enclose the +ship's hull, and so force the air in the lock back into the ship. Then +the pumps would work on the air behind the inflated walls--with nets to +help them draw the wall-stuff back to let the ship go free. The lock +could be used with only fifteen minutes for pumping instead of four +hours. + +The door in the back of the lock clanked open. Joe tried to walk toward +it. He discovered his astounding clumsiness. To walk in magnetic-soled +shoes in weightlessness requires a knack. When Joe lifted one foot and +tried to swing the other forward, his body tried to pivot. When he +lifted his right foot, he had to turn his left slightly inward. His arms +tried to float absurdly upward. When he was in motion and essayed to +pause, his whole body tended to continue forward with a sedate toppling +motion that brought him down flat on his face. He had to put one foot +forward to check himself. He seemed to have no sense of balance. When he +stood still--his stomach queasy because of weightlessness--he found +himself tilting undignifiedly forward or back--or, with equal +unpredictability, sidewise. He would have to learn an entirely new +method of walking. + +A man came in the lock, and Joe knew who it was. Sanford, the senior +scientist of the Platform's crew. Joe had seen him often enough on the +television screen in the Communications Room at the Shed. Now Sanford +looked nerve-racked, but his eyes were bright and his expression +sardonic. + +"My compliments," he said, his voice tight with irony, "for a splendidly +futile job well done! You've got your cargo invoice?" + +Joe nodded. Sanford held out his hand. Joe fumbled in his pocket and +brought out the yellow sheet. + +"I'd like to introduce my crew," said Joe. "This is Haney, and Chief +Bender, and Mike Scandia." He waved his hand, and his whole body wobbled +unexpectedly. + +"We'll know each other!" said Sanford sardonically. "Our first job is +more futility--to get the guided missiles you've brought us into the +launching tubes. A lot of good they'll do!" + +A huge plate in the roof of the lock--but it was not up or down or in +any particular direction--withdrew itself. A man floated through the +opening and landed on the ship's hull; another man followed him. + +"Chief," said Joe, "and Haney. Will you open the cargo doors?" + +The two swaying figures moved to obey, though with erratic clumsiness. +Sanford called sharply: "Don't touch the hull without gloves! If it +isn't nearly red-hot from the sunlight, it'll be below zero from +shadow!" + +Joe realized, then, the temperature effects the skin on his face +noticed. A part of the spaceship's hull gave off heat like that of a +panel heating installation. Another part imparted a chill. + +Sanford said unpleasantly, "You want to report your heroism, eh? Come +along!" + +He clanked to the doorway by which he had entered. Joe followed, and +Mike after him. + +They went out of the lock. Sanford suddenly peeled off his metal-soled +slippers, put them in his pocket, and dived casually into a four-foot +metal tube. He drifted smoothly away along the lighted bore, not +touching the sidewalls. He moved in the manner of a dream, when one +floats with infinite ease and precision in any direction one chooses. + +Joe and Mike did not share his talent. Joe launched himself after +Sanford, and for perhaps 20 or 30 feet the lighted aluminum sidewall of +the tube sped past him. Then his shoulder rubbed, and he found himself +skidding to an undignified stop, choking the bore. Mike thudded into +him. + +"I haven't got the hang of this yet," said Joe apologetically. + +He untangled himself and went on. Mike followed him, his expression that +of pure bliss. He was a tiny man, was Mike, but he had the longings and +the ambitions of half a dozen ordinary-sized men in his small body. And +he had known frustration. He could prove by mathematics that space +exploration could be carried on by midgets at a fraction of the cost and +risk of the same job done by normal-sized men. He was, of course, quite +right. The cabins and air and food supplies for a spaceship's crew of +midgets would cost and weigh a fraction of similar equipment for +six-footers. But people simply weren't interested in sending midgets +out into space. + +But Mike had gotten here. He was in the Space Platform. There were +full-sized men who would joyfully have changed places with him, +forty-one inch height and all. So Mike was blissful. + +The tube ended and Joe bounced off the wall that faced its end. Sanford +was waiting. He grinned with more than a hint of spite. + +"Here's our communications room," he said. "Now you can talk down to +Earth. It'll be relayed, now, but in half an hour you can reach the Shed +direct." + +He floated inside. Joe followed cautiously. There was another crew +member on duty there. He sat before a group of radar screens, with thigh +grips across his legs to hold him in his chair. He turned his head and +nodded cheerfully enough. + +"Here!" snapped Sanford. + +Joe clambered awkwardly to the seat the senior crew member pointed out. +He made his way to it by handholds on the walls. He fumbled into the +chair and threw over the curved thigh grips that would hold him in +place. + +Suddenly he was oriented. He had seen this room before--before the +Platform was launched. True, the man at the radar screens was +upside-down with reference to himself, and Sanford had hooked a knee +negligently around the arm of a firmly anchored chair with his body at +right angles to Joe's own, but at least Joe knew where he was and what +he was to do. + +"Go ahead and report," said Sanford sardonically. "You might tell them +that you heroically destroyed the rockets that attacked us, and that +your crew behaved splendidly, and that you have landed in the Space +Platform and the situation is well in hand. It isn't, but it will make +nice headlines." + +Joe said evenly, "Our arrival's been reported?" + +"No," said Sanford, grinning. "Obviously the radar down on +Earth--shipboard ones on this hemisphere, of course--have reported that +the Platform still exists. But we haven't communicated since the bombs +went off. They probably think we had so many punctures that we lost all +our air and are all wiped out. They'll be glad to hear from you that we +aren't." + +Joe threw a switch, frowning. This wasn't right. Sanford was the senior +scientist on board and hence in command, because he was best-qualified +to direct the scientific observations the Platform was making. But there +was something specifically wrong. + +The communicator hummed. A faint voice sounded. It swelled to loudness. +"Calling Space Platform! _Calling Space Platform!_ CALLING SPACE +PLATFORM!" Joe turned down the volume. He said into the microphone: + +"Space Platform calling Earth. Joe Kenmore reporting. We have made +contact with the Platform and completed our landing. Our cargo is now +being unloaded. Our landing rockets had to be expended against +presumably hostile bombs, and we are now unable to return to Earth. The +ship and the Platform, however, are unharmed. I am now waiting for +orders. Report ends." + +He turned away from the microphone. Sanford said sharply, "Go on! Tell +them what a hero you are!" + +"I'm going to help unload my ship," Joe said shortly. "You report what +you please." + +"Get back at that transmitter!" shouted Sanford furiously. "Tell 'em +you're a hero! Tell 'em you're wonderful! I'll tell 'em how useless it +is!" + +Joe saw the other man in the room, the man at the radar screens, shake +his head. He got up and fumbled his way along the wall to the door. +Sanford shouted after him angrily. + +Joe went out, found the four-foot tunnel, and floated not down but along +it back to the unloading lock. Wordlessly, he set to work to get the +cargo out of the cargo hold of the spaceship. + +Handling objects in weightlessness which on Earth would be heavy was an +art in itself. Two men could move tons. It needed only one man to start +a massive crate in motion. However, one had either to lift or push an +object in the exact line it was to follow. To thrust hard for a short +time produced exactly the same effect as to push gently for a longer +period. Anything floated tranquilly in the line along which it was +moved. The man who had to stop it, though, needed to use exactly as much +energy as the man who sent it floating. He needed to check the floating +thing in exactly the same line. If one tried to stop a massive shipment +from one side, he would topple into it and he and the crate together +would go floundering helplessly over each other. + +The Chief had gone off to help maneuver two-ton guided missiles into +launching tubes. One crew member remained with Haney, unloading things +that would have had to be handled with cranes on Earth. Joe found +himself needed most in the storage chamber. A crate floated from the +ship to the crewman. Standing head downward, he stopped its original +movement, braced himself, and sent it floating to Joe. He braced +himself, stopped its flight, and very slowly--to move fast with anything +heavy in his hands would pull his feet from the floor--set it on a stack +of similar objects which would presently be fastened in place. + +Everything had to be done in slow motion, or one would lose his footing. +Joe worked painstakingly. He gradually began to understand the process. +But the muscles of his stomach ached because of their continuous, +instinctive cramp due to the sensation of unending fall. + +Mike floated through the hatchway from the lock. He twisted about as he +floated, and his magnetized soles clanked to a deft contact with the +wall. He said calmly: "That guy Sanford has cracked up. He's potty. If +this were jail he'd be stir-crazy. He's yelling into the communicator +now that we'll all be dead in a matter of days, and the rocket missiles +we brought up won't help. He's nasty about it, too!" + +Haney called from the cargo space of the ship in the lock: "All empty +here! We're unloaded." + +There were sounds as he closed the cargo doors. Haney, followed by the +Chief, came into view, floating as Mike had done. But he didn't land as +skillfully. He touched the wall on his hands and knees and bounced away +and tried helplessly to swim to a hand-hold. It would have been funny +except that Joe was in no mood for humor. + +Mike whipped off his belt and flipped the end of it to Haney. He caught +it and was drawn gently to the wall. Haney's shoes clicked to a hold. +The Chief landed more expertly. + +"We need wings here," he said ruefully. "You reported, Joe?" + +Joe nodded. He turned to Brent, the crew member who'd been unloading. He +knew him too, from their two-way video conversations. + +"Sanford does act oddly," he said uncomfortably. "When he met me in the +lock he said our coming was useless. He talked about the futility of +everything while I reported. He sounds like he sneers at every possible +action as useless." + +"Most likely it is," Brent said mildly. "Here, anyhow. It does look as +if we're going to be knocked off. But Sanford's taking it badly. The +rest of us have let him act as he pleased because it didn't seem to +matter. It probably doesn't, except that he's annoying." + +Mike said truculently, "We won't be knocked off! We've got rockets of +our own up here now! We can fight back if there's another attack!" + +Brent shrugged. His face was young enough, but deeply lined. He said as +mildly as before: "Your landing rockets set off four bombs on the way +from Earth. You brought us six more rocket missiles. How many bombs can +we knock down with them?" + +Joe blinked. It was a shock to realize the facts of life in an +artificial satellite. If it could be reached by bombs from Earth, the +bombs could be reached by guided missiles from the satellite. But it +would take one guided missile to knock down one bomb--with luck. + +"I see," said Joe slowly. "We can handle just six more bombs from +Earth." + +"Six in the next month," agreed Brent wrily. "It'll be that long before +we get more. Somebody sent up four bombs today. Suppose they send eight +next time? Or simply one a day for a week?" + +Mike made an angry noise. "The seventh bomb shot at us knocks us out! +We're sitting ducks here too!" + +Brent nodded. He said mildly: + +"Yes. The Platform can't be defended against an indefinite number of +bombs from Earth. Of course the United States could go to war because +we've been shot at. But would that do us any good? We'd be shot down in +the war." + +Joe said distastefully, "And Sanford's cracked up because he knows he's +going to be killed?" + +Brent said earnestly. "Oh, no! He's a good scientist! But he's always +had a brilliant mind. Poor devil, he's never failed at anything in all +his life until now! Now he _has_ failed. He's going to be killed, and he +can't think of any way to stop it. His brains are the only things he's +ever believed in, and now they're no good. He can't accept the idea that +he's stupid, so he has to believe that everything else is. It's a +necessity for him. Haven't you known people who had to think everybody +else was stupid to keep from knowing that they were themselves?" + +Joe nodded. He waited. + +"Sanford," said Brent earnestly, "simply can't adjust to the discovery +that he's no better than anybody else. That's all. He was a nice guy, +but he's not used to frustration and he can't take it. Therefore he +scorns everything that frustrates him--and everything else, by +necessity. He'll be scornful about getting killed when it happens. But +waiting for it is becoming intolerable to him." + +He looked at his watch. He said apologetically, "I'm the crew +psychologist. That's why I speak so firmly. In five minutes we're due to +come out of the Earth's shadow into sunshine again. I'd suggest that you +come to watch. It's good to look at." + +He did not wait for an answer. He led the way. And the others followed +in a strange procession. Somehow, automatically, they fell into single +file, and they moved on their magnetic-soled slippers toward a passage +tube in one wall. Their slipper soles clanked and clicked in an erratic +rhythm. Brent walked with the mincing steps necessary for movement in +weightlessness. The others imitated him. Their hands no longer hung +naturally by their sides, but tended to make extravagant gestures with +the slightest muscular impulse. They swayed extraordinarily as they +walked. Brent was a slender figure, and Joe was more thick-set, and +Haney was taller, and lean. The burly Chief and the forty-one inch +figure of Mike the midget followed after them. They made a queer +procession indeed. + +Minutes later they were in a blister on the skin of the Platform. There +were quartz glass ports in the sidewall. Outside the glass were metal +shutters. Brent served out dense goggles, almost black, and touched the +buttons that opened the steel port coverings. + +They looked into space. The dimmer stars were extinguished by the +goggles they wore. The brighter ones seemed faint and widely spaced. +Beneath their feet as they held to handrails lay the featureless +darkness of Earth. But before them and very far away there was a vast, +dim arch of deepest red. + +It was sunlight filtered through the thickest layers of Earth's air. It +barely outlined the curve of that gigantic globe. As they stared, it +grew brighter. The artificial satellite required little more than four +hours for one revolution about its primary, the Earth. To those aboard +it, the Earth would go through all its phases in no longer a time. They +saw now the thinnest possible crescent of the new Earth. But in +minutes--almost in seconds--the deep red sunshine brightened to gold. +The hair-thin line of light widened to a narrow ribbon which described +an eight-thousand-mile half-circle. It brightened markedly at the +middle. It remained red at its ends, but in the very center it glowed +with splendid flame. Then a golden ball appeared, and swam up and +detached itself from the Earth, and the on-lookers saw the breath-taking +spectacle of all of Earth's surface seemingly being born of the night. + +As if new-created before their eyes, seas and lands unfolded in the +sunlight. They watched flecks of cloud and the long shadows of +mountains, and the strangely different colorings of its fields and +forests. + +As Brent had told them, it was good to watch. + +It was half an hour later when they gathered in the kitchen of the +Platform. The man who had been loading launching tubes now briskly +worked to prepare a meal on the extremely unusual cooking-devices of a +human outpost in interplanetary space. + +The food smelled good. But Joe noticed that he could smell growing +things. Green stuff. It was absurd--until he remembered that there was a +hydroponic garden here. Plants grew in it under sunlamps which were +turned on for a certain number of hours every day. The plants purified +the Platform's air, and of course provided some fresh and nourishing +food for the crew. + +They ate. The food was served in plastic bowls, with elastic thread +covers through which they could see and choose the particular morsels +they fancied next. The threads stretched to let through the forks they +ate with. But Brent used a rather more practical pair of tongs in a +businesslike manner. + +They drank coffee from cups which looked very much like ordinary cups on +Earth. Joe remembered suddenly that Sally Holt had had much to do with +the design of domestic science arrangements here. He regarded his cup +with interest. It stayed in its saucer because of magnets in both +plastic articles. The saucer stayed on the table because the table was +magnetic, too. And the coffee did not float out to mid-air in a hot, +round brownish ball, because there was a transparent cover over the cup. +When one put his lips to the proper edge, a part of the cover yielded as +the cup was squeezed. The far side of the cup was flexible. One pressed, +and the coffee came into one's lips without the spilling of a drop. + +At that moment Joe really thought of Sally for the first time in a good +two hours. She'd been anxious that living in the Platform should be as +normal and Earth-like as possible. The total absence of weight would be +bad enough. She believed it needed to be countered, as a psychological +factor in staying sane, by the effect of normal-seeming chairs and +normal-tasting food, and not too exotic systems for eating. + +Joe asked Brent about it. + +"Oh, yes," said Brent mildly. "It's likely we'd all have gone off the +deep end if there weren't some familiar things about. To have to drink +from a cup that one squeezes is tolerable. But we'd have felt hysterical +at times if we had to drink everything from the equivalent of baby +bottles." + +"Sally Holt," said Joe, "is a friend of mine. She helped design this +stuff." + +"That girl has every ounce of brains that any woman can be trusted +with!" Brent said warmly. "She thought of things that would never have +occurred to me! As a psychologist, I could see how good her ideas were +when she brought them up, but as a male I'd never have dreamed of them." +Then he grinned. "She fell down on just one point. So did everybody +else. Nobody happened to think of a garbage-disposal system for the +Platform." + +It came into Joe's mind that garbage-disposal was hardly a subject one +would expect to be discussing in interplanetary space. But the Platform +wasn't the same thing as a spaceship. A ship could jettison refuse and +leave it behind, or store it during a voyage and dump it at either end. +But the Space Platform would never land. It could roll on forever. And +if it heaved out its refuse from airlocks--why--the stuff would still +have the Platform's orbital speed and would follow it tirelessly around +the Earth until the end of time. + +"We dry and store it now," said Brent. "If we were going to live, we'd +figure out some way to turn it to fertilizer for the hydroponic gardens. +It's hardly worth while as things are. Even then, though, the problem of +tin cans could be hopeless." + +The Chief wiped his mouth deliberately. He had helped load four +guided-missile launching tubes, and he had been brought up to date on +the state of things in the Platform. He growled in a preliminary fashion +and said, "Joe." + +Joe looked at him. + +"We brought up six two-ton guided missiles," said the Chief dourly. +"We'll have warning of other bombs coming up. We can send these missiles +out to intercept 'em. Six of 'em. They can get close enough to set off +their proximity fuses, anyhow. But what are we going to do, Joe, if +somebody flings seven bombs at us? We can manage six--maybe. But what'll +we do with the one that's left over?" + +"Have you any ideas?" asked Joe. + +The Chief shook his head. Brent said mildly. "We've worked on that here +in the Platform, I assure you. And as Sanford puts it quite soundly, +about the only thing we can really do is throw our empty tin cans at +them." + +Joe nodded. Then he tensed. Brent had meant it as a rather mirthless +joke. But Joe was astonished at what his own brain made of it. He +thought it over. Then he said, "Why not? It ought to be a very good +trick." + +Brent stared at him incredulously. Haney looked solemnly at him. The +Chief regarded Joe thoughtfully out of the corner of his eye. Then Mike +shouted gleefully. The Chief blinked, and a moment later grunted +wrathful unintelligible syllables of Mohawk, and then tried to pound Joe +on the back and because of his want of weight went head over heels into +the air between the six walls of the kitchen. + +Haney said disgustedly, "Joe, there are times when a guy wants to murder +you! Why didn't I think of that?" + +But Brent was looking at the four of them with a lively, helpless +curiosity. "Will you guys let me in on this?" + +They told him. Joe began to explain it carefully, but the Chief broke in +with a barked and impatient description, and then Mike interrupted to +snap a correction. But by that time Brent's expression had changed with +astonishing suddenness. + +"I see! I see!" he said excitedly. "All right! Have you got space suits +in your ship? We have them. So we'll go out and pelt the stars with +garbage. I think we'd better get at it right now, too. In under two +hours we'll be a fine target for more bombs, and it would be good to +start ahead of time." + +Mike made a gesture and went floating out of the kitchen, air-swimming +to go get space suits from the ship. The grin on his small face +threatened to cut his throat. Joe asked, "Sanford's in command. How'll +he like this idea?" + +Brent hesitated. "I'm afraid," he said regretfully, "he won't like it. +If you solve a problem he gave up, it will tear his present adjustment +to bits. He's gone psychotic. I think, though, that he'll allow it to be +tried while he swears at us for fools. He's most likely to react that +way if you suggest it." + +"Then," agreed Joe, "I suggest it. Chief----" + +The Chief raised a large brown hand. + +"I got the program, Joe," he said. "We'll all get set." + +And Joe went floating unhappily through passage-tubes to the control +room. He heard Sanford's voice, sardonic and mocking, as he reached the +communications room door. + +"What do you expect?" Sanford was saying derisively. "We're clay +pigeons. We're a perfect target. We've just so much ammunition now. You +say you may send us more in three weeks instead of a month. I admire +your persistence, but it's really no use! This is all a very stupid +business...." + +He felt Joe's presence. He turned, and then sharply struck the +communicator switch with the heel of his hand. The image on the +television screen died. The voice cut off. He said blandly: "Well?" + +"I want," said Joe, "to take a garbage-disposal party out on the outside +of the Platform. I came to ask for authority." + +Sanford looked at him in mocking surprise. + +"To be sure it seems as intelligent as anything else the human race has +ever done," he observed. "But why does it appeal to you as something you +want to do?" + +"I think," Joe told him, "that we can make a defense against bombs from +Earth with our empty tin cans." + +Sanford raised his eyebrows. + +"If you happen to have a four-leaf clover with you," he said in fine +irony, "I'm told they're good, too." + +His eyes were bright and scornful. His manner was feverishly derisive. +Joe would have done well to let it go at that. But he was nettled. + +"We set off the last bombs," he said doggedly, "by shooting our landing +rockets at them. They didn't collide with the bombs. They simply +touched off the bombs' proximity fuses. If we surround the Platform with +a cluster of tin cans and such things, they may do as well. Things we +throw away won't drop to Earth. Ultimately, they'll actually circle us, +like satellites themselves. But if we can get enough of them between us +and Earth, any bombs that come up will have their proximity fuses +detonated by the floating trash we throw out." + +Sanford laughed. + +"We might ask for aluminum-foil ribbon to come up in the next supply +ship," said Joe. "We could have masses of that, or maybe metallic dust +floating around us." + +"I much prefer used tin cans," said Sanford humorously. "I'll take the +watch here and let everybody go out with you. By all means we must +defend ourselves. Forward with the garbage! Go ahead!" + +His eyes were almost hysterically scornful as he waited for Joe to +leave. Joe did not like it at all, but there was nothing to do but get +out. + +He found the Chief with a net bag filled with emptied tin cans. Haney +had another. There were two more, carried by members of the Platform's +four-man crew. They were donning their space suits when Joe came upon +them. Mike was grotesque in the cut-down outfit built for him. Actually, +the only difference was in the size of the fabric suit and the length of +the arms and legs. He could carry a talkie outfit with its batteries, +and the oxygen tank for breathing as well as anybody, since out here +weight did not count at all. There were plastic ropes, resistant to +extremes of temperature. + +Joe got into his own space suit. It was no such self-contained space +craft in itself as the fantastic story tellers dreamed of. It was not +much more than an altitude suit, aluminized to withstand the blazing +heat of sunshine in emptiness, and with extravagantly insulated soles to +the magnetic boots. In theory, there simply is no temperature in space. +In practice, a metal hull heats up in sunshine to very much more than +any record-hot-day temperature on Earth. In shadow, too, a metal hull +will drop very close to minus 250 degrees Centigrade, which is something +like 400 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. But mainly the space boots were +insulated against the almost dull-red-heat temperatures of +long-continued sunshine. + +A crewman named Corey moved into an airlock with one of the bags of +empty tin cans. Brent watched in a routine fashion through a glass in +the lock-door. The pumps began to exhaust the air from the airlock. +Corey's space suit inflated visibly. Presently the pump stopped. Corey +opened the outer door. He went out, paying plastic rope behind him. An +instant later he reappeared and removed the rope. He'd made his line +fast outside. He closed the outer lock-door. Air surged into the lock +and Haney crowded in. Again the pumping. Then Haney went out, and was +anchored to the Platform not only by his magnetic boots but by a rope +fastened to a hand-hold. Brent went out. Mike. Joe came next. + +They stood on the hull of the Space Platform, waiting in the incredible +harsh sunshine of emptiness. The bright steel plates of the hull swelled +and curved away on every hand. There were myriads of stars and the vast +round bulk of Earth seemed farther away to a man in a space suit than to +a man looking out a port. Where shadows cut across the Platform's +irregular surface, there was utter blackness. Also there was horrible +frigidity. Elsewhere it was blindingly bright. The men were specks of +humanity standing on a shining metal hull, and all about them there was +the desolation of nothingness. + +But Joe felt strangely proud. The seventh man came out of the lock-door. +They tied their plastic ropes together and spread out in a long line +which went almost around the Platform. The man next to the lock was +anchored to a steel hand-hold. The third man of the line also anchored +himself. The fifth. The seventh. They were a straggling line of figures +with impossibly elongated shadows, held together by ropes. They were +peculiarly like a party of weirdly costumed mountaineers on a glacier of +gleaming silver. + +But no mountain climbers ever had a background of ten thousand million +stars, peering up from below them as well as from overhead. Nor did any +ever have a mottled greenish planet rolling by 4,000 miles beneath +them, nor a blazing sun glaring down at them from a sky such as this. + +In particular, perhaps, no other explorers ever set out upon an +expedition whose purpose was to throw tin cans and dried refuse at all +the shining cosmos. + +They set to work. The space suits were inevitably clumsy. It was not +easy to throw hard with only magnetism to hold one to his feet. It was +actually more practical to throw straight up with an underhand gesture. +But even that would send the tin cans an enormous distance, in time. +There was no air to slow them. + +The tin cans twinkled as they left the Platform's steel expanse. They +moved away at a speed of possibly 20 to 30 miles an hour. They floated +off in all possible directions. They would never reach Earth, of course. +They shared the Platform's orbital speed, and they would circle the +Earth with it forever. But when they were thrown away, their orbits were +displaced a little. Each can thrown downward just now, for example, +would always be between the Platform and the Earth on this side of its +orbit. But on the other side of Earth it would be above the Platform. +The Platform, in fact, became the center of a swarm, a cluster, a cloud +of infinitesimal objects which would always accompany it and always be +in motion with regard to it. Together, they should make up a screen no +proximity fuse bomb could pierce without exploding. + +Joe heard clankings, transmitted to his body through his feet. + +"What's that?" he demanded sharply. "It sounds like the airlock!" + +Voices mingled in his ears. The other walkie-talkies allowed everybody +to speak at once. Most of them did. Then Joe heard someone laugh. It was +Sanford's voice. + +Sandford's aluminized, space-suited figure came clanking around the +curve of the small metal world. The antenna of his walkie-talkie +glittered above his head. He seemed to swagger against the background of +many-colored stars. + +Brent spoke quickly, before anyone else could question Sanford. His +tone was mild and matter of fact, but Joe somehow knew the tension +behind it. + +"Hello, Sanford. You came out? Was it wise? Shouldn't there be someone +inside the Platform?" + +Sanford laughed again. "It was very wise. We're going to be killed, as +you fellows know perfectly well. It's futile to try to avoid it. So very +sensibly I've decided to spare myself the nuisance of waiting to be +killed. I came out." + +There was silence in the ear-phones of Joe's space suit radio. He heard +his own heart beating loudly and steadily in the absolute stillness. + +"Incidentally," said Sanford with almost hysterical amusement, "I fixed +it so that none of us can get back in. It would be useless, anyhow. +Everything's futility. So I've put an end to our troubles for good. I've +locked us all out." + +He laughed yet again. And Joe knew that in Sanford's madness it was +perfectly possible for him to have done exactly what he said. + +There were eight human beings on the Platform. All were now outside it, +on its outer skin. They wore space suits with from half an hour to an +hour's oxygen supply. They had no tools with which to break back into +the satellite. And no help could possibly reach them in less than three +weeks. + +If they couldn't get back inside the Platform, Sanford, laughing +proudly, had killed them all. + + + + +4 + + +There was a babbling of angry, strained, tense voices in Joe's +headphones. Then the Chief roared for silence. It fell, save for +Sanford's quiet, hysterical chuckling. Joe found himself rather absurdly +thinking that Sanford was not actually insane, except as any man may be +who believes only in his own cleverness. Sooner or later it is bound to +fail him. On Earth, Sanford's pride in his own intellect had been +useful. He had been brilliant because he accepted every problem and +every difficulty as a challenge. But with the Platform's situation +seemingly hopeless, he'd been starkly unable to face the fact that he +wasn't clever or brilliant or intelligent enough. If Joe's solution to +the proximity fuse bombs had been offered before his emotional collapse, +he could have accepted it grandly, and in so doing have made it his own. +But it was too late for that now. He'd given up and worked up a frantic +scorn for the universe he could not cope with. For Joe's trick to work +would have made him inferior even to Joe in his own view. And he +couldn't have that! Even to die, with the prospect that others would +survive him, was an intolerable prospect. He had to be smarter than +anybody else. + +So he chuckled. The Chief roared wrathfully into his transmitter: +"Quiet! This crazy fool's tried to commit suicide for all of us! How +about it? Why can't we get back in? How many locks----" + +Joe found himself thinking hard. He could be angry later. Now there +wasn't time. Thirty or forty minutes of breathing. No tools. A steel +hull. The airlocks were naturally arranged for the greatest possible +safety under normal conditions. In every airlock it had naturally been +arranged so that the door to space and the door to the interior could +not be open at the same time. That was to save lives. To save air, it +would naturally be arranged that the door to space couldn't be opened +until the lock was pumped empty. + +That in itself could be an answer. Joe said sharply, "Hold it, Chief! +Somebody watch Sanford! All we've got to do is find which lock he came +out of. He couldn't get out until he pumped it empty--and that unlocks +the outer door!" + +But Sanford laughed once more. He sounded like someone in the highest of +high good humor. + +"Heroic again, eh? But I took a compressed air bottle in the lock with +me. When the outer door was open, I opened the stopcock and shut the +door. The air bottle filled the lock behind me. Naturally I'd fasten the +door after I came out! One must be intelligent!" + +Joe heard Brent muttering, "Yes, he'd do that!" + +"Somebody check it!" snapped Joe. "Make sure! It might amuse him to +watch us die while he knew we could get back in if we were as smart as +he is." + +There were clankings on the hull. Men moved, unfastening the lines which +held them to the hull to get freedom of movement, but not breaking the +links which bound them to each other. Joe saw Haney go grimly back to +the task of throwing away the stuff that they had brought out for the +purpose. Then Mike's voice, brittle and cagey: "Haney! Quit it!" + +Sanford's voice again, horribly amused. "By all means! Don't throw away +our garbage! We may need it!" + +A voice snapped, "This lock's fastened." Another voice: "And this...." +Other voices, with increasing desperation, verified that every airlock +was implacably sealed fast by the presence of air pressure inside the +lock itself. + +Time was passing. Joe had never noticed, before, the minute noises of +the air pressure apparatus strapped to his back. His exhaled breath went +to a tiny pump that forced it through a hygroscopic filter which at once +extracted excess moisture and removed carbon dioxide. The same pump +carefully measured a volume of oxygen equal to the removed CO_2 and +added it to the air it released. The pump made very small sounds indeed, +and the valves were almost noiseless, but Joe could hear their +clickings. + +Something burned him. He had been standing perfectly still while trying +to concentrate on a way out. Sunshine had shone uninterruptedly on one +side of his space suit for as long as five minutes. Despite the +insulation inside, that was too long. He turned quickly to expose +another part of himself to the sunlight. He knew abstractedly that the +metal underfoot would sear bare flesh that touched it. A few yards away, +in the shadow, the metal of the hull would be cold enough to freeze +hydrogen. But here it was fiercely hot. It would melt solder. It might-- + +Mike was fumbling tin cans out of the net bag from which Haney had been +throwing them away. He was a singular small figure, standing on shining +steel, looking at one tin can after another and impatiently putting them +aside. + +He found one that seemed to suit him. It was a large can. He knelt with +it, pressing a part of it to the hot metal of the satellite's hull. A +moment later he was ripping it apart. The solder had softened. He +unrolled a sort of cylinder, then bent again, using the curved inner +surface to concentrate the intolerable sunshine. + +Joe caught his breath at the implication. Concentrated sunshine can be +incredibly hot. Starting with unshielded, empty-space sunshine, +practically any imaginable temperature is possible with a large enough +mirror. Mike didn't have a concave mirror. He had only a cylindrical +one. He couldn't reflect light to a point, but only to a line. Mike +couldn't hope to do more than double or triple the temperature of a +given spot. But considering what he wore on his back--! + +Joe made his way clumsily to the spot where Mike now gesticulated to +Haney, trying to convey his meaning by gestures since Sanford would +overhear any spoken word. + +"I get it, Mike," said Joe. "I'll help." He added: "Chief! You watch +Sanford. The rest of you try to flatten out some tin cans or find some +with flat round ends!" + +He reached the spot where Mike bent over the plating. His hand moved to +cast a shadow where the light had played. + +"I need more reflectors," Mike said brusquely, "but we can do it!" + +Joe beckoned. There were more, hurried clankings. Space-suited figures +gathered about. + +The Platform rolled on through space. Where it was bright it was very, +very bright, and where it was dark it was blackness. Off in emptiness +the many-colored mass of Earth shone hugely, rolling past. Innumerable +incurious stars looked on. The sun flamed malevolently. The moon floated +abstractedly far away. + +Mike was bent above a small round airlock door. He had a distorted +half-cylinder of sheet tin between his space-gloved hands. It reflected +a line of intensified sunlight to the edge of the airlock seal. Haney +ripped fiercely at other tin cans. Joe held another strip of polished +metal. It focused crudely--very crudely--on top of Mike's line of +reflected sunshine. Someone else held the end of a tin can to reflect +more sunshine. Someone else had a larger disk of tin. + +They stood carefully still. It looked completely foolish. There were six +men in frozen attitudes, trying to reflect sunshine down to a single +blindingly-bright spot on an airlock door. They seemed breathlessly +tense. They ignored the glories of the firmament. They were utterly +absorbed in trying to make a spot of unbearable brightness glow more +brightly still. + +Mike moved his hand to cast a shadow. The steel was a little more than +red-hot for the space of an inch. It would not melt, of course. It could +not. And they had no tools to bend or pierce the presumably softened +metal. But Mike said fiercely: + +"Keep it hot!" + +He squirmed. His space suit was fabric, like the rest, but it had been +cut down to permit him to use it. It was bulkier on him than the suits +of the others. He shifted his shoulder pack. The brass valve-nipple by +which the oxygen tank was filled.... + +He jammed a ragged fragment of tin in place. He pressed down fiercely. A +blazing jet of fierce, scintillating, streaking sparks leaped up from +the spot where the metal glowed brightly. A hollow in the metal plate +appeared. The metal disintegrated in gushing flecks of light.... + +White-hot iron in pure oxygen happens to be inflammable. Iron is not +incombustible at all. Powdered steel, ground fine enough, will burn if +simply exposed to air. Really fine steel wool will make an excellent +blaze if a match is touched to it. White-hot iron, with a jet of oxygen +played upon it, explodes to steaming sparks. Technically, Mike had used +the perfectly well-known trick of an oxygen lance to pierce the airlock +door, let the air out of the lock, and so allow the outer door to be +opened. + +There was a rush of vapor. The door was drilled through. Haney picked +Mike up bodily, Joe heaved the door open, and Haney climbed into it, +practically carrying Mike by the scruff of the neck. Joe panted, "Plug +the hole from the inside. Sit on it if you have to!" and slammed the +door shut. + +They waited. Sanford's voice came in the ear-phones. It was higher in +pitch than it had been. + +"You fools!" he raged. "It's useless! It's stupid to do useless things! +It's stupid to do anything at all--" + +There were sudden scuffling clankings. Joe swung about. The Chief and +Sanford were struggling. Sanford flailed his arms about, trying to break +the Chief's faceplate while he screamed furious things about futility. + +The Chief got exactly the hold he wanted. He lifted Sanford from the +metal deck. He could have thrown him away to emptiness, then, but he did +not. + +He set Sanford in mid-space as if upon a shelf. The raging man hung in +the void an exact man-height above the Platform's surface. The Chief +drew back and left him there, Sanford could writhe there for a century +before the Platform's infinitesimal gravity brought him down. + +"Huh!" said the Chief wrathfully. "How's Haney and Mike making out?" + +Almost on the instant, twenty yards away, a tiny airlock door thrust out +from the surface of glittering metal, and helmet and antenna appeared. + +"You guys can come in now," said Haney's voice in Joe's headphones. +"It's all okay. Mike's pumping out the other locks too, so you can come +in at any of 'em." + +The space-suited figures clumped loudly to airlock doors. There were a +dozen or more small airlocks in various parts of the hull, besides the +great door to admit supply ships. The Chief growled and moved toward +Sanford now raging like the madman his helplessness made him. + +"No," said Joe shortly. "He'd fight again. Go inside. That's an order, +Chief." + +The Chief grunted and obeyed. Joe went to the nearest airlock and +entered the great steel hull. + +Sanford floated in emptiness, two yards from the Space Platform he would +have turned into a derelict. He did not move farther away. He did not +fall toward it. There was nobody to listen to him. He cried out in +blood-curdling fury because other men were smarter than he was. Other +men had solved problems he could not solve. Other men were his +superiors. He screamed his rage. + +Presently the Platform revolved slowly beneath him. It was turned, of +course, by the monster gyros which in turn were controlled by the pilot +gyros Joe and Haney and the Chief and Mike had repaired when saboteurs +smashed them. + +The Platform rotated sedately. A great gap appeared in it. The door of +the supply ship lock moved until Sanford, floating helplessly, was +opposite its mouth. + +A rod with a rounded object at its end appeared past the docked supply +ship. It reached out and touched Sanford's helmet. It was the magnetic +grapple which drew space ships into their dock. + +It drew Sanford, squirming and streaming, into the great lock. The outer +doors closed. Before air was admitted to the inside, Sanford went +suddenly still. + +When they took him out of his suit he was apparently unconscious. He +could not be roused. Freed, he drew his knees up to his chin in the +position in which primitive peoples bury their dead. He seemed to sleep. +Brent examined him carefully. + +"Catatonia," he said distastefully. "He spent his life thinking he was +smarter than anybody else--smarter, probably, than all the universe. He +believed it. He couldn't face the fact that he was wrong. He couldn't +stay conscious and not know it. So he's blacked out. He refuses to be +anything unless he can be smartest. We'll have to do artificial feeding +and all that until we can get him down to Earth to a hospital." He +shrugged. + +"We'd better report this down to Earth," Joe said. "By the way, better +not describe our screen of tin cans on radio waves. Not even microwaves. +It might leak. And we want to see if it works." + +Just forty-two hours later they found out that it did work. A single +rocket came climbing furiously out from Earth. It came from the +night-side, and they could not see where it was launched, though they +could make excellent guesses. They got a single guided missile ready to +crash it if necessary. + +It wasn't necessary. The bomb from Earth detonated 300 miles below the +artificial satellite. Its proximity fuse, sending out small radar-type +waves, had them reflected back by an empty sardine can thrown away from +the Platform by Mike Scandia forty-some hours ago. The sardine can had +been traveling in its own private orbit ever since. The effect of Mike's +muscles had not been to send it back to Earth, but to change the center +of the circular orbit in which it floated. Sometimes it floated above +the Platform--that was on one side of Earth--and sometimes below it. It +was about 300 miles under the Platform when it reflected urgent, +squealing radar frequency waves to a complex proximity fuse in the +climbing rocket. The rocket couldn't tell the difference between a +sardine can and a Space Platform. + +It exploded with a blast of pure brightness like that of the sun. + +The Platform went on its monotonous round about the planet from which it +had risen only weeks before. Sanford was strapped in a bunk and fed +through a tube, and on occasion massaged and variously tended to keep +him alive. The men on the Platform worked. They made telephoto maps of +Earth. They took highly magnified, long-exposure photographs of Mars, +pictures that could not possibly be made with such distinctness from the +bottom of Earth's turbulent ocean of air. + +There was a great deal of official business to be done. Weather +observations of the form and distribution of cloud masses were an +important matter. The Platform could make much more precise measurements +of the solar constant than could be obtained below. The flickering radar +was gathering information for studies of the frequency and size of +meteoric particles outside the atmosphere. There was the extremely +important project for securing and sealing in really good vacua in +various electronic devices brought up by Joe and his crew in the supply +ship. + +But sometimes Joe managed to talk to Sally. + +It was very satisfying to see her on the television screen in personal +conversation. Their talk couldn't be exactly private, because it could +be picked up elsewhere. It probably was. But she told Joe how she felt, +and she wanted to read him the newspaper stories based on the reports +Brent had sent down. Brent was in command of the Platform now that +Sanford lay in a resolute coma in his bunk. But Joe discouraged such +waste of time. + +"How's the food?" asked Sally. "Are you people getting any fresh +vegetables from the hydroponic garden?" + +They were, and Joe told her so. The huge chamber in which sun-lamps +glowed for a measured number of hours in each twenty-four produced +incredibly luxuriant vegetation. It kept the air of the ship breathable. +It even changed the smell of it from time to time, so that there was no +feeling of staleness. + +"And the cooking system's really good?" she wanted to know. Sally was +partly responsible for that, too. "And how about the bunks?" + +"I sleep now," Joe admitted. + +That had been difficult. It was possible to get used to weightlessness +while awake. One would slip, sometimes, and find himself suddenly tense +and panicky because he'd abruptly noticed all over again that he was +falling. But--and yet again Sally was partly responsible--the bunks were +designed to help in that difficulty. Each bunk had an inflatable top +blanket. One crawled in and settled down, and turned the petcock that +inflated the cover. Then it held one quite gently but reassuringly in +place. It was possible to stir and to turn over, but the feeling of +being held fast was very comforting. With a little care about what one +thought of before going to sleep, one could get a refreshing eight +hours' rest. The bunks were luxury. + +Sally said: "The date and time's a secret, of course, because it might +be overheard, but there'll be another ship up before too long. It's +bringing landing rockets for you to come back with." + +"That's good!" said Joe. It would feel good to set foot on solid ground +again. He looked at Sally and said eagerly, "We've got a date the +evening I get back?" + +"We've got a date," she said, nodding. + +But it couldn't very well be a definite date. There were people with +ideas that ran counter to plans for Joe to get back to Earth and a date +with Sally Holt. The Space Platform was not admired uniformly by all the +nations of Earth. The United States had built it because the United +Nations couldn't, and one of the attractions of the idea had been that +once it got out to space and was armed, peace must reign upon Earth +because it could smack down anybody who made war. + +The trouble was that it wasn't armed well enough. Six guided missiles +couldn't defend it indefinitely. It looked as helpless as isolated +Berlin did before the first airlift proved what men and planes could do +in the way of transport. And the Platform's enemies didn't intend for it +to be saved by a rocketlift. They would try to smash it before such a +lift could get started. + +A week after Joe got to it with the guided missiles, three rockets +attacked. They went up from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. One +blew up 250 miles below the Platform. Another detonated 190 miles away. +For safety's sake the third was crashed--at the cost of one guided +missile--when it had come within 50 miles. + +The screen of tin cans worked, but it wasn't thick enough. The occupants +of the Platform went about hunting for sheet metal that could be spared. +They pulled out minor partitions here and there, and went out on the +surface and threw away thousands of small glittering scraps of metal in +all directions. + +Two weeks later, there was another attack. It could be calculated that +Joe couldn't have carried up more than six guided missiles. There might +be as few as two of them left. So eight rockets came up together--and +the first of them went off 400 miles from the Platform. Only one got as +close as 200 miles. No guided missiles were expended in defense. + +The Platform's enemies tried once more. This time the rockets arched up +above the Platform's orbit and dived on the satellite from above. There +were two of them. They went off at 180 and 270 miles from the Platform. +Joe's trash screen would not work on Earth, but in space it was an +adequate defense against anything equipped with proximity fuses. It +could be assumed that in a full-scale space-war nuts, bolts, rusty nails +and beer bottle caps would become essential military equipment. + +Three days after this last attack, a second supply ship took off from +Earth. Lieutenant Commander Brown was a passenger. Its start was just +like the one Joe's ship had made. Pushpots lifted it, jatos hurled it +on, and then the furious, flaming take-off rockets drove it valiantly +out toward the stars. + +Joe's ship had been moved out of the landing lock and was moored against +the Platform's hull. The second ship made contact in two hours and +seventeen minutes from take-off. It arrived with its own landing rockets +intact, and it brought a set of forty-foot metal tubes for Joe's ship to +get back to Earth with. But those landing rockets and Lieutenant +Commander Brown constituted all its payload. It couldn't bring up +anything else. + +And Lieutenant Commander Brown called a very formal meeting in the huge +living space at the Platform's center. He stood up grandly in full +uniform--and had to hook his feet around a chair leg to keep from +floating absurdly in mid-air. This detracted slightly from the dignity +of his stance, but not from the official voice with which he read two +documents aloud. + +The first paper detached Lieutenant Commander Brown from his regular +naval duties and assigned him pro tem to service with the Space +Exploration Project. The second was an order directing him to take +command and assume direction of the Space Platform. + +Having read his orders, he cleared his throat and said cordially, "I am +honored to serve here with you. Frankly, I expect to learn much from you +and to have very few orders to give. I expect merely to exercise such +authority as experience at sea has taught me is necessary for a tight +and happy ship. I trust this will be one." + +He beamed. Nobody was impressed. It was perfectly obvious that he'd +simply been sent up to acquire experience in space for later naval use, +and that he'd been placed in command because it was unthinkable that he +serve under anyone without official rank and authority. And he quite +honestly believed that his coming, with experience in command, was a +blessing to the Platform. In fact, there was no danger that this +commander of the Platform would crack up under stress as Sanford had. + +But it was too bad that he hadn't brought some long-range guided +missiles with him. + +Joe's ship had brought up twenty tons of cargo and twenty tons of +landing rockets. The second ship brought up twenty tons of landing +rockets for Joe, and twenty tons of landing rockets for itself. That was +all. The second trip out to the Space Platform was a rescue mission and +nothing else. Arithmetic wouldn't let it be anything else. And there +couldn't be any idea of noble self-sacrifice and staying out at the +Platform, either, because only four ships like Joe's had been begun, and +only two were even near completion. Joe's had taken off the instant it +was finished. The second had done the same. The second pair of +spaceships wouldn't be ready for two months or more. The ships that +could be used had to be used. + +So, only thirty-six hours after the arrival of the second rocketship at +the Platform, the two of them took off together to return to Earth. +Joe's ship left the airlock first. Sanford was loaded in the cabin of +the other ship as cargo. Lieutenant Commander Brown stayed out at the +Platform to replace him. + +Obviously, in order to get back to Earth they headed away from it in +fleet formation. They pointed their rounded noses toward the Milky Way. + +The upward course was an application of the principle that made the +screen of tin cans and oddments remain about the Platform. Each of +those small objects had had the Platform's own velocity and orbit. +Thrown away from it, the centers of their orbits changed. In theory, +the center of the Platform's orbit was the center of Earth. But the +centers of the orbits of the thrown-away objects were pushed a few +miles--twenty--fifty--a hundred--away from the center of Earth. + +The returning space ships also had the orbit and speed of the Platform. +They wanted to shift the centers of their orbits by very nearly 4,000 +miles, so that at one point they would just barely graze Earth's +atmosphere, lose some speed to it, and then bounce out to empty space +again before they melted. Cooled off, they'd make another grazing +bounce. After eight such bounces they'd stay in the air, and the stubby +fins would give them a sort of gliding angle and controllability, while +the landing rockets would let them down to solid ground. Or so it was +hoped. + +Meanwhile they headed out instead of in toward Earth. They went out on +their steering-rockets only, using the liquid fuel that had not been +needed for course correction on the way out. At 4,000 miles up, the +force of gravity is just one-fourth of that at the Earth's surface. It +still exists; it is merely canceled out in an orbit. The ships could +move outward at less cost in fuel than they could move in. + +So they went out and out on parallel courses, and the Platform dwindled +behind them. Night flowed below until the hull of the artificial +satellite shone brightly against a background of seeming sheer +nothingness. + +The twilight zone of Earth's shadow reached the Platform. It glowed +redly, glowed crimson, glowed the deepest possible color that could be +seen, and winked out. The ships climbed on, using their tiny steering +rockets. + +Nothing happened. The ships drew away from each other for safety. They +were 50, then 60 miles apart. One glowed red and vanished in the shadow +of the Earth. The other was extinguished in the same way. Then they went +hurtling through the blackness of the night side of Earth. Microwaves +from the ground played upon them--radar used by friend and foe +alike--and the friendly radar guided tight-beam communicator waves to +them with comforting assurance that their joint course and height and +speed were exactly the calculated optimum. But they could not be seen at +all. + +When they appeared again they were still farther out from Earth than the +Platform's orbit, but no farther from each other. And they were +descending. The centers of their orbits had been displaced very, very +far indeed. + +Going out, naturally, the ships had lost angular speed as they gained +in height. Descending, they gained in angular velocity as they lost +height. They were not quite 30 miles apart as they sped with increasing, +headlong speed and rushed toward the edge of the world's disk. When they +were only 2,000 miles high, the Earth's surface under them moved much +faster than it had on the way up. When they were only 1,000 miles high, +the seas and continents seemed to flow past like a rushing river. At 500 +miles, mountains and plains were just distinguishable as they raced past +underneath. At 200 miles there was merely a churning, hurtling surface +on which one could not focus one's eyes because of the speed of its +movement. + +They missed the solid surface of Earth by barely 40 miles. They were +moving at a completely impossible speed. The energy of their position +4,000 miles high had been transformed into kinetic energy of motion. And +at 40 miles there is something very close to a vacuum, compared to +sea-level. But compared to true emptiness, and at the speed of meteors, +the thin air had a violent effect. + +A thin humming sound began. It grew louder. The substance of the ship +was responding to the impact of the thin air upon it. The sound rose to +a roar, to a bellow, to a thunderous tumult. The ship quivered and +trembled. It shook. A violent vibration set up and grew more and more +savage. The whole ship shook with a dreadful persistence, each vibration +more monstrous, more straining, more ominous than before. + +The four in the space ship cabin knew torture. Weight returned to them, +weight more violent than the six gravities they had known for a bare +fourteen seconds at take-off. But that, at least, had been smoothly +applied. This was deceleration at a higher figure yet, and accompanied +by the shaking of bodies which weighed seven times as much as ever +before--and bodies, too, which for weeks past had been subject to no +weight at all. + +They endured. Nothing at all could be done. At so many miles per second +no possible human action could be determined upon and attempted in time +to have any effect upon the course of the ship. Joe could see out a +quartzite port. The ground 40 miles below was merely a blur. There was +a black sky overhead, which did not seem to stir. But cloud-masses +rushed at express-train speed below him, and his body weighed more than +half a ton, and the ship made the sound of innumerable thunders and +shook, and shook and shook.... + +And then, when it seemed that it must fly utterly to pieces, the thunder +diminished gradually to a bellow, and the bellow to a roar, and the +roaring.... And the unthinkable weight oppressing him grew less. + +The Earth was farther away and moving farther still. They were 100 miles +high. They were 200 miles high.... + +There was no longer any sound at all, except their gaspings for breath. +Their muscles had refused to lift their chests at all during the most +brutal of the deceleration period. + +Presently Joe croaked a question. He looked at the hull-temperature +indicators. They were very, very high. He found that he was bruised +where he had strapped himself in. The places where each strap had held +his heavy body against the ship's vibrations were deeply black-and-blue. + +The Chief said thickly: "Joe, somehow I don't think this is going to +work. When do we hit again?" + +"Three hours plus or minus something," said Joe, dry-throated. "We'll +hear from the ground." + +Mike said in a cracked voice: "Radar reports we went a little bit too +low. They think we weren't tilted up far enough. We didn't bounce as +soon as we should." + +Joe unstrapped himself. + +"How about the other ship?" + +"It did better than we did," said Mike. "It's a good 200 miles ahead. +Down at the Shed, they're recalculating for us. We'll have to land with +six grazes instead of eight. We lost too much speed." + +Joe went staggering, again weightless, to look out a port for the other +ship. He should have known better. One does not spot an eighty-foot +space ship with the naked eye when it is 200 miles away. + +But he saw something, though for seconds he didn't know what it was. + +Now the little ship was 300 miles high and still rising. Joe was dazed +and battered by the vibration of the ship in the graze just past. The +sister space ship hadn't lost speed so fast. It would be traveling +faster. It would be leaving him farther behind every second. It was +rising more sharply. It would rise higher. + +Joe stared numbly out of a port, thinking confusedly that his hull would +be dull red on its outer surface, though the heating had been so fast +that the inner surfaces of the plating might still be cold. He saw the +vast area which was the curve of the edge of the world. He saw the +sunlight upon clouds below and glimpses of the surface of the Earth +itself. + +And he saw something rising out of the mists at the far horizon. It was +a thread of white vapor. The other rocketship was a speck, a mote, +invisible because of its size and distance. This thread of vapor was +already 100 miles long, and it expanded to a column of whiteness half a +mile across before it seemed to dissipate. It rose and rose, as if +following something which sped upward. It was a rocket trail. The +violence of its writhings proved the fury with which the rocket climbed. + +It was on its way to meet the other space ship. + +It did. Joe saw the thread of vapor extend and grow until it was higher +than he was. He never saw the other ship, which was too small. But he +saw the burst of flame, bright as the sun itself, which was the +explosion of a proximity fuse bomb. He knew, then, that nothing but +incandescent, radioactive gas remained of the other ship and its crew. + +Then he saw the trail of the second rocket. It was rising to meet him. + + + + +5 + + +The four of them watched through the ports as the thread of vapor sped +upward. They hated the rocket and the people who had built it. Joe said +between his teeth, "We could spend our landing-rockets and make it +chase us, but it'll have fuel for that!" + +The Chief muttered in Mohawk. The words sounded as if they ought to have +blue fire at their edges and smell of sulphur. Mike the midget said +crackling things in his small voice. Haney stared, his eyes burning. + +Their ship was a little over 400 miles up, now. The rocket was 100 or +better. The rendezvous would be probably 200 miles ahead and +correspondingly higher. The rocket was accelerating furiously. It had +farther to travel, but its rate of climb was already enormous and it +increased every second. + +The ship could swing to right or left on steering rockets, but the war +rocket could swerve also. It was controlled from the ground. It did not +need to crash the small ship from space. Within a limited number of +miles the blast of its atomic warhead would vaporize any substance that +could exist. And of course the ship could not turn back. Even the +expenditure of all its landing-rockets could not bring twenty tons of +ship to a halt. They could speed it up, so it would pass the calculated +meeting place ahead of the war rocket. But the bomb would simply follow +in a stern chase. In any case, the ship could not stop. + +But neither could the rocket. + +Joe never knew how he saw the significance of that fact. On land or sea, +of course, an automobile or a ship moves in the direction in which it is +pointed. Even an airplane needs to make only minor corrections for air +currents which affect it. But an object in space moves on a course which +is the sum of all its previous speeds and courses. Joe's ship was moving +eastward above the Earth at so many miles per second. If he drove +north--at a right angle to his present course--the ship would not cease +to move to the east. It would simply move northward in addition to +moving east. If the rocket from Earth turned north or east it would +continue to move up and merely add the other motion to its vertical +rise. + +Joe stared at the uncoiling thread of vapor which was the murder +rocket's trail. He hated it so fiercely that he wanted to escape it +even at the cost of destruction, merely to foil its makers. At one +moment, he was hardly aware of anything but his own fury and the frantic +desire to frustrate the rocket at any cost. The next instant, somehow, +he was not angry at all. Because somehow his brain had dredged up the +fact that the war rocket could no more turn back than he could--and he +saw its meaning. + +"Mike!" he snapped sharply. "Get set! Report what we do! Everybody set +for acceleration! Steering rockets ready, Chief! Get set to help, Haney! +I don't know whether we'll get out of this alive, but we'd better get +into our space suits." + +Then he literally dived back to his acceleration chair and strapped in +in feverish haste. The ship was then a quarter of the way to the meeting +place and the rocket had very much farther to go. But it was rising +faster. + +The ship's gyros whined and squealed as Joe jammed on their controls. +The little ship spun in emptiness. Its bow turned and pointed down. The +steering rockets made their roarings. + +Joe found himself panting. "The--rocket's rising faster--than we are. +It's been gaining--altitude maybe--two minutes. It's lighter than +when--it started but--it can't stop--less than a minute, anyhow so we +duck under it----" + +He did not make computations. There was no time. The war rocket might +have started at four or five gravities acceleration, but it would speed +up as its fuel burned. It might be accelerating at fifteen gravities +now, and have an attained velocity of four miles a second and still +increasing. If the little ship ducked under it, it could not kill that +rate-of-climb in time to follow in a stern chase. + +"Haney!" panted Joe. "Watch out the port! Are we going to make it?" + +Haney crawled forward. Joe had forgotten the radar because he'd seen the +rocket with his own eyes. It seemed to need eyes to watch it. Mike spoke +curtly into the microphone broadcasting to ground. He was reporting each +action and order as it took place and was given. There was no time to +explain anything. But Mike thought of the radar. He watched it. + +It showed the vast curve of Earth's surface, 400 miles down. It showed a +moving pip, much too much nearer, which was the war rocket. Mike made a +dot on the screen with a grease pencil where the pip showed. It moved. +He made another dot. The pip continued to move. He made other dots. + +They formed a curving line--curved because the rocket was +accelerating--which moved inexorably toward the center of the radar +screen. The curve would cut the screen's exact center. That meant +collision. + +"Too close, Joe!" said Mike shrilly. "We may miss it, but not enough!" + +"Then hold fast," yelled Joe. "Landing rockets firing, three--two--one!" + +The bellowing of the landing-rockets smote their ears. Weight seized +upon them, three gravities of acceleration toward the rushing flood of +clouds and solidity which was the Earth. The ship plunged downward with +all its power. It was intolerable--and ten times worse because they had +been weightless so long and were still shaken and sore and bruised from +the air-graze only minutes back. + +Mike took acceleration better than the others, but his voice was thin +when he gasped, "Looks--like this does it, Joe!" Seconds later he gasped +again, "Right! The rocket's above us and still going away!" + +The gyros squealed again. The ship plunged into vapor which was the +trail of the enemy rocket. For an instant the flowing confusion which +was Earth was blotted out. Then it was visible again. The ship was +plunging downward, but its sidewise speed was undiminished and much +greater than its rate of fall. + +"Mike," panted Joe. "Get the news out. What we did--and why. I'm--going +to turn the ship's head back on our--course. We can't slow enough +but--I'd rather crash on Earth than let them blast us----" + +The ship turned again. It pointed back in the direction from which it +had come. With the brutal sternward pressure produced by the +landing-rockets, it felt as if it were speeding madly back where it had +come from. It was the sensation they'd felt when the ship took off from +Earth, so long before. But then the cloud masses and the earth beneath +had flowed toward the ship and under it. Now they flowed away. The +appearance was that of an unthinkably swift wake left behind by a ship +at sea. The Earth's surface fled away and fled away from them. + +"Crazy, this!" Joe muttered thickly. "If the ship were lighter--or we +had more power--we could land! I'm sorry, but I'd rather----" + +Haney turned his head from where he clung near the bow-ports. His +features changed slowly as he talked because of acceleration-driven +blood engorging his lips and bloating his cheeks. After one instant he +closed his eyes fiercely. They felt as if they would pop out of his +head. He gasped, "Yes! Get down to air-resistance. A chance--not good +but a chance--ejection seats--with space suits--might make it...." + +He began to let himself back toward his acceleration chair. He could not +possibly have climbed forward. It was a horrible task to let himself +down, with triple his normal weight pulling at him and after the beating +taken a little while ago. + +Sweat stood out on his skin as he lowered himself sternward. Once his +grip on a hand-line slipped and he had to sustain the drag of nearly six +hundred pounds by a single hand and arm. It would not be a good idea to +fall at three gravities. + +The landing rockets roared and roared, and Joe tilted the bow down a +little farther, so that the streaming flood of clouds drew nearer. + +Haney got to his acceleration chair. He let himself into it and his eyes +closed. + +Mike's sharp voice barked: "What's the chance, Haney?" + +Haney's mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. "Rocket flames," he +gasped, "pushed back--wind--splash on hull--may melt--lighten +weight--hundred to one against----" + +The odds were worse than that. The ship couldn't land because its +momentum was too great for the landing rockets to cancel out. If it had +weighed five tons instead of twenty, landing might have been possible. +Haney was saying that if the ship were to be lowered into air while +rushing irresistibly sternward despite its rockets, that the rocket +flames might be splashed out by the wind. Instead of streaking astern in +a lance-like shape, they might be pushed out like a rocket blast when it +hits the earth in a guided missile take-off. Such a blast spreads out +flat in all directions. Here the rocket flames might be spread by wind +until they played upon the hull of the ship. If they did, they might +melt it as they melted their own steel cases in firing. And +three-fourths or more of the hull might be torn loose from the cabin bow +section. So much was unlikely, but it was possible. + +The impossible odds were that the four could survive even if the cabin +were detached. They were decelerating at three gravities now. If part of +the ship burned or melted or was torn away, the rocket thrust might +speed the cabin up to almost any figure. And there is a limit to the +number of gravities a man can take, even in an acceleration chair. + +Nevertheless, that was what Haney proposed. They were due to be killed +anyhow. Joe tried it. + +He dived into atmosphere. At 60 miles altitude a thin wailing seemed to +develop without reason. At 40 miles, the ship had lost more than two +miles per second of its speed since the landing-rockets were ignited, +and there was a shuddering in all its fabric--though because of the loss +of speed it was not as bad as the atmosphere-graze. At 30 it began to +shake and tremble. At 25 miles high there was as horrible a vibration +and as deadly a deceleration as at the air-graze. At 12 miles above the +surface of the Earth the hull temperature indicators showed the hind +part of the hull at red heat. The ship happened to be traveling backward +at several times the speed of sound, and air could not move away from +before it. It was compressed to white heat at the entering surface, and +the metal plating went to bright red heat at that point. But the hull +just aft of the rocket mouths was hotter still. There the splashing +rocket flames bathed it in intolerable incandescence. Hull plates, +braces and beams glared white---- + +The tip of the tail caved in. The ship's empty cargo space was +instantly filled with air at intolerable pressure and heat. + +The hull exploded outward where the rocket flames played. There was a +monstrous, incredible jerking of the cabin that remained. That fraction +of the ship received the full force of the rocket thrust. They could +decelerate it at a rate of fifteen gravities or more. + +They did. + +Joe lost consciousness as instantly and as peacefully as if he had been +hit on the jaw. + +An unknown but brief time later, he found himself listening with a +peculiar astonishment. The rockets had burned out. They had lasted only +seconds after the separation of the ship into two fragments. Radars on +the ground are authority for this. Those few seconds were extremely +important. The cabin lost an additional half-mile per second of +velocity, which was enough to make the difference between the cabin +heating up too, and the cabin being not quite destroyed. + +The cabin remnant was heavy, of course, but it was an irregular object, +some twenty feet across. It was below orbital velocity, and +wind-resistance slowed it. Even so, it traveled 47 miles to the east in +falling the last 10 miles to Earth. It hit a hillside and dug itself a +70-foot crater in the ground. + +But there was nobody in it, then. A little over a month before, it had +seemed to Joe that ejection seats were the most useless of all possible +pieces of equipment to have in a space ship. He'd been as much mistaken +as anybody could be. With an ejection seat, a jet pilot can be shot out +of a plane traveling over Mach one, and live to tell about it. This +crumpling cabin fell fast, but Joe stuffed Mike in an ejection seat and +shot him out. He and the Chief dragged Haney to a seat, and then the +Chief shoved Joe off--and the four of them, one by one, were flung out +into a screaming stream of air. But the ribbon-parachutes did not burst. +They nearly broke the necks of their passengers, but they let them down +almost gently. + +And it was quite preposterous, but all four landed intact. Mike, being +lightest and first to be ejected, came down by himself in a fury because +he'd been treated with special favor. The Chief and Joe landed almost +together. After a long time, Joe staggered out of his space suit and +harness and tried to help the Chief, and they held each other up as they +stumbled off together in search of Haney. + +When they found him he was sleeping heavily, exhausted, in a canebrake. +He hadn't even bothered to disengage his parachute harness or take off +his suit. + + + + +6 + + +A good deal of that landing remained confused in Joe's mind. While it +was going on he was much too busy to be absorbing impressions. When he +landed, he was as completely exhausted as anybody wants to be. It was +only during the next day that he even tried to sort out his +recollections. + +Then he woke up suddenly, with a muffled roaring going on all about him. +He blinked his eyes open and listened. Presently he realized what the +noise was, and wondered that he hadn't realized before. It was the +roaring of the motors of a multi-engined plane. He knew, without +remembering the details at the moment, that he and the other three were +on a plane bound across the Pacific for America. He was in a bunk--and +he felt extraordinarily heavy. He tried to move, and it was an enormous +effort to move his arm. He struggled to turn over, and found straps +holding his body down. + +He fumbled at them. They had readily releasable clasps, and he loosened +them easily. After a bit he struggled to sit upright. He was horribly +heavy or horribly weak. He couldn't tell which. And each separate muscle +in his whole body ached. Twinges of pain accompanied every movement. He +sat up, swaying a little with the slow movements of the plane, and +gradually, things came back. + +The landing in the ribbon-chute. They'd come down somewhere on the west +coast of India, not too far from the sea. He remembered crashing into +the edge of a thin jungle and finding the Chief, and the two of them +searching out Haney and stumbling to open ground. After laying out a +signal for air searchers, they went off into worn-out slumber while they +waited. + +He remembered that there'd been a patrol of American destroyers in the +Arabian Sea, as everywhere under the orbit of the Platform. Their radar +had reported the destruction of one space ship and the frantic diving of +the other, its division into two parts, and then the tiny objects, which +flew out from the smaller cabin section, which had descended as only +ejection-seat parachutes could possibly have done. Two destroyers +steamed onward underneath those drifting specks, to pick them up when +they should come down. But the other nearby destroyers had other +business in hand. + +The two trailing destroyers reached Goa harbor within hours of the +landing of the four from space. A helicopter found the first three of +them within hours after that. They were twenty miles inland and thirty +south from Goa. Mike wasn't located until the next day. He'd been shot +out of the ship's cabin earlier and higher; he was lighter, and he'd +floated farther. + +But things--satisfying things--had happened in the interval. Sitting +almost dizzily on the bunk in the swiftly roaring plane while blood +began sluggishly to flow through his body, Joe remembered the gleeful, +unofficial news passed around on the destroyers. They waited for Mike to +be brought in. But they rejoiced vengefully. + +The report was quite true, but it never reached the newspapers. Nobody +would ever admit it, but the rockets aimed at the returning space ships +had been spotted by Navy radar as they went up from the Arabian Sea. And +the ships of the radar patrol couldn't do anything about the rockets, +but they could and did converge savagely upon the places from which they +had been launched. Planes sped out to spot and bomb. Destroyers arrived. + +Somewhere there was a navy department that could write off two modern +submarines with rocket-launching equipment, last heard from west of +India. American naval men would profess bland ignorance of any such +event, but there were acres of dead fish floating on the ocean where +depth-bombs had hunted down and killed two shapes much too big to be +fish, which didn't float when they were killed and which would never +report back how they'd destroyed two space ships. There'd be seagulls +feasting over that area, and there'd be vague tales about the happening +in the bazaars of Hadhramaut. But nobody would ever admit knowing +anything for certain. + +But Joe knew. He got to his feet, wobbling a little bit in the soaring +plane. He ached everywhere. His muscles protested the strain of holding +him erect. He held fast, summoning strength. Before his little ship +broke up he'd been shaken intolerably, and his body had weighed half a +ton. Where his safety-belt had held him, his body was one wide bruise. +There'd been that killing acceleration when the ship split in two. The +others--except Mike--were in as bad a case or worse. Haney and the Chief +were like men who'd been rolled down Mount Everest in a barrel. All of +them had slept for fourteen hours straight before they even woke up for +food. Even now, Joe didn't remember boarding this plane or getting into +the bunk. He'd probably been carried in. + +Joe stood up, doggedly, until enough strength came to him to justify his +sitting down again. He began to dress. It was astonishing how many +places about his body were sore to the touch. It was startling how heavy +his arms and legs felt, and how much of an effort even sitting erect +was. But he began to remember Mike's adventure, and managed to grin +feebly. It was the only thing worth a smile in all the things that had +happened. + +Because Mike's landing had been quite unlike the others. Joe and the +Chief landed near the edge of a jungle. Haney landed in a canebrake. But +Mike came floating down from the sky, swaying splendidly, into the +estate of a minor godling. + +He was relatively unharmed by the shaking-up he'd had. The strength of +muscles depends on their cross-section, but their weight depends on +their volume. The strength of a man depends on the square of his size, +but his weight on the cube. So Mike had taken the deceleration and the +murderous vibration almost in his stride. He floated longer and landed +more gently than the rest. + +Joe grinned painfully at the memory of Mike's tale. He'd come on board +the rescue destroyer in a towering, explosive rage. When his +ribbon-parachute let him down out of the sky, it deposited him gently on +ploughed fields not far from a small and primitive Hindu village. He'd +been seen to descend from the heavens. He was a midget--not as other +men--and he was dressed in a space suit with glittering metal harness. + +The pagan villagers greeted him with rapture. + +When the searching-party found Mike, they were just in time to prevent a +massacre--by Mike. Adoring natives had seized upon him, conveyed him in +high state to a red mud temple, seemingly tried to suffocate him with +evidences of their pride and joy at his arrival, and dark-skinned +maidens were trying hopefully to win his approval of their dancing. But +the rescue-party found him with a club in his hand and blood in his eye, +setting out furiously to change the tone of his reception. + +Joe still didn't know all the details, but he tried to concentrate on +what he did know as he put his uniform on again. He didn't want to think +how little it meant, now. The silver space ship badge didn't mean a +thing, any more. There weren't any more space ships. The Platform wasn't +a ship, but a satellite. There'd never been but two ships. Both had +ceased to exist. + +Joe walked painfully forward in the huge, roaring plane. The motors made +a constant, humming thunder in his ears. It was not easy to walk. He +held on to handholds as he moved. But he progressed past the bunk space. +And there was Mike, sitting at a table and stuffing himself with good +honest food. There was a glass port beside him, and Joe caught a glimpse +of illimitable distances filled with cloud and sky and sea. + +Mike nodded. He didn't offer to help Joe walk. That wouldn't have been +practical. He waited until Joe sank into a seat opposite. + +"Good sleep?" asked Mike. + +"I guess so," said Joe. He added ruefully, "It hurts to nod, and I think +it would hurt worse to shake my head. What's the matter with me, Mike? I +didn't get banged up in the landing!" + +"You got banged up before you landed," said Mike. "Worse than that, you +spent better than six weeks out of gravity, where in an average day you +took less actual exercise than a guy in bed with two broken legs!" + +Joe eased himself back into his chair. He felt about 600 years old. +Somebody poked a head into view and withdrew it. Joe lifted his arm and +regarded it. + +"Weighty! I guess you're right, Mike." + +"I know I'm right!" said Mike. "If you spent six weeks in bed you'd +expect to feel wobbly when you tried to walk. Up on the Platform you +didn't even use energy to stand up! We didn't realize it, but we were +living like invalids! We'll get our strength back, but next time we'll +take measures. Huh! Take a trip to Mars in free fall, and by the time a +guy got there his muscles'd be so flabby he couldn't stand up in +half-gravity! Something's got to be done about that, Joe!" + +Joe said sombrely, "Something's got to be done about space ships before +that comes up again!" + +Somebody appeared with a tray. There was food on it. Smoking hot food. +Joe looked at it and knew that his appetite, anyhow, was back to Earth +normal. + +"Thanks!" he mumbled appreciatively, and attacked the food. + +Mike drank his coffee. Then he said, "Joe, do you know anything about +powder metallurgy?" + +Joe shrugged. It hurt. "Powder metallurgy? Yes, I've seen it used, at my +father's plant. They've made small precision parts with it. Why?" + +"D'you know if anybody ever made a weld with it?" asked Mike. + +Joe chewed. Then he said: + +"I think so. Yes. At the plant they did. They had trouble getting the +surfaces properly cleaned for welding. But they managed it. Why?" + +"One more question," said Mike tensely. "How much Portland cement is +used to make a cubic yard of concrete?" + +"I wouldn't know," admitted Joe. "Why? What's all this about?" + +"Haney and the Chief. Those two big apes have been kidding me--as long +as they could stay awake--for what happened to me when I landed. Those +infernal savages--" Mike seethed. "They got my clothes off and they had +me smeared all over with butter and forty-'leven necklaces around my +neck and flowers in my hair! They thought I was some kind of heathen +god! Hanuman, somebody told me. The Hindu monkey-god!" He raged. "And +those two big apes think it's funny! Joe, I never knew I _knew_ all the +words for the cussings I gave those heathen before our fellas found me! +And Haney and the Chief will drive me crazy if I can't slap 'em down! +Powder metallurgy does the trick, from what you told me. That's okay, +then." + +He stood up and stalked toward the front of the plane. Joe roused +himself with an effort. He turned to look about him. Haney lay slumped +in a reclining chair, on the other side of the plane cabin. His eyes +were closed. The Chief lay limply in another chair. He smiled faintly at +Joe, but he didn't try to talk. He was too tired. The return to normal +gravity bothered him, as it did Joe. + +Joe looked out the window. In neat, geometric spacing on either side of +the transport there were fighter jets. There was another flight above +and farther away. Joe saw, suddenly, a peeling-off of planes from the +farther formation. They dived down through the clouds. He never knew +what they went to look for or what they found. He went groggily back to +his bunk in a strange and embarrassing weakness. + +He woke when the plane landed. He didn't know where it might be. It was, +he knew, an island. He could see the wide, sun-baked white of the +runways. He could see sea-birds in clouds over at the edge. The plane +trundled and lurched slowly to a stop. A service-truck came growling +up, and somebody led cables from it up into the engines. Somebody +watched dials, and waved a hand. + +There was silence. There was stillness. Joe heard voices and footsteps. +Presently he heard the dull booming of surf. + +The plane seemed to wait for a very long time. Then there was a faint, +faint distant whine of jets, and a plane came from the east. It was +first a dot and then a vague shape, and then an infinitely graceful dark +object which swooped down and landed at the other end of the strip. It +came taxiing up alongside the transport ship and stopped. + +An officer in uniform climbed out, waved his hand, and walked over to +the transport. He climbed up the ladder and the pilot and co-pilot +followed him. They took their places. The door closed. One by one, the +jets chugged, then roared to life. + +The officer talked to the pilot and co-pilot for a moment. He came down +the aisle toward Joe. Mike the midget regarded him suspiciously. + +The plane stirred. The newly arrived officer said pleasantly, "The Navy +Department's sent me out here, Kenmore, to be briefed on what you know +and to do a little briefing in turn." + +The transport plane turned clumsily and began to taxi down the runway. +It jolted and bumped over the tarmac, then lifted, and Joe saw that the +island was nearly all airfield. There were a few small buildings and +distance-dwarfed hangars. Beyond the field proper there was a ring of +white surf. That was all. The rest was ocean. + +"I haven't much briefing to do," admitted Joe. + +Then he looked at the briefcase the other man opened. It had sheets and +sheets of paper in it--hundreds, it seemed. They were filled with +questions. He'd be called on to find answers for most of them, and to +admit he didn't know the answers to the rest. When he was through with +this questioning, every possible useful fact he knew would be on file +for future use. And now he wrily recognized that this was part payment +for the efficiency and speed with which the Navy had trailed them on +their landing, and for the use of a transport plane to take them back to +the United States. + +"I'll try to answer what I can," he said cautiously. "But what're you to +brief me about?" + +"That you're not back on Earth yet," said the officer curtly, pulling +out the first sheaf of questions. "Officially you haven't even started +back. Ostensibly you're still on the Platform." + +Joe blinked at him. + +"If your return were known," continued the lieutenant, "the public would +want to make heroes of you. First space travelers, and so on. They'd +want you on television--all of you--telling about your adventures and +your return. Inevitably, what happened to your ship would leak out. And +if the public knew you'd been waylaid and shot down there'd be demands +that the government take violent action to avenge the attack. It'd be +something like the tumult over the sinking of the _Maine_, or the +_Lusitania_--or even Pearl Harbor. It's much better for your return to +be a secret for now." + +Joe said wrily: "I don't think any of us want to be ridden around to +have ticker-tape dumped on us. That part's all right. I'm sure the +others will agree." + +"Good! One more difficulty. We had two space ships. Now we have none. +Our most likely enemies haven't only been building rockets, they've got +a space fleet coming along. Intelligence just found out they're nearly +ready for trial trips. They've been yelling to high heaven that we were +building a space fleet to conquer the world. We weren't. They were. And +it looks very much as if they may have beaten us." + +The lieutenant got out the dreary mass of papers, intended to call for +every conscious or unconscious observation Joe might have made in space. +It was the equivalent of the interviews extracted from fliers after a +bombing raid, and it was necessary, but Joe was very tired. + +Wearily, he said, "Start your questions. I'll try to answer them." + +They arrived in Bootstrap some forty-six hours after the crashing of +their ship. Joe, at least, had slept nearly thirty of those hours. So +while he was still wobbly on his feet and would be for days to come, +his disposition was vastly improved. + +There was nobody waiting on the airfield by the town of Bootstrap, but +as they landed a black car came smoothly out and stopped close by the +transport. Joe got down and climbed into it. Sally Holt was inside. She +took both his hands and cried, and he was horribly embarrassed when the +Chief came blundering into the car after him. But the Chief growled, "If +he didn't kiss you, Sally, I'm going to kick his pants for him." + +"He--he did," said Sally, gulping. "And I'm glad you're back, Chief. And +Haney. And Mike." + +Mike grinned as he climbed in the back too. Haney crowded in after him. +They filled the rear of the car entirely. It started off swiftly across +the field, swerving to the roadway that led to the highway out of +Bootstrap to the Shed. It sped out that long white concrete ribbon, and +the desert was abruptly all around them. Far ahead, the great round +half-dome of the Shed looked like a cherry-pit on the horizon. + +"It's good to be back!" said the Chief warmly. "I feel like I weigh a +ton, but it's good to be back! Mike's the only one who was happier out +yonder. He figures he belongs there. I got a story to tell you, +Sally----" + +"Chief!" said Mike fiercely. "Shut up!" + +"Won't," said the Chief amiably. "Sally, this guy Mike----" + +Mike went pale. "You're too big to kill," he said bitterly, "but I'll +try it!" + +The Chief grunted at him. "Quit being modest. Sally----" + +Mike flung himself at the Chief, literally snarling. His small fist hit +the Chief's face--and Mike was small but he was not puny. The "crack" of +the impact was loud in the car. Haney grabbed. There was a moment's +frenzied struggling. Then Mike was helplessly wrapped in Haney's arms, +incoherent with fury and shame. + +"Crazy fool!" grunted the Chief, feeling his jaw. "What's the matter +with you? Don't you feel good?" + +He was angry, but he was more concerned. Mike was white and raging. + +"You tell that," he panted shrilly, "and so help me----" + +"What's got into you?" demanded Haney anxiously. "I'd be bragging, I +would, if I'd got a brainstorm like you did! That guy Sanford woulda +wiped us all out----" + +The Chief said angrily, between unease and puzzlement: + +"I never knew you to go off your nut like this before! What's got into +you, anyway?" + +Mike gulped suddenly. Haney still held him firmly, but both Haney and +the Chief were looking at him with worried eyes. And Mike said +desperately: "You were going to tell Sally----" + +The Chief snorted. + +"Huh! You fool little runt! No! I was going to tell her about you +opening up that airlock when Sanford locked us out! Sure I kidded you +about what you're talking about! Sure! I'm going to do it again! But +that's amongst us! I don't tell that outside!" + +Haney made an inarticulate exclamation. He understood, and he was +relieved. But he looked disgusted. He released Mike abruptly, rumbling +to himself. He stared out the window. And Mike stood upright, an absurd +small figure. His face worked a little. + +"Okay," said Mike, with a little difficulty. "I was dumb. Only, Chief, +you owe me a sock on the jaw when you feel like it. I'll take it." + +He swallowed. Sally was watching wide-eyed. + +"Sally," said Mike bitterly, "I'm a bigger fool than I look. I thought +the Chief was going to tell you what happened when I landed. I--I +floated down in a village over there in India, and those crazy savages'd +never seen a parachute, and they began to yell and make gestures, and +first thing I knew they had a sort of litter and were piling me in it, +and throwing flowers all over me, and there was a procession----" + +Sally listened blankly. Mike told the tale of his shame with the very +quintessence of bitter resentment. When he got to his installation in a +red-painted mud temple, and the reverent and forcible removal of his +clothes so he could be greased with butter, Sally's lips began to +twitch. At the picture of Mike in a red loincloth, squirming furiously +while brown-skinned admirers zestfully sang his praises, howling his +rage while they celebrated some sort of pious festival in honor of his +arrival, Sally broke down and laughed helplessly. + +Mike stared at her, aghast. He felt that he'd hated the Chief when he +thought the Chief was going to tell the tale on him as a joke. He'd told +it on himself as a penance, in the place of the blow he'd given the +Chief and which the Chief wouldn't return. To Mike it was still tragedy. +It was still an outrage to his dignity. But Sally was laughing. She +rocked back and forth next to Joe, helpless with mirth. + +"Oh, Mike!" she gasped. "It's beautiful! They must have been saying such +lovely, respectful things, while you were calling them names and wanting +to kill them! They'd have been bragging to each other about how you +were--visiting them because they'd been such good people, and--this was +the reward of well-spent lives, and you--you----" + +She leaned against Joe and shook. The car went on. The Chief chuckled. +Haney grinned. Joe watched Mike as this new aspect of his disgrace got +into his consciousness. It hadn't occurred to Mike, before, that anybody +but himself had been ridiculous. It hadn't occurred to him, until he +lost his temper, that Haney and the Chief would ride him mercilessly +among themselves, but would not dream of letting anybody outside the +gang do so. + +Presently Mike managed to grin a little. It was a twisty grin, and not +altogether mirthful. + +"Yeah," he said wrily. "I see it. They were crazy too. I should've had +more sense than to get mad." Then his grin grew a trifle twistier. "I +didn't tell you that the thing that made me maddest was when they wanted +to put earrings on me. I grabbed a club then and--uh--persuaded them I +didn't like the idea." + +Sally chortled. The picture of the small, truculent Mike in frenzied +revolt with a club against the idea of being decked with jewelry.... +Mike turned to the two big men and shoved at them imperiously. + +"Move over!" he growled. "If you two big lummoxes had dropped in on +those crazy goofs instead of me, they'd've thought you were elephants +and set you to work hauling logs!" + +He squirmed to a seat between them. He still looked ashamed, but it was +shame of a different sort. Now he looked as if he wished he hadn't +mistrusted his friends for even a moment. And he included Sally. + +"Anyhow," he said suddenly in a different tone, "maybe it did do some +good for me to get all worked up! I got kind of frantic. I figured +somebody'd made a fool of me, and I was going to put something over on +you." + +"Mike!" said Sally reproachfully. + +"Not like you think, Sally," said Mike, grinning a little. "I made up my +mind to beat these lummoxes at their own game. I asked Joe about my +brainstorm in the plane. He didn't know what I was driving at, but he +said what I hoped was so. So I'm telling you--and," he added fiercely, +"if it's any good everybody gets credit for it, because all of us +four--even two big apes who try kidding--are responsible for it!" + +He glared at them. Joe asked. "What is it, Mike?" + +"I think," said Mike, "I think I've got a trick to make space ships +quicker than anybody ever dreamed of. Joe says you can make a weld with +powder metallurgy. And I think we can use that trick to make one-piece +ships--lighter and stronger and tighter--and fast enough to make your +head swim! And you guys are in on it!" + +The black car braked by the entrance to the Security offices outside the +Shed. It looked completely deserted. There was only a skeleton force +here since the Platform had been launched three months before. There was +almost nobody to be seen, but Mike pressed his lips pugnaciously +together as they got out of the car and went inside. + +The four of them, with Sally, went along the empty corridors to the +major's office. He was waiting for them. He shook hands all around. But +it was not possible for Major Holt to give an impression of cordiality. + +"I'm very glad to see all of you back," he said curtly. "It didn't look +like you'd make it. Joe, you will be able to reach your father by +long-distance telephone as soon as you finish here. I--ah--thought it +would not be indiscreet to tell him you had landed safely, though I did +ask him to keep the fact to himself." + +"Thank you, sir," said Joe. + +"You answered most of the questions you needed to answer on the plane," +added the major, grimly, "and now you may want to ask some. You know +there is no ship for you. You know that the enemies of the Platform +copied our rocket fuel. You know they've made rockets with it. You've +met them! And Intelligence says they're building a fleet of space +ships--not for space exploration, but simply to smash the Platform and +get set for an ultimatum to the United States to backwater or be +bombarded from space." + +Mike said crisply: "How long before they can do it?" + +Major Holt turned uncordial eyes upon him. "It's anybody's guess. Why?" + +"We've been working something out," said Mike, firmly but in part +untruthfully. He stood sturdily before the major's desk, which he barely +topped. "The four of us have been working it out. Joe says they've done +powder metallurgy welds, back at his father's plant. Joe and Haney and +the Chief and me, we've been working out an idea." + +Major Holt waited. His hands moved nervously on his desk. Joe looked at +Mike. Haney and the Chief regarded him warily. The Chief cocked his head +on one side. + +"It'll take a minute to get it across," said Mike. "You have to think of +concrete first. When you want to make a cubic yard of concrete, you take +a cubic yard of gravel. Then you add some sand--just enough to fill in +the cracks between the gravel. Then you put in some cement. It goes in +the cracks between the grains of sand. A little bit of cement makes a +lot of concrete. See?" + +Major Holt frowned. But he knew these four. "I see, but I don't +understand." + +"You can weld metals together with powder-metallurgy powder at less than +red heat. You can take steel filings for sand and steel turnings for +gravel and powdered steel for cement--" + +Joe jolted erect. He looked startledly at Haney and the Chief. And +Haney's mouth was dropping open. A great, dreamy light seemed to be +bursting upon him. The Chief regarded Mike with very bright eyes. And +Mike sturdily, forcefully, coldly, made a sort of speech in his small +and brittle voice. + +Things could be made of solid steel, he said sharply, without rolling or +milling or die-casting the metal, and without riveting or arc-welding +the parts together. The trick was powder metallurgy. Very finely +powdered metal, packed tightly and heated to a relatively low +temperature--"sintered" is the word--becomes a solid mass. Even alloys +can be made by mixing powdered metals. The process had been used only +for small objects, but--there was the analogy to concrete. A very little +powder could weld much metal, in the form of turnings and smaller bits. +And the result would be solid steel! + +Then Mike grew impassioned. There was a wooden mockup of a space ship in +the Shed, he said. It was an absolutely accurate replica, in wood, of +the ships that had been destroyed. But one could take castings of it, +and use them for molds, and fill them with powder and filings and +turnings, and heat them not even red-hot and there would be steel hulls +in one piece. Solid steel hulls! Needing no riveting nor anything +else--and one could do it fast! While the first hull was fitting out a +second could be molded---- + +The Chief roared: "You fool little runt!" he bellowed. "Tryin' to give +us credit for that! You got more sense than any of us! You worked that +out in your own head----" + +Haney rubbed his hands together. He said softly, "I like that! I do like +that!" + +Major Holt turned his eyes to Joe. "What's your opinion?" + +"I think it's the sort of thing, sir, that a professional engineer would +say was a good idea but not practical. He'd mean it would be a lot of +trouble to get working. But I'd like to ask my father. They have done +powder welding at the plant back home, sir." + +Major Holt nodded. "Call your father. If it looks promising, I'll pull +what wires I can." + +Joe went out, with the others. Mike was sweating. All unconsciously, he +twisted his hands one within the other. He had had many humiliations +because he was small, but lately he had humiliated himself by not +believing in his friends. Now he needed desperately to do something that +would reflect credit on them as well as himself. + +Joe made the phone call. As he closed the door of the booth, he heard +the Chief kidding Mike blandly. + +"Hey, Einstein," said the Chief. "How about putting that brain of yours +to work on a faster-than-light drive?" + +But then he began to struggle with the long distance operator. It took +minutes to get the plant, and then it took time to get to the point, +because his father insisted on asking anxiously how he was and if he was +hurt in any way. Personal stuff. But Joe finally managed to explain that +this call dealt with the desperate need to do something about a space +fleet. + +His father said grimly, "Yes. The situation doesn't look too good right +now, Joe." + +"Try this on for size, sir," said Joe. He outlined Mike's scheme. His +father interrupted only to ask crisp questions about the mockup of the +tender, already in existence though made of wood. Then he said, "Go on, +son!" + +Joe finished. He heard his father speaking to someone away from the +phone. Questions and answers, and then orders. His father spoke to him +direct. + +"It looks promising, Joe," said his father. "Right here at the plant +we've got the gang that can do it if anybody can. I'm getting a plane +and coming out there, fast! Get Major Holt to clear things for me. This +is no time for red tape! If he has trouble, I'll pull some wires +myself!" + +"Then I can tell Mike it's good stuff?" + +"It's not good stuff," said his father. "There are about forty-seven +things wrong with it at first glance, but I know how to take care of one +or two, and we'll lick the rest. You tell your friend Mike I want to +shake him by the hand. I hope to do it tonight!" + +He hung up, and Joe went out of the phone booth. Mike looked at him +with yearning eyes. Joe lied a little, because Mike rated it. + +"My father's on the way here to help make it work," he told Mike. Then +he added untruthfully: "He said he thought he knew all the big men in +his line, and where've you been that he hasn't heard of you?" + +He turned away as the Chief whooped with glee. He hurried back to Major +Holt as the Chief and Haney began zestfully to manhandle Mike in +celebration of his genius. + +The major held up his hand as Joe entered. He was using the desk phone. +Joe waited. When he hung up, Joe reported. The major seemed unsurprised. + +"Yes, I had Washington on the wire," he said detachedly. "I talked to a +personal friend who's a three-star general. There will be action started +at the Pentagon. When you came in I was arranging with the largest +producers of powder-metallurgy products in the country to send their +best men here by plane. They will start at once. Now I have to get in +touch with some other people." + +Joe gaped at him. The major moved impatiently, waiting for Joe to leave. +Joe gulped. "Excuse me, sir, but--my father didn't say it was certain. +He just thinks it can be made to work. He's not sure." + +"I didn't even wait for that, something has to turn up to take care of +this situation!" said the Major with asperity. "It has to! This +particular scheme may not work, but if it doesn't, something will come +out of the work on it! You should look at a twenty-five cent piece +occasionally, Joe!" + +He moved impatiently, and Joe went out. Sally was smiling in the outer +office. There were whoopings in the corridor beyond. The Chief and Haney +were celebrating Mike's brainstorm with salutary indignity, because if +they didn't make a joke of it he might cry with joy. + +"Things look better?" + +"They do," said Joe. "If it only works...." + +Then he hunted in his pocket. He found a quarter and examined it +curiously. On one side he found nothing the major could have referred +to. On the other side, though, just by George Washington's chin---- + +He put the quarter away and took Sally's arm. + +"It'll be all right," he said slowly. + +But there were times when it seemed in doubt. Joe's father arrived by +plane at sunset of that same day, and he and three men from the Kenmore +Precision Tool Company instantly closeted themselves with Mike in Major +Holt's quarters. The powder metallurgy men turned up an hour later, and +a three-star general from Washington. They joined the highly technical +discussion. + +Joe waited around outside, feeling left out of things. He sat on the +porch with Sally while the moon rose over the desert and stars shone +down. Inside, matters of high importance were being battled over with +the informality and heat with which practical men get things settled. +But Joe wasn't in on it. He said annoyedly, "You'd think my father'd +have something to say to me, in all this mess! After all, I have +been--well, I have been places! But all he said was, 'How are you, Son? +Where's this Mike you talked about?'" + +Sally said calmly, "I know just how you feel. You've made me feel that +way." She looked up at the moon. "I thought about you all the time you +were gone, and I--prayed for you, Joe. And now you're back and not even +busy! But you don't---- It would be nice for you to think about me for a +while!" + +"I am thinking about you!" said Joe indignantly. + +"Now what," said Sally interestedly, "in the world could you be thinking +about me?" + +He wanted to scowl at her. But he grinned instead. + + + + +7 + + +Time passed. Hours, then days. Things began to happen. Trucks appeared, +loaded down with sacks of white powder. The powder was very messily +mixed with water and smeared lavishly over the now waterproofed wooden +mockup of a space ship. It came off again in sections of white plaster, +which were numbered and set to dry in warm chambers that were +constructed with almost magical speed. More trucks arrived, bearing such +diverse objects as loads of steel turnings, a regenerative +helium-cooling plant from a gaswell--it could cool metal down to the +point where it crumbled to impalpable powder at a blow--and assorted +fuel tanks, dynamos, and electronic machinery. + +Ten days after Mike's first proposal of concreted steel as a material +for space ship construction, the parts of the first casting of the +mockup were assembled. They were a mold for the hull of a space ship. +There were more plaster sections for a second mold ready to be dried out +now, but meanwhile vehicles like concrete mixers mixed turnings and +filings and powder in vast quantities and poured the dry mass here and +there in the first completed mold. Then men began to wrap the gigantic +object with iron wire. Presently that iron wire glowed slightly, and the +whole huge mold grew hotter and hotter and hotter. And after a time it +was allowed to cool. + +But that did not mean a ceasing of activity. The plaster casts had been +made while the concreting process was worked out. The concreting +process--including the heating--was in action while fittings were being +flown to the Shed. But other hulls were being formed by metal-concrete +formation even before the first mold was taken down. + +When the plaster sections came off, there was a long, gleaming, +frosty-sheened metal hull waiting for the fittings. It was a replacement +of one of the two shot-down space craft, ready for fitting out some six +weeks ahead of schedule. Next day there was a second metal hull, still +too hot to touch. The day after that there was another. + +Then they began to be turned out at the rate of two a day, and all the +vast expanse of the Shed resounded with the work on them. Drills drilled +and torches burned and hammers hammered. Small diesels rumbled. Disk +saws cut metal like butter by the seemingly impractical method of +spinning at 20,000 revolutions per minute. Convoys of motor busses +rolled out from Bootstrap at change-shift time, and there were again +Security men at every doorway, moving continually about. + +But it still didn't look too good. There is apparently no way to beat +arithmetic, and a definitely grim problem still remained. Ten days after +the beginning of the new construction program, Joe and Sally looked down +from a gallery high up in the outward-curving wall of the Shed. Acres of +dark flooring lay beneath them. There was a spiral ramp that wound round +and round between the twin skins of the fifty-story-high dome. It led +finally to the Communications Room at the very top of the Shed itself. + +Where Joe and Sally looked down, the floor was 300 feet below. Welding +arcs glittered. Rivet guns chattered. Trucks came in the doorways with +materials, and there was already a gleaming row of eighty-foot hulls. +There were eleven of them already uncovered, and small trucks ran up to +their sides to feed the fitting-out crews such items as air tanks and +gyro assemblies and steering rocket piping and motors, and short wave +communicators and control boards. Exit doors were being fitted. The last +two hulls to be uncovered were being inspected with portable x-ray +outfits, in search of flaws. And there were still other ungainly white +molds, which were other hulls in process of formation--the metal still +pouring into the molds in powder form, or being tamped down, or being +sintered to solidity. + +Joe leaned on the gallery-railing and said unhappily, "I can't help +worrying, even though the Platform hasn't been shot at since we landed." + +That wasn't an expression of what he was thinking. He was thinking about +matters the enemies of the Platform would have liked to know about. +Sally knew these matters too. But top secret information isn't talked +about by the people who know it, unless they are actively at work on it. +At all other times one pretends even to himself that he doesn't know it. +That is the only possible way to avoid leaks. + +The top secret information was simply that it was still impossible to +supply the Platform. Ships could be made faster than had ever been +dreamed of before, but so long as any ship that went up could be +destroyed on the way down, the supply of the Platform was impractical. +But the ships were being built regardless, against the time when a way +to get them down again was thought of. As of the moment it hadn't been +thought of yet. + +But building the ships anyhow was unconscious genius, because nobody but +Americans could imagine anything so foolish. The enemies of the Platform +and of the United States knew that full-scale production of ships by +some fantastic new method was in progress. The fact couldn't be hidden. +But nobody in a country where material shortages were chronic could +imagine building ships before a way to use them was known. So the +Platform's enemies were convinced that the United States had something +wholly new and very remarkable, and threatened their spies with +unspeakable fates if they didn't find out what it was. + +They didn't find out. The rulers of the enemy nations knew, of course, +that if a new--say--space-drive had been invented, they would very soon +have to change their tune. So there were no more attacks on the +Platform. It floated serenely overhead, sending down astronomical +observations and solar-constant measurements and weather maps, while +about it floated a screen of garbage and discarded tin cans. + +But Joe and Sally looked down where the ships were being built while the +problem of how to use them was debated. + +"It's a tough nut to crack," said Joe dourly. + +It haunted him. Ships going up had to have crews. Crews had to come down +again because they had to leave supplies at the Platform, not consume +them there. Getting a ship up to orbit was easier than getting it down +again. + +"The Navy's been working on light guided missiles," said Sally. + +"No good," snapped Joe. + +It wasn't. He'd been asked for advice. Could a space ship crew control +guided missiles and fight its way back to ground with them? The answer +was that it could. But guided missiles used to fight one's way down +would have to be carried up first. And they would weigh as much as all +the cargo a ship could carry. A ship that carried fighting rockets +couldn't carry cargo. Cargo at the Platform was the thing desired. + +"All that's needed," said Sally, watching Joe's face, "is a slight touch +of genius. There's been genius before now. Burning your cabin free with +landing-rocket flames----" + +"Haney's idea," growled Joe dispiritedly. + +"And making more ships in a hurry with metal-concrete----" + +"Mike did that," said Joe ruefully. + +"But you made the garbage-screen for the Platform," insisted Sally. + +"Sanford had made a wisecrack," said Joe. "And it just happened that it +made sense that he hadn't noticed." He grimaced. "You say something like +that, now...." + +Sally looked at him with soft eyes. It wasn't really his job, this +worrying. The top-level brains of the armed forces were struggling with +it. They were trying everything from redesigned rocket motors to really +radical notions. But there wasn't anything promising yet. + +"What's really needed," said Sally regretfully, "is a way for ships to +go up to the Platform and not have to come back." + +"Sure!" said Joe ironically. Then he said, "Let's go down!" + +They started down the long, winding ramp which led between the two skins +of the Shed's wall. It was quite empty, this long, curving, descending +corridor. It was remarkably private. In a place like the Shed, with +frantic activity going on all around, and even at Major Holt's quarters +where Sally lived and Joe was a guest, there wasn't often a chance for +them to talk in any sort of actual privacy. + +But Joe went on, scowling. Sally went with him. If she seemed to hang +back a little at first, he didn't notice. Presently she shrugged her +shoulders and ceased to try to make him notice that nobody else happened +to be around. They made a complete circuit of the Shed within its wall, +Joe staring ahead without words. + +Then he stopped abruptly. His expression was unbelieving. Sally almost +bumped into him. + +"What's the matter?" + +"You had it, Sally!" he said amazedly. "You did it! You said it!" + +"What?" + +"The touch of genius!" He almost babbled. "Ships that can go up to the +Platform and not have to come back! Sally, you did it! You did it!" + +She regarded him helplessly. He took her by the shoulders as if to shake +her into comprehension. But he kissed her exuberantly instead. + +"Come on!" he said urgently. "I've got to tell the gang!" + +He grabbed her hand and set off at a run for the bottom of the ramp. And +Sally, with remarkably mingled emotions showing on her face, was dragged +in his wake. + +He was still pulling her after him when he found the Chief and Haney and +Mike in the room at Security where they were practically self-confined, +lest their return to Earth become too publicly known. Mike was stalking +up and down with his hands clasped behind his back, glum as a miniature +Napoleon and talking bitterly. The Chief was sprawled in a chair. Haney +sat upright regarding his knuckles with a thoughtful air. + +Joe stepped inside the door. Mike continued without a pause: "I tell +you, if they'll only use little guys like me, the cabin and supplies and +crew can be cut down by tons! Even the instruments can be smaller and +weigh less! Four of us in a smaller cabin, less grub and air and +water--we'll save tons in cabin-weight alone! Why can't you big lummoxes +see it?" + +"We see it, Mike," Haney said mildly. "You're right. But people won't do +it. It's not fair, but they won't." + +Joe said, beaming, "Besides, Mike, it'd bust up our gang! And Sally's +just gotten the real answer! The answer is for ships to go up to the +Platform and not come back!" + +He grinned at them. The Chief raised his eyebrows. Haney turned his head +to stare. Joe said exuberantly: "They've been talking about arming ships +with guided missiles to fight with. Too heavy, of course. But--if we +could handle guided missiles, why couldn't we handle drones?" + +The three of them gaped at him. Sally said, startled, "But--but, Joe, I +didn't----" + +"We've got plenty of hulls!" said Joe. Somehow he still looked +astonished at what he'd made of Sally's perfectly obvious comment. +"Mike's arranged for that! Make--say--six of 'em into drones--space +barges. Remote-controlled ships. Control them from one manned ship--the +tug! We'll ride that! Take 'em up to the Platform exactly like a tug +tows barges. The tow-line will be radio beams. We'll have a space-tow +up, and not bother to bring the barges back! There won't be any landing +rockets! They'll carry double cargo! That's the answer! A space tug +hauling a tow to the Platform!" + +"But, Joe," insisted Sally, "I didn't think of----" + +The Chief heaved himself up. Haney's voice cut through what the Chief +was about to say. Haney said drily: "Sally, if Joe hadn't kissed you for +thinking that up, I would. Makes me feel mighty dumb." + +Mike swallowed. Then he said loyally, "Yeah. Me too. I'd've made a +two-ton cargo possible--maybe. But this adds up. What does the major +say?" + +"I--haven't talked to him. I'd better, right away." Joe grinned. "I +wanted to tell you first." + +The Chief grunted. "Good idea. But hold everything!" He fumbled in his +pocket. "The arithmetic is easy enough, Joe. Cut out the crew and air +and you save something." He felt in another pocket. "Leave off the +landing rockets, and you save plenty more. Count in the cargo you could +take anyhow"---- he searched another pocket still----"and you get +forty-two tons of cargo per space barge, delivered at the Platform. Six +drones--that's 252 tons in one tow! Here!" He'd found what he wanted. It +was a handkerchief. He thrust it upon Joe. "Wipe that lipstick off, Joe, +before you go talk to the major. He's Sally's father and he might not +like it." + +Joe wiped at his face. Sally, her eyes shining, took the handkerchief +from him and finished the job. She displayed that remarkable +insensitivity of females in situations productive of both pride and +embarrassment. When a girl or a woman is proud, she is never +embarrassed. + +She and Joe went away, and Sally rushed right into her father's office. +In fifteen minutes technical men began to arrive for conferences, +summoned by telephone. Within forty-five minutes, messengers carried +orders out to the Shed floor and stopped the installation of certain +types of fittings in all but one of the hulls. In an hour and a half, +top technical designers were doing the work of foremen and getting +things done without benefit of blueprints. The proposal was beautifully +simple to put into practice. Guided-missile control systems were already +in mass production. They could simply be adjusted to take care of +drones. + +Within twelve hours there were truck-loads of new sorts of supplies +arriving at the Shed. Some were Air Force supplies and some were +Ordnance, and some were strictly Quartermaster. These were not component +parts of space ships. They were freight for the Platform. + +And, just forty-eight hours after Joe and Sally looked dispiritedly down +upon the floor of the Shed, there were seven gleaming hulls in launching +cages and the unholy din of landing pushpots outside the Shed. They came +with hysterical cries from their airfield to the south, and they flopped +flat with extravagant crashings on the desert outside the eastern door. + +By the time the pushpots had been hauled in, one by one, and had +attached themselves to the launching cages, Joe and Haney and the Chief +and Mike had climbed into the cabin of the one ship which was not a +drone. There were now seven cages in all to be hoisted toward the sky. A +great double triangular gore had been jacked out and rolled aside to +make an exit in the side of the Shed. Nearly as many pushpots, it +seemed, were involved in this launching as in the take-off of the +Platform itself. + +The routine test before take-off set the pushpot motors to roaring +inside the Shed. The noise was the most sustained and ghastly tumult +that had been heard on Earth since the departure of the Platform. + +But this launching was not so impressive. It was definitely untidy, +imprecise, and unmilitary. There were seven eighty-foot hulls in cages +surrounded by clustering, bellowing, preposterous groups of howling +objects that looked like over-sized black beetles. One of the seven +hulls had eyes. The others were blind--but they were equipped with radio +antennae. The ship with eyes had several small basket-type radar bowls +projecting from its cabin plating. + +The seven objects rose one by one and went bellowing and blundering out +to the open air. At 40 and 50 feet above the ground, they jockeyed into +some sort of formation, with much wallowing and pitching and clumsy +maneuvering. + +Then, without preliminary, they started up. They rose swiftly. The noise +of their going diminished from a bellow to a howl, and from a howl to a +moaning noise, and then to a faint, faint, ever-dwindling hum. + +Presently that faded out, too. + + + + +8 + + +All the sensations were familiar, the small fleet of improbable objects +rose and rose. Of all flying objects ever imagined by man, the launching +cages supported by pushpots were most irrational. + +The squadron, though, went bumbling upward. In the manned ship, Joe was +more tense than on his other take-off--if such a thing was possible. His +work was harder this trip. Before, he'd had Mike at communications and +the Chief at the steering rockets while Haney kept the pushpots balanced +for thrust. Now Joe flew the manned ship alone. Headphones and a mike +gave him communications with the Shed direct, and the pushpots were +balanced in groups, which cost efficiency but helped on control. He +would have, moreover, to handle his own steering rockets during +acceleration and when he could--and dared--he should supervise the +others. Because each of the other three had two drone-ships to guide. +True, they had only to keep their drones in formation, but Joe had to +navigate for all. The four of them had been assigned this flight because +of its importance. They happened to be the only crew alive who had ever +flown a space ship designed for maneuvering, and their experience +consisted of a single trip. + +The jet stream was higher this time than on that other journey now two +months past. They blundered into it at 36,000 feet. Joe's headphones +buzzed tinnily. Radar from the ground told him his rate-of-rise, his +ground speed, his orbital speed, and added comments on the handling of +the drones. + +The last was not a precision job. On the way up Joe protested, +"Somebody's ship--Number Four--is lagging! Snap it up!" + +Mike said crisply, "Got it, Joe. Coming up!" + +"The Shed says three separate ships are getting out of formation. And we +need due east pointing. Check it." + +The Chief muttered, "Something whacky here ... come round, you! Okay, +Joe." + +Joe had no time for reflection. He was in charge of the clumsiest +operation ever designed for an exact result. The squadron went wallowing +toward the sky. The noise was horrible. A tinny voice in his headphones: + +"_You are at 65,000 feet. Your rate-of-climb curve is flattening. You +should fire your jatos when practical. You have some leeway in rocket +power._" + +Joe spoke into the extraordinary maze of noise waves and pressure +systems in the air of the cabin. + +"We should blast. I'm throwing in the series circuit for jatos. Try to +line up. We want the drones above us and with a spread, remember! Go to +it!" + +He watched his direction indicator and the small graphic indicators +telling of the drones. The sky outside the ports was dark purple. The +launching cage responded sluggishly. Its open end came around toward the +east. It wobbled and wavered. It touched the due-east point. Joe stabbed +the firing-button. + +Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it. The seven ships had to keep in +formation. They had to start off on one course--with a slight spread as +a safety measure--and at one time. So the firing-circuits were keyed to +relays in series. Only when all seven firing-keys were down at the same +time would any of the jatos fire. Then all would blast together. + +The pilots in the cockpit-bubbles of the pushpots had an extraordinary +view of the scene. At something over twelve miles height, seven +aggregations of clumsy black things clung to frameworks of steel, +pushing valorously. Far below there were clouds and there was Earth. +There was a horizon, which wavered and tilted. The pushpots struggled +with seeming lack of purpose. One of the seven seemed to drop below the +others. They pointed vaguely this way and that--all of them. But +gradually they seemed to arrive at an uncertain unanimity. + +Joe pushed the firing-button again as his own ship touched the due-east +mark. Again nothing happened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Haney +pressing down both buttons. The Chief's finger lifted. Mike pushed down +one button and held off the other. + +Roarings and howlings of pushpots. Wobblings and heart-breaking +clumsinesses of the drone-ships. They hung in the sky while the pushpots +used up their fuel. + +"We've got to make it soon," said Joe grimly. "We've got forty seconds. +Or we'll have to go down and try again." + +There was a clock dial with a red sweep-hand which moved steadily and +ominously toward a deadline time for firing. Up to that deadline, the +pushpots could let the ships back down to Earth without crashing them. +After it, they'd run out of fuel before a landing could be made. + +The deadline came closer and closer. Joe snapped: + +"Take a degree leeway. We've got ten seconds." + +He had the manned ship nearly steady. He held down the firing-button, +holding aim by infinitesimal movements of the controls. Haney pushed +both hands down, raised one, pushed again. The Chief had one finger +down. Mike had both firing buttons depressed.... The Chief pushed down +his second button, quietly. + +There was a monstrous impact. Every jato in every pushpot about every +launching cage fired at once. Joe felt himself flung back into his +acceleration chair. Six gravities. He began the horrible fight to stay +alive, while the blood tried to drain from the conscious forepart of his +brain, and while every button of his garments pressed noticeably against +him, and objects in his pockets pushed. The sides of his mouth dragged +back, and his cheeks sagged, and his tongue strove to sink back into his +throat and strangle him. + +It was very bad. It seemed to last for centuries. + +Then the jatos burned out. There was that ghastly feeling of lunging +forward to weightlessness. One instant, Joe's body weighed half a ton. +The next instant, it weighed less than a dust grain. His head throbbed +twice as if his skull were about to split open and let his brains run +out. But these things he had experienced before. + +There were pantings in the cabin about him. The ship fell. It happened +to be going up, but the sensation and the fact was free fall. Joe had +been through this before, too. He gasped for breath and croaked, +"Drones?" + +"Right," said Haney. + +Mike panted anxiously, "Four's off course. I'll fix it." + +The Chief grunted guttural Mohawk. His hands stirred on the panel for +remote control of the drones he had to handle. + +"Crazy!" he growled. "Got it now, Joe. Fire when ready." + +"Okay, Mike?" + +A half-second pause. + +"Okay!" + +Joe pressed the firing-button for the take-off rockets. And he was +slammed back into his acceleration chair again. But this was three +gravities only. Pressed heavily against the acceleration cushions, he +could perform the navigation for the fleet. He did. The mother-ship had +to steer a true course, regardless of the vagaries of its rockets. The +drones had simply to be kept in formation with it. The second task was +simpler. But Joe was relieved, this time, of the need to report back +instrument-readings. A telemetering device took care of that. + +The take-off rockets blasted and blasted and blasted. The mere matter of +staying alive grew very tedious. The ordeal seemed to last for +centuries. Actually it could be measured only in minutes. But it seemed +millennia before the headphones said, staccato fashion: "_You are on +course and will reach speed in fourteen seconds. I will count for you._" + +"Relays for rocket release," panted Joe. "Throw 'em over!" + +Three hands moved to obey. Joe could release the drive rockets on all +seven ships at will. + +The voice counted: + +"_Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three +... two ... one ... cut!_" + +Joe pressed the master-key. The remnants of the solid-fuel take-off +rockets let go. They flashed off into nothingness at unbelievable speed, +consuming themselves as they went. + +There was again no weight. + +This time there was no resting. No eager gazing out the cabin ports. Now +they weren't curious. They'd had over a month in space, and something +like sixteen days back on Earth, and now they were back in space again. + +Mike and Haney and the Chief worked doggedly at their control boards. +The radar bowls outside the cabin shifted and moved and quivered. The +six drone ships showed on the screens. But they also had telemetering +apparatus. They faithfully reported their condition and the direction in +which their bows pointed. The radars plotted their position with +relation to each other and the mother-ship. + +Presently Joe cast a glance out of a port and saw that the dark line of +sunset was almost below. The take-off had been timed to get the ships +into Earth's shadow above the area from which war rockets were most +likely to rise. It wouldn't prevent bombing, of course. But there was a +gadget.... + +Joe spoke into the microphone: "Reporting everything all right so far. +But you know it." + +The voice from solid ground said, "_Report acknowledged._" + +The ships went on and on and on. The Chief muttered to himself and made +very minute adjustments of the movement of one of his drones. Mike +fussed with his. Haney regarded the controls of his drones with a +profound calm. + +Nothing happened, except that they seemed to be falling into a +bottomless pit and their stomach-muscles knotted and cramped in purely +reflex response to the sensation. Even that grew tedious. + +The headphones said, "_You will enter Earth's shadow in three minutes. +Prepare for combat._" + +Joe said drily, "We're to prepare for combat." + +The Chief growled. "I'd like to do just that!" + +The phrasing, of course, was intentional--in case enemy ears were +listening. Actually, the small fleet was to use a variant on the tin can +shield which protected the Platform. It would be most effective if +visual observation was impossible. The fleet was seven ships in very +ragged formation. Most improbably, after the long three-gravity +acceleration, they were still within a fifty-mile globe of space. Number +Four loitered behind, but was being brought up by judicious bursts of +steering-rocket fire. Number Two was some distance ahead. The others +were simply scattered. They went floating on like a group of meteors. +Out the ports, two of them were visible. The others might be picked out +by the naked eye--but it wasn't likely. + +Drone Two, far ahead and clearly visible, turned from a shining steel +speck to a reddish pin-point of light. The red color deepened. It winked +out. The sunlight in the ports of the mother-ship turned red. Then it +blacked out. + +"Shoot the ghosts," said Joe. + +The three drone-handlers pushed their buttons. Nothing happened that +anybody could see. Actually, though, a small gadget outside the hull +began to cough rhythmically. Similar devices on the drones coughed, too. +They were small, multiple-barreled guns. Rifle shells fired two-pound +missiles at random targets in emptiness. They wouldn't damage anything +they hit. They'd go varying distances, explode and shoot small lead shot +ahead to check their missile-velocity, and then emit dense masses of +aluminum foil. There was no air resistance. The shredded foil would +continue to move through emptiness at the same rate as the convoy-fleet. +The seven ships had fired a total of eighty-four such objects away into +the blackness of Earth's shadow. There were, then, seven ships and +eighty-four masses of aluminum foil moving through emptiness. They +could not be seen by telescopes. + +And radars could not tell ships from masses of aluminum foil. + +If enemy radars came probing upward, they reported ninety-one space +ships in ragged but coherent formation, soaring through emptiness toward +the Platform. And a fleet like that was too strong to attack. + +The radar operators had been prepared to forward details of the speed +and course of a single ship to waiting rocket-launching submarines +half-way across the Pacific. But they reported to Very High Authority +instead. + +He received the report of an armada--an incredible fleet--in space. He +didn't believe it. But he didn't dare disbelieve it. + +So the fleet swam peacefully through the darkness that was Earth's +shadow, and no attempt at attack was made. They came out into sunlight +to look down at the western shore of America itself. With seven ships to +get on an exact course, at an exact speed, at an exact moment, time was +needed. So the fleet made almost a complete circuit of the Earth before +reaching the height of the Platform's orbit. + +They joined it. A single man in a space suit, anchored to its outer +plates, directed a plastic hose which stretched out impossibly far and +clamped to one drone with a magnetic grapple. He maneuvered it to the +hull and made it fast. He captured a second, which was worked delicately +within reach by coy puffs of steering-rocket vapor. + +One by one, the drones were made fast. Then the manned ship went in the +lock and the great outer door closed, and the plastic-fabric walls +collapsed behind their nets, and air came in. + +Lieutenant Commander Brown was the one to come into the lock to greet +them. He shook hands all around--and it again seemed strange to all the +four from Earth to find themselves with their feet more or less firmly +planted on a solid floor, but their bodies wavering erratically to right +and left and before and back, because there was no up or down. + +"Just had reports from Earth," Brown told Joe comfortably. "The news of +your take-off was released to avoid panic in Europe. But everybody who +doesn't like us is yelling blue murder. Somebody--you may guess who--is +announcing that a fleet of ninety-one war rockets took off from the +United States and now hangs poised in space while the decadent American +war-mongers prepare an ultimatum to all the world. Everybody's +frightened." + +"If they'll only stay scared until we get unloaded," said Joe in some +satisfaction, "the government back home can tell them how many we were +and what we came up for. But we'll probably make out all right, anyhow." + +"My crew will unload," said Brown, in conscious thoughtfulness. "You +must have gotten pretty well exhausted by that acceleration." + +Joe shook his head. "I think we can handle the freight faster. We found +out a few things by going back to Earth." + +A section of plating at the top of the lock--at least it had been the +top when the Platform was built on Earth--opened up as on the first +journey here. A face grinned down. But from this point on, the procedure +was changed. Haney and Joe went into the cargo-section of the rocketship +and heaved its contents smoothly through weightlessness to the storage +chamber above. The Chief and Mike stowed it there. The speed and +precision of their work was out of all reason. Brown stared +incredulously. + +The fact was simply that on their first trip to the Platform, Joe and +his crew didn't know how to use their strength where there was no +weight. By the time they'd learned, their muscles had lost all tone. Now +they were fresh from Earth, with Earth-strength muscles--and they knew +how to use them. + +"When we got back," Joe told Brown, "we were practically invalids. No +exercise up here. This time we've brought some harness to wear. We've +some for you, too." + +They moved out of the airlock, and the ship was maneuvered to a mooring +outside, and a drone took its place. Brown's eyes blinked at the +unloading of the drone. But he said, "Navy style work, that!" + +"Out here," said Joe, "you take no more exercise than an invalid on +Earth--in fact, not as much. By now the original crew would have trouble +standing up on a trip back to Earth. You'd feel pretty heavy, yourself." + +Brown frowned. + +"Hm. I--ah--I shall ask for instructions on the matter." + +He stood erect. He didn't waver on his feet as the others did. But he +wore the same magnetic-soled shoes. Joe knew, with private amusement, +that Brown must have worked hard to get a dignified stance in +weightlessness. + +"Mr. Kenmore," said Brown suddenly. "Have you been assigned a definite +rank as yet?" + +"Not that I know of," said Joe without interest. "I skipper the ship I +just brought up. But----" + +"Your ship has no rating!" protested Brown irritably. "The skipper of a +Navy ship may be anything from a lieutenant junior grade to a captain, +depending on the size and rating of the ship. In certain circumstances +even a noncommissioned officer. Are you an enlisted man?" + +"Again, not that I know of," Joe told him. "Nor my crew, either." + +Brown looked at once annoyed and distressed. + +"It isn't regular!" he objected. "It isn't shipshape! I should know +whether you are under my command or not! For discipline! For +organization! It should be cleared up! I shall put through an urgent +inquiry." + +Joe looked at him incredulously. Lieutenant Commander Brown was a +perfectly amiable man, but he had to have things in a certain pattern +for him to recognize that they were in a pattern at all. He was more +excited over the fact that he didn't know whether he ranked Joe, than +over the much more important matter of physical deterioration in the +absence of gravity. Yet he surely understood their relative importance. +The fact was, of course, that he could confidently expect exact +instructions about the last, while he had to settle matters of +discipline and routine for himself. + +"I shall ask for clarification of your status," he said worriedly. "It +shouldn't have been left unclear. I'd better attend to it at once." + +He looked at Joe as if expecting a salute. He didn't get it. He clanked +away, his magnetic shoe-soles beating out a singularly martial rhythm. +He must have practised that walk, in private. + +Joe got out of the airlock as another of the space barges was warped in. +Brent, the crew's psychologist, joined him when he went to unload. Brent +nodded in a friendly fashion to Joe. + +"Quite a change, eh?" he said drily. "Sanford turned out to be a +crackpot with his notions of grandeur. I'm not sure that Brown's notions +of discipline aren't worse." + +Joe said, "I've something rather important to pass on," and told about +the newly discovered physical effects of a long stay where there was no +gravity. The doctors now predicted that anybody who spent six months +without weight would suffer a deterioration of muscle tone which could +make a return to Earth impossible without a long preliminary process of +retraining. One's heart would adjust to the absence of any need to pump +blood against gravity. + +"Which," said Joe, "means that you're going to have to be relieved +before too long. But we brought up some gravity-simulator harness that +may help." + +Brent said desolately: "And I was so pleased! We all had trouble with +insomnia, at first, but lately we've all been sleeping well! Now I see +why! Normally one sleeps because he's tired. We had trouble sleeping +until our muscles got so weak we tired anyhow!" + +Another drone came in and was unloaded. And another and another. But the +last of them wasn't only unloaded. Haney took over the Platform's +control board and--grinning to himself--sent faint, especially-tuned +short wave impulses to the steering-rockets of the drone. The +liquid-fuel rockets were designed to steer a loaded ship. With the +airlock door open, the silvery ship leaped out of the dock like a +frightened horse. The liquid-fuel rocket had a nearly empty hull to +accelerate. It responded skittishly. + +Joe watched out a port as it went hurtling away. The vast Earth rolled +beneath it. It sped on and vanished. Its fumes ceased to be visible. Joe +told Brent: + +"Another nice job, that! We sent it backward, slowing it a little. It'll +have a new orbit, independent of ours and below it. But come sixty hours +it will be directly underneath. We'll haul it up and refuel it. And our +friends the enemy will hate it. It's a radio repeater. It'll pick up +short-wave stuff beamed to it, and repeat it down to Earth. And they can +try to jam that!" + +It was a mildly malicious trick to play. Behind the Iron Curtain, +broadcasts from the free world couldn't be heard because of stations +built to emit pure noise and drown them out. But the jamming stations +were on the enemy nations' borders. If radio programs came down from +overhead, jamming would be ineffective at least in the center of the +nations. Populations would hear the truth, even though their governments +objected. + +But that was a minor matter, after all. With space ship hulls coming +into being by dozens, and with one convoy of hundreds of tons of +equipment gotten aloft, the whole picture of supply for the Platform had +changed. + +Part of the new picture was two devices that Haney and the Chief were +assembling. They were mostly metal backbone and a series of tanks, with +rocket motors mounted on ball and socket joints. They looked like huge +red insects, but they were officially rocket recovery vehicles, and +Joe's crew referred to them as space wagons. They had no cabin, but +something like a saddle. Before it there was a control-board complete +with radar-screens. And there were racks to which solid-fuel rockets of +divers sizes could be attached. They were literally short-range tow +craft for travel in space. They had the stripped, barren look of farm +machinery. So the name "space wagon" fitted. There were two of them. + +"We're putting the pair together," the Chief told Joe. "Looks kinda +peculiar." + +"It's only for temporary use," said Joe. "There's a bigger and better +one being built with a regular cabin and hull. But some experience with +these two will be useful in running a regular space tug." + +The Chief said with a trace too much of casualness: "I'm kind of looking +forward to testing this." + +"No," said Joe doggedly. "I'm responsible. I take the first chance. But +we should all be able to handle them. When this is assembled you can +stand by with the second one. If the first one works all right, we'll +try the second." + +The Chief grimaced, but he went back to the assembly of the spidery +device. + +Joe got out the gravity-simulator harnesses. He showed Brent how they +worked. Brown hadn't official instructions to order their use, but Joe +put one on himself, set for full Earth-gravity simulation. He couldn't +imitate actual gravity, of course. Only the effect of gravity on one's +muscles. There were springs and elastic webbing pulling one's shoulders +and feet together, so that it was as much effort to stand extended--with +one's legs straight out--as to stand upright on Earth. Joe felt better +with a pull on his body. + +Brent was upset when he found that to him more than a tenth of normal +gravity was unbearable. But he kept it on at that. If he increased the +pull a very little every day, he might be able to return to Earth, in +time. Now it would be a very dangerous business indeed. He went off to +put the other members of the crew in the same sort of harness. + +After ten hours, a second drone broadcaster went off into space. By that +time the articulated red frameworks were assembled. They looked more +than ever like farm machinery, save that their bulging tanks made them +look insectile, too. They were actually something between small +tow-boats and crash-wagons. A man in a space suit could climb into the +saddle of one of these creations, plug in the air-line of his suit to +the crash-wagon's tanks, and travel in space by means of the space +wagon's rockets. These weird vehicles had remarkably powerful magnetic +grapples. They were equipped with steering rockets as powerful as those +of a ship. They had banks of solid-fuel rockets of divers power and +length of burning. And they even mounted rocket missiles, small guided +rockets which could be used to destroy what could not be recovered. They +were intended to handle unmanned rocket shipments of supplies to the +Platform. There were reasons why the trick should be economical, if it +should happen to work at all. + +When they were ready for testing, they seemed very small in the great +space lock. Joe and the Chief very carefully checked an extremely long +list of things that had to work right or nothing would work at all. That +part of the job wasn't thrilling, but Joe no longer looked for thrills. +He painstakingly did the things that produced results. If a sense of +adventure seemed to disappear, the sensations of achievement more than +made up for it. + +They got into space suits. They were in an odd position on the Platform. +Lieutenant Commander Brown had avoided Joe as much as possible since his +arrival. So far he'd carefully avoided giving him direct orders, because +Joe was not certainly and officially his subordinate. Lacking exact +information, the only thing a conscientious rank-conscious naval officer +could do was exercise the maximum of tact and insistently ask authority +for a ruling on Joe's place in the hierarchy of rank. + +Joe flung a leg over his eccentric, red-painted mount. He clipped his +safety-belt, plugged in his suit air-supply to the space wagon's tanks, +and spoke into his helmet transmitter. + +"Okay to open the lock. Chief, you keep watch. If I make out all right, +you can join me. If I get in serious trouble, come after me in the ship +we rode up. But only if it's practical! Not otherwise!" + +The Chief said something in Mohawk. He sounded indignant. + +The plastic walls of the lock swelled inward, burying and overwhelming +them. Pumps pounded briefly, removing what air was left. Then the walls +drew back, straining against their netting, and Joe waited for the door +to open to empty space. + +Instead, there came a sharp voice in his helmet-phones. It was Brown. +"_Radar says there's a rocket on the way up! It's over at what is the +edge of the world from here. Three gravities only. Better not go out!_" + +Joe hesitated. Brown still issued no order. But defense against a single +rocket would be a matter of guided missiles--Brown's business--if the +tin can screen didn't handle it. Joe would have no part in it. He +wouldn't be needed. He couldn't help. And there'd be all the elaborate +business of checking to go through again. He said uncomfortably: + +"It'll be a long time before it gets here--and three gravities is low! +Maybe it's a defective job. There have been misfires and so on. It won't +take long to try this wagon, anyhow. They're anxious to send up a robot +ship from the Shed and these have to be tested first. Give me ten +minutes." + +He heard the Chief grumbling to himself. But one tested space wagon was +better than none. + +The airlock doors opened. Huge round valves swung wide. Bright, remote, +swarming stars filled the opening. Joe cracked the control of his +forward liquid-fuel rockets. The lock filled instantly with swirling +fumes. And instantly the tiny space wagon moved. It did not have to lift +from the lock floor. Once the magnetic clamps were released it was free +of the floor. But it did have mass. One brief push of the rockets sent +it floating out of the lock. It was in space. It kept on. + +Joe felt a peculiar twinge of panic. Nobody who is accustomed only to +Earth can quite realize at the beginning the conditions of handling +vehicles in space. But Joe cracked the braking rockets. He stopped. He +hung seemingly motionless in space. The Platform was a good half-mile +away. + +He tried the gyros, and the space wagon went into swift spinning. He +reversed them and straightened out--almost. The vastness of all creation +seemed still to revolve slowly about him. The monstrous globe which was +Earth moved sedately from above his head to under his feet and continued +the slow revolution. The Platform rotated in a clockwise direction. He +was drifting very slowly away. + +"Chief," he said wrily, "you can't do worse than I'm doing, and we're +rushed for time. You might come out. But listen! You don't run your +rockets! On Earth you keep a motor going because when it stops, you do. +But out here you have to use your motor to stop, but not to keep on +going. Get it? When you do come out, don't burn your rockets more than +half a second at a time." + +The Chief's voice came booming: + +"_Right, Joe! Here I come!_" + +There was a billowing of frantically writhing fumes, which darted madly +in every direction until they ceased to be. The Chief in his insect-like +contraption came bolting out of the hole which was the airlock. He was a +good half-mile away. The rocket fumes ceased. He kept on going. Joe +heard him swear. The Chief felt the utterly helpless sensation of a man +in a car when his brakes don't work. But a moment later the braking +rockets did flare briefly, yet still too long. The Chief was not only +stopped, but drifting backwards toward the Platform. He evidently tried +to turn, and he spun as dizzily as Joe had done. But after a moment he +stopped--almost. There were, then, two red-painted things in space, +somewhat like giant water-spiders floating forlornly in emptiness. They +seemed very remote from the great bright steel Platform and that +gigantic ball which was Earth, turning very slowly and filling a good +fourth of all that could be seen. + +"Suppose you head toward me, Chief," said Joe absorbedly. "Aim to pass, +and remember that what you have to estimate is not where I am, but where +you have to put on the brakes to stop close by. That's where you use +your braking-rockets." + +The Chief tried it. He came to a stop a quarter-mile past Joe. + +"_I'm heavy-handed_," said his voice disgustedly. + +"I'll try to join you," said Joe. + +He did try. He stopped a little short. The two weird objects drifted +almost together. The Chief was upside down with regard to Joe. Presently +he was sidewise on. + +"This takes thinking," said Joe ruefully. + +A voice in his headphones, from the Platform, said: + +"_That rocket from Earth is still accelerating. Still at three +gravities. It looks like it isn't defective. It might be carrying a man. +Hadn't you better come in?_" + +The Chief growled: "_We won't be any safer there! I want to get the hang +of this._" Then his voice changed sharply. "_Joe! D'you get that?_" + +Joe heard his own voice, very cold. + +"I didn't. I do now. Brown, I'd suggest a guided missile at that rocket +coming up. If there's a man in it, he's coming up to take over guided +missiles that'll overtake him, and try to smash the Platform by direct +control, since proximity fuses don't work. I'd smash him as far away as +possible." + +Brown's voice came very curt and worried. "_Right._" + +There was an eruption of rocket fumes from the side of the Platform. +Something went foaming away toward Earth. It dwindled with incredible +rapidity. Then Joe said: + +"Chief, I think we'd better go down and meet that rocket. We'll learn to +handle these wagons on the way. I think we're going to have a fight on +our hands. Whoever's in that rocket isn't coming up just to shake hands +with us." + +He steadied the small red vehicle and pointed it for Earth. He added: + +"I'm firing a six-two solid-fuel job, Chief. Counting three. +Three--two--one." + +His mount vanished in rocket fumes. But after six seconds at two +gravities acceleration the rocket burned out. The Chief had fired a +matching rocket. They were miles apart, but speeding Earthward on very +nearly identical courses. + +The Platform grew smaller. That was their only proof of motion. + +A very, very long time passed. The Chief fired his steering rockets to +bring him closer to Joe. It did not work. He had to aim for Joe and fire +a blast to move noticeably nearer. Presently he would have to blast +again to keep from passing. + +Joe made calculations in his head. He worried. He and the Chief were +speeding Earthward--away from the Platform--at more than four miles a +minute, but it was not enough. The manned rocket was accelerating at a +great deal more than that rate. And if the Platform's enemies down on +Earth had sent a manned rocket up to destroy the Platform, the man in it +would have ways of defending himself. He would expect guided +missiles--but he probably wouldn't expect to be attacked by space +wagons. + +Joe said suddenly: + +"Chief! I'm going to burn a twelve-two. We've got to match velocities +coming back. Join me? Three--two--one." + +He fired a twelve-two. Twelve seconds burning, two gravities +acceleration. It built up his speed away from the Platform to a rate +which would have been breathless, on Earth. But here there was no +sensation of motion, and the distances were enormous. Things which +happen in space happen with insensate violence and incredible swiftness. +But long, long, long intervals elapse between events. The twelve-two +rocket burned out. The Chief had matched that also. + +Brown's voice in the headphones said, "_The rocket's cut acceleration. +It's floating up, now. It should reach our orbit fifty miles behind us. +But our missile should hit it in forty seconds._" + +"I wouldn't bet on that," said Joe coldly. "Figure interception data for +the Chief and me. Make it fast!" + +He spotted the Chief, a dozen miles away and burning his steering +rockets to close, again. The Chief had the hang of it, now. He didn't +try to steer. He drove toward Joe. + +But nothing happened. And nothing happened. And nothing happened. The +two tiny space wagons were 90 miles from the Platform, which was now +merely a glittering speck, hardly brighter than the brightest stars. + +There was a flare of light to Earthward. It was brighter than the sun. +The light vanished. + +Brown's voice came in the headphones, "_Our missile went off 200 miles +short! He sent an interceptor to set it off!_" + +"Then he's dangerous," said Joe. "There'll be war rockets coming up any +second now for him to control from right at hand. We won't be fighting +rockets controlled from 4,000 miles away! They've found proximity fuses +don't work, so he's going to work in close. Give us our course and data, +quick! The Chief and I have got to try to smash things!" + +The two tiny space wagons--like stick-insects in form, absurdly painted +a brilliant red--seemed inordinately lonely. It was hardly possible to +pick out the Platform with the naked eyes. The Earth was thousands of +miles below. Joe and the Chief, in space suits, rode tiny metal +frameworks in an emptiness more vast, more lonely, more terrible than +either could have imagined. + +Then the war rockets started up. There were eight of them. They came out +to do murder at ten gravities acceleration. + + + + +9 + + +But even at ten gravities' drive it takes time to travel 4,000 miles. At +three, and coasting a great deal of the way, it takes much longer. The +Platform circled Earth in four hours and a little more. Anything +intending interception and rising straight up needed to start skyward +long before the Platform was overhead. A three-g rocket would start +while the Platform was still below the western horizon from its +launching-spot. Especially if it planned to coast part of its +journey--and a three-gravity rocket would have to coast most of the way. + +So there was time. Coasting, the rising manned rocket would be losing +speed. If it planned to go no higher than the Platform's orbit, its +upward velocity would be zero there. If it were intercepted 500 miles +down, it would be rising at an almost leisurely rate, and Joe and the +Chief could check their Earthward plunge and match its rising rate. + +This they did. But what they couldn't do was match its orbital velocity, +which was zero. They had the Platform's eastward speed to start +with--over 200 miles a minute. No matter how desperately they fired +braking-rockets, they couldn't stop and maneuver around the rising +control-ship. Inevitably they would simply flash past it in the fraction +of an instant. To fire their tiny guided missiles on ahead would be +almost to assure that they would miss. Also, the enemy ship was manned. +It could fight back. + +But Joe had been on the receiving end of one attack in space. It wasn't +much experience, but it was more than anybody but he and his own crew +possessed. + +"Chief," said Joe softly into his helmet-mike, as if by speaking softly +he could keep from being overheard, "get close enough to me to see what +I do, and do it too. I can't tell you more. Whoever's running this +rocket might know English." + +There was a flaring of vapor in space. The Chief was using his +steering-rockets to draw near. + +Joe spun his little space wagon about, so that it pointed back in the +direction from which he had come. He had four guided missiles, +demolition type. Very deliberately, he fired the four of them +astern--away from the rising rocket. They were relatively low-speed +missiles, intended to blow up a robot ship that couldn't be hooked onto, +because it was traveling too much faster or slower than the Platform it +was intended to reach. The missiles went away. Then Joe faced about +again in the direction of his prospective target. The Chief fumed--Joe +heard him--but he duplicated Joe's maneuver. He faced his own eccentric +vessel in the direction of its line of flight. + +Then his fuming suddenly ceased. Joe's headphones brought his explosive +grunt when he suddenly saw the idea. + +"_Joe! I wish you could talk Indian! I could kiss you for this trick!_" + +Brown's voice said anxiously: "_I'm going to let that manned rocket have +a couple more shots._" + +"Let us get by first," said Joe. "Then maybe you can use them on the +bombs coming up." + +He could see the trails of war-rockets on the way out from Earth. They +were infinitesimal threads of vapor. They were the thinnest possible +filaments of gossamer white. But they enlarged as they rose. They were +climbing at better than two miles per second, now, and still increasing +their speed. + +But the arena in which this conflict took place was so vast that +everything seemed to take place in slow motion. There was time to reason +out not only the method of attack from Earth, but the excuse for it. If +the Platform vanished from space, no matter from what cause, its enemies +would announce vociferously that it had been destroyed by its own +atomic bombs, exploding spontaneously. Even in the face of proof of +murder, enemy nations would stridently insist that bombs intended for +the enslavement of humanity--in the Platform--had providentially +detonated and removed that instrument of war-mongering scoundrelly +imperialists from the skies. There might be somebody, somewhere, who +would believe it. + +Joe and the Chief were steadied now nearly on a line to intercept the +rising manned rocket. They had already fired their missiles, which +trailed them. They went into battle, not prepared to shoot, but with +their ammunition expended. For which there was excellent reason. + +Something came foaming toward them from the nearby man-carrying rocket. +It seemed like a side-spout from the column of vapor rising from Earth. +Actually it was a guided missile. + +"Now we dodge," said Joe cheerfully. "Remember the trick of this +maneuvering business!" + +It was simple. Speeding toward the rising assassin, and with his +missiles rushing toward them, the relative speeds of the wagons and the +missiles were added together. If the space wagons dodged, the missile +operator had less time to swing his guided rockets to match the change +of target course. And besides, the attacker hadn't made a single turn in +space. Not yet. He might know that a rocket doesn't go where it's +pointed, as a matter of theory. He might even know intellectually that +the final speed and course of a rocket is the sum of all its previous +speeds and courses. But he hadn't used the knowledge Joe and the Chief +had. + +Something rushed at them. They went into evasive action. And they didn't +merely turn the noses of their space wagons. They flung them about +end-for-end, and blasted. They used wholly different accelerations at +odd angles. Joe shot away from Earth on steering rocket thrust, and +touched off a four-three while he faced toward Earth's north pole, and +halfway along that four-second rush he flipped his craft in a somersault +and the result was nearly a right-angled turn. When the four-three +burned out he set off a twelve-two, and halfway through its burning +fired a three-two with it, so that at the beginning he had two gravities +acceleration, then four gravities for three seconds, and then two again. + +With long practice, a man might learn marksmanship in space. But all a +man's judgment of speeds is learned on Earth, where things always, +always, always move steadily. Nobody making his first space-flight could +possibly hit such targets as Joe and the Chief made of themselves. The +man in the enemy rocket was making his first flight. Also, Joe and the +Chief had an initial velocity of 200 miles a minute toward him. The +marksman in the rising rocket hadn't a chance. He fired four more +missiles and tried desperately to home them in. But---- + +They flashed past his rising course. And then they were quite safe from +his fire, because it would take a very long time indeed for anything he +shot after them to catch up. But their missiles had still to pass +him--and Joe and the Chief could steer them without any concern about +their own safety or anything else but a hit. + +They made a hit. + +Two of the eight little missiles flashed luridly, almost together, where +the radar-pips showed the rocket to be. Then there were two parts to the +rocket, separating. One was small and one was fairly large. Another +demolition-missile hit the larger section. Still another exploded as +that was going to pieces. The smaller fragment ceased to be important. +The explosions weren't atomic bombs, of course. They were only +demolition-charges. But they demolished the manned rocket admirably. + +Brown's voice came in the headphones, still tense. "_You got it! How +about the others?_" + +Joe felt a remarkable exhilaration. Later he might think about the poor +devil--there could have been only one--who had been destroyed some 3,700 +miles above the surface of the Earth. He might think unhappily of that +man as a victim of hatred rather than as a hater. He might become +extremely uncomfortable about this, but at the moment he felt merely +that he and the Chief had won a startling victory. + +"I think," he said, "that you can treat them with silent contempt. They +won't have proximity fuses. Those friends of ours who want so badly to +kill us have found that proximity fuses don't work. Unless one is on a +collision course I don't think you need to do anything about them." + +The Chief was muttering to himself in Mohawk, twenty miles away. Joe +said: + +"Chief, how about getting back to the Platform?" + +The Chief growled. "_My great-grandfather would disown me! Winning a +fight and no scalp to show! Not even counting coup! He'd disown me!_" + +But Joe saw his rockets flare, away off against the stars. + +The war rockets were very near, now. They still emitted monstrous +jettings of thick white vapor. They climbed up with incredible speed. +One went by Joe at a distance of little more than a mile, and its fumes +eddied out to half that before they thinned to nothingness. They went on +and on and on.... + +They burned out somewhere. It would be a long time before they fell back +to Earth. Hours, probably. Then they would be meteors. They'd vaporize +before they touched solidity. They wouldn't even explode. + +But Joe and the Chief rode back to the Platform. It was surprising how +hard it was to match speed with it again, to make a good entrance into +the giant lock. They barely made it before the Platform made its plunge +into that horrible blackness which was the Earth's shadow. And Joe was +very glad they did make it before then. He wouldn't have liked to be +merely astride a skinny framework in that ghastly darkness, with the +monstrous blackness of the Abyss seeming to be trying to devour him. + +Haney met them in the airlock. He grinned. + +"Nice job, Joe! Nice job, Chief!" he said warmly. "Uh--the Lieutenant +Commander wants you to report to him, Joe. Right away." + +Joe cocked an eyebrow at him. + +"What for?" + +Haney spread out his hands. The Chief grunted. "That guy bothers me. +I'll bet, Joe, he's going to explain you shouldn't've gone out when he +didn't want you to. Me, I'm keeping away from him!" + +The Chief shed his space suit and swaggered away, as well as anyone +could swagger while walking on what happened to be the ceiling, from +Joe's point of view. Joe put his space gear in its proper place. He went +to the small cubbyhole that Brown had appropriated for the office of the +Platform Commander. Joe went in, naturally without saluting. + +Brown sat in a fastened-down chair with thigh grips holding him in +place. He was writing. On Joe's entry, he carefully put the pen down on +a magnetized plate that would hold it until he wanted it again. +Otherwise it could have floated anywhere about the room. + +"Mr. Kenmore," said Brown awkwardly, "you did a very nice piece of work. +It's too bad you aren't in the Navy." + +Joe said: "It did work out pretty fortunately. It's lucky the Chief and +I were out practicing, but now we can take off when a rocket's reported, +any time." + +Brown cleared his throat. "I can thank you personally," he said +unhappily, "and I do. But--really this situation is intolerable! How can +I report this affair? I can't suggest commendation, or a promotion, +or--anything! I don't even know how to refer to you! I am going to ask +you, Mr. Kenmore, to put through a request that your status be +clarified. I would imagine that your status would mean a rank--hm--about +equivalent to a lieutenant junior grade in the Navy." + +Joe grinned. + +"I have--ah--prepared a draft you might find helpful," said Brown +earnestly. "It's necessary for something to be done. It's urgent! It's +important!" + +"Sorry," said Joe. "The important thing to me is getting ready to load +up the Platform with supplies from Earth. Excuse me." + +He went out of the office. He made his way to the quarters assigned +himself and his crew. Mike greeted him with reproachful eyes. Joe waved +his hand. + +"Don't say it, Mike! The answer is yes. See that the tanks are refilled, +and new rockets put in place. Then you and Haney go out and practice. +But no farther than ten miles from the Platform. Understand?" + +"No!" said Mike rebelliously. "It's a dirty trick!" + +"Which," Joe assured him, "I commit only because there's a robot ship +from Bootstrap coming up any time now. And we'll need to pick it up and +tow it here." + +He went to the control-room to see if he could get a vision connection +to Earth. + +He got the beam, and he got Sally on the screen. A report of the attack +on the Platform had evidently already gone down to Earth. Sally's +expression was somehow drawn and haunted. But she tried to talk lightly. + +"Derring-do and stuff, Joe?" she asked. "How does it feel to be a +victorious warrior?" + +"It feels rotten," he told her. "There must have been somebody in the +rocket we blew up. He felt like a patriot, I guess, trying to murder us; +But I feel like a butcher." + +"Maybe you didn't do it," she said. "Maybe the Chief's bombs----" + +"Maybe," said Joe. He hesitated. "Hold up your hand." + +She held it up. His ring was still on it. She nodded. "Still there. When +will you be back?" + +He shook his head. He didn't know. It was curious that one wanted +so badly to talk to a girl after doing something that was +blood-stirring--and left one rather sickish afterward. This business of +space travel and even space battle was what he'd dreamed of, and he +still wanted it. But it was very comforting to talk to Sally, who hadn't +had to go through any of it. + +"Write me a letter, will you?" he asked. "We can't tie up this beam very +long." + +"I'll write you all the news that's allowed to go out," she assured him. +"Be seeing you, Joe." + +Her image faded from the screen. And, thinking it over, he couldn't see +that either of them had said anything of any importance at all. But he +was very glad they'd talked together. + +The first robot ship came up some eight hours later--two revolutions +after the television call. Mike was ready hours in advance, fidgeting. +The robot ship started up while the Platform was over the middle of the +Pacific. It didn't try to make a spiral approach as all other ships had +done. It came straight up, and it started from the ground. No pushpots. +Its take-off rockets were monsters. They pushed upward at ten gravities +until it was out of atmosphere, and then they stepped up to fifteen. +Much later, the robot turned on its side and fired orbital speed rockets +to match velocity with the Platform. + +There were two reasons for the vertical rise, and the high acceleration. +If a robot ship went straight up, it wouldn't pass over enemy territory +until it was high enough to be protected by the Platform. And--it costs +fuel to carry fuel to be burned. So if the rocketship could get up speed +for coasting to orbit in the first couple of hundred miles, it needn't +haul its fuel so far. It was economical to burn one's fuel fast and get +an acceleration that would kill a human crew. Hence robots. + +The landing of the first robot ship at the Platform was almost as +matter-of-fact as if it had been done a thousand times before. From the +Platform its dramatic take-off couldn't be seen, of course. It first +appeared aloft as a pip on a radar screen. Then Mike prepared to go out +and hook on to it and tow it in. He was in his space suit and in the +landing lock, though his helmet faceplate was still open. A loudspeaker +boomed suddenly in Brown's voice: "_Evacuate airlock and prepare to take +off!_" + +Joe roared: "Hold that!" + +Brown's voice, very official, came: "_Withhold execution of that order. +You should not be in the airlock, Mr. Kenmore. You will please make way +for operational procedure._" + +"We're checking the space wagon," snapped Joe. "That's operational +procedure!" + +The loudspeaker said severely: "_The checking should have been done +earlier!_" + +There was silence. Mike and Joe, together, painstakingly checked over +the very many items that had to be made sure. Every rocket had to have +its firing circuit inspected. The tanks' contents and pressure verified. +The air connection to Mike's space suit. The air pressure. The device +that made sure that air going to Mike's space suit was neither as hot +as metal in burning sunlight, nor cold as the chill of a shadow in +space. + +Everything checked. Mike straddled his red-painted mount. Joe left the +lock and said curtly: + +"Okay to pump the airlock. Okay to open airlock doors when ready. Go +ahead." + +Mike went out, and Joe watched from a port in the Platform's hull. The +drone from Earth was five miles behind the Platform in its orbit, and +twenty miles below, and all of ten miles off-course. Joe saw Mike scoot +the red space wagon to it, stop short with a sort of cocky +self-assurance, hook on to the tow-ring in the floating space-barge's +nose, and blast off back toward the Platform with it in tow. + +Mike had to turn about and blast again to check his motion when he +arrived. And then he and Haney--Haney in the other space wagon--nudged +at it and tugged at it and got it in the great spacelock. They went in +after it and the lock doors closed. + +Neither Mike nor Haney were out of their space suits when Kent brought +Joe a note. A note was an absurdity in the Platform. But this was a +formal communication from Brown. + + "_From: Lt. Comdr. Brown + + To: Mr. Kenmore + + Subject: Cooperation and courtesy in rocket recovery vehicle + launchings. + + 1. There is a regrettable lack of coordination and courtesy in the + launching of rocket-recovery vehicles (space wagons) in the + normal operation of the Platform. + + 2. The maintenance of discipline and efficiency requires that the + commanding officer maintain overall control of all operations at + all times. + + 3. Hereafter when a space vehicle of any type is to be launched, the + commanding officer will be notified in writing not less than one + hour before such launching. + + 4. The time of such proposed launching will be given in such + notification in hours and minutes and seconds, Greenwich Mean + Time. + + 5. All commands for launching will be given by the commanding + officer or an officer designated by him._" + +Joe received the memo as he was in the act of writing a painstaking +report on the maneuver Mike had carried out. Mike was radiant as he +discussed possible improvements with later and better equipment. After +all, this had been a lucky landing. For a robot to end up no more than +30 miles from its target, after a journey of 4,000 miles, and with a +difference in velocity that was almost immeasurable--such good fortune +couldn't be expected as a regular thing. The space wagons were tiny. If +they had to travel long distances to recover erratic ships coming up +from Earth---- + +Joe forgot all about Lieutenant Commander Brown and his memo when the +mail was distributed. Joe had three letters from Sally. He read them in +the great living compartment of the Platform with its sixty-foot length +and its carpet on floor and ceiling, and the galleries without stairs +outside the sleeping cabins. He sat in a chair with thigh grips to hold +him in place, and he wore a gravity simulation harness. It was +necessary. The regular crew of the Platform, by this time, couldn't have +handled space wagons in action against enemy manned rockets. Joe meant +to stay able to take acceleration. + +It was just as he finished his mail that Brent came in. + +"Big news!" said Brent. "They're building a big new ship of new +design--almost half as big as the Platform. With concreted metal they +can do it in weeks." + +"What's it for?" demanded Joe. + +"It'll be a human base on the Moon," said Brent relievedly. "An +expedition will start in six weeks, according to plan. As long as we're +the only American base in space, we're going to be shot at. But a base +on the Moon will be invulnerable. So they're going ahead with it." + +Joe said hopefully: + +"Any orders for me to join it?" + +Brent shook his head. "We're to be loaded up with supplies for the Moon +expedition. We're to be ready to take a robot ship every round. +Actually, they can't hope to send us more than two a day for a while, +but even that'll be eighty tons of supplies to be stored away." + +The Chief grumbled, but somehow his grumbling did not sound genuine. +"They're going to the Moon--and leave us here to do stevedore stuff?" +His tone was odd. He looked at a letter he'd been reading and gave up +pretense. He said self-consciously: "Listen, you guys.... My tribe's got +all excited. I just got a letter from the council. They've been having +an argument about me. Wanna hear?" + +He was a little amused, and a little embarrassed, but something had +happened to make him feel good. + +"Let's have it," said Joe. Mike was very still in another chair. He +didn't look up, though he must have heard. Haney cocked an interested +ear. + +The Chief said awkwardly, "You know--us Mohawks are kinda proud. We got +something to be proud of. We were one of the Five Nations, when that was +a sort of United Nations and all Europe was dog-eat-dog. My tribe had a +big pow-wow about me. There's a tribe member that's a professor of +anthropology out in Chicago. He was there. And a couple of guys that do +electronic research, and doctors and farmers and all sorts of guys. All +Mohawks. They got together in tribal council." + +He stopped and flushed under his dark skin. "I wouldn't tell you, only +you guys are in on it." + +Still he hesitated. Joe found a curious picture forming in his mind. +He'd known the Chief a long time, and he knew that part of the tribe +lived in Brooklyn, and individual members were widely scattered. But +still there was a certain remote village which to all the tribesmen was +home. Everybody went back there from time to time, to rest from the +strangeness of being Indians in a world of pale-skinned folk. + +Joe could almost imagine the council. There'd be old, old men who could +nearly remember the days of the tribe's former glory, who'd heard +stories of forest warfare and zestful hunts, and scalpings and heroic +deeds from their grandfathers. But there were also doctors and lawyers +and technical men in that council which met to talk about the Chief. + +"It's addressed to me," said the Chief with sudden clumsiness, "in the +World-by-itself Canoe. That's the Platform here. And it says--I'll have +to translate, because it's in Mohawk." He took a deep breath. "It says, +'We your tribesmen have heard of your journeyings off the Earth where +men have never traveled before. This has given us great pride, that one +of our tribe and kin had ventured so valiantly.'" The Chief grinned +abashedly. He went on. "'In full assembly, the elders of the tribe have +held counsel on a way to express their pride in you, and in the friends +you have made who accompanied you. It was proposed that you be given a +new name to be borne by your sons after you. It was proposed that the +tribe accept from each of its members a gift to be given you in the name +of the tribe. But these were not considered great enough. Therefore the +tribe, in full council, has decreed that your name shall be named at +every tribal council of the Mohawks from this day to the end of time, as +one the young braves would do well to copy in all ways. And the names of +your friends Joe Kenmore, Mike Scandia, and Thomas Haney shall also be +named as friends whose like all young braves should strive to seek out +and to be.'" + +The Chief sweated a little, but he looked enormously proud. Joe went +over to him and shook hands warmly. The Chief almost broke his fingers. +It was, of course, as high an honor as could be paid to anybody by the +people who paid it. + +Haney said awkwardly, "Lucky they don't know me like you do, Chief. But +it's swell!" + +Which it was. But Mike hadn't said a word. The Chief said exuberantly: + +"Did you hear that, Mike? Every Mohawk for ten thousand years is gonna +be told that you were a swell guy! Crazy, huh?" + +Mike said in an odd voice: "Yeah. I didn't mean that, Chief. It's fine! +But I--I got a letter. I--never thought to get a letter like this." + +He looked unbelievingly at the paper in his hands. + +"Mash note?" asked the Chief. His tone was a little bit harsh. Mike was +a midget. And there were women who were fools. It would be unbearable if +some half-witted female had written Mike the sort of gushing letter +that some half-witted females might write. + +Mike shook his head, with an odd, quick smile. + +"Not what you think, Chief. But it is from a girl. She sent me her +picture. It's a--swell letter. I'm--going to answer it. You can look at +her picture. She looks kind of--nice." + +He handed the Chief a snapshot. The Chief's face changed. Haney looked +over his shoulder. He passed the picture to Joe and said ferociously: +"You Mike! You doggoned Don Juan! The Chief and me have got to warn her +what kinda guy you are! Stealing from blind men! Fighting cops----" + +Joe looked at the picture. It was a very sweet small face, and the eyes +that looked out of the photograph were very honest and yearning. And Joe +understood. He grinned at Mike. Because this girl had the distinctive +look that Mike had. She was a midget, too. + +"She's--thirty-nine inches tall," said Mike, almost stunned. "She's just +two inches shorter than me. And--she says she doesn't mind being a +midget so much since she heard about me. I'm going to write her." + +But it would be, of course, a long time before there was a way for mail +to get down to Earth. + +It was a long time. Now it was possible to send up robot rockets to the +Platform. They came up. When the second arrived, Haney went out to pull +it in. Joe forgot to notify Brown, in writing, an hour before launching +a rocket recovery vehicle (space wagon) according to paragraph 3 of the +formal memo, nor the time of launching in hours, minutes, etc., by +Greenwich Mean Time (paragraph 4), nor was the testing of all equipment +made before moving it into the airlock. This was because the testing +equipment was in the airlock, where it belonged. And the commands for +launching were not given by Brown or an officer designated by him, +because Joe forgot all about it. + +Brown made a stormy scene about the matter, and Joe was honestly +apologetic, but the Chief and Haney and Mike glared venomously. + +The result was completely inconclusive. Joe had not been put under +Brown's command. He and his crew were the only people on the Platform +physically in shape to operate the space wagons, considering the +acceleration involved. Brent and the others were wearing gravity +simulators, and were building back to strength. But they weren't up to +par as yet. They'd been in space too long. + +So there was nothing Brown could do. He retreated into icily correct, +outraged dignity. And the others hauled in and unloaded rockets as they +arrived. They came up fast. The processes of making them had been +improved. They could be made faster, heated to sintering temperature +faster, and the hulls cooled to usefulness in a quarter of the former +time. The production of space ship hulls went up to four a day, while +the molds for the Moonship were being worked even faster. The Moonship, +actually, was assembled from precast individual cells which then were +welded together. It would have features the Platform lacked, because it +was designed to be a base for exploration and military activities in +addition to research. + +But only twenty days after the recovery and docking of the first robot +ship to rise, a new sort of ship entirely came blindly up as a robot. +The little space wagons hauled it to the airlock and inside. They +unloaded it--and it was no longer a robot. It was a modified hull +designed for the duties of a tug in space. It could carry a crew of +four, and its cargohold was accessible from the cabin. It had an +airlock. More, it carried a cargo of solid-fuel rockets which could be +shifted to firing racks outside its hull. Starting from the platform, +where it had no effective weight, it was capable of direct descent to +the Earth without spiralling or atmospheric braking. To make that +descent it would, obviously, expend four-fifths of its loaded weight in +rockets. And since it had no weight at the Platform, but only mass, it +was capable of far-ranging journeying. It could literally take off from +the Platform and reach the Moon and land on it, and then return to the +Platform. + +But that had to wait. + +"Sure we could do it," agreed Joe, when Mike wistfully pointed out the +possibility. "It would be good to try it. But unfortunately, space +exploration isn't a stunt. We've gotten this far because--somebody +wanted to do something. But----" Then he said, "It could be done and the +United Nations wouldn't do it. So the United States had to, or--somebody +else would have. You can figure who that would be, and what use they'd +make of space travel! So it's important. It's more important than stunt +flights we could make!" + +"Nobody could stop us if we wanted to take off!" Mike said rebelliously. + +"True," Joe said. "But we four can stand three gravities acceleration +and handle any more manned rockets that start out here. We've lived +through plenty more than that! But Brent and the others couldn't put up +a fight in space. They're wearing harness now, and they're coming back +to strength. But we're going to stay right here and do stevedoring--and +fighting too, if it comes to that--until the job is done." + +And that was the way it was, too. Of stevedoring there was plenty. Two +robot ships a day for weeks on end. Three ships a day for a time. Four. +Sometimes things went smoothly, and the little space wagons could go out +and bring back the great, rocket-scarred hulls from Earth. But once in +three times the robots were going too fast or too slow. The space wagons +couldn't handle them. Then the new ship, the space tug, went out and +hooked onto the robot with a chain and used the power it had to bring +them to their destination. And sometimes the robots didn't climb +straight. At least once the space tug captured an erratic robot 400 +miles from its destination and hauled it in. It used some heavy +solid-fuel rockets on that trip. + +The Platform had become, in fact, a port in space, though so far it had +had only arrivals and no departures. Its storage compartments almost +bulged with fuel stores and food stores and equipment of every +imaginable variety. It had a stock of rockets which were enough to land +it safely on Earth, though there was surely no intention of doing so. It +had food and air for centuries. It had repair parts for all its own +equipment. And it had weapons. It contained, in robot hulls anchored to +its sides, enough fissionable material to conduct a deadly war--which +was only stored for transfer to the Moon base when that should be +established. + +And it had communication with Earth of high quality. So far the actual +mail was only a one-way service, but even entertainment came up, and +news. Once there was a television shot of the interior of the Shed. It +was carefully scrambled before transmission, but it was a heartening +sight. The Shed on the TV screen appeared a place of swarming activity. +Robot hulls were being made. They were even improved, fined down to ten +tons of empty weight apiece, and their controls were assembly line +products now. And there was the space flight simulator with men +practicing in it, although for the time being only robots were taking +off from Earth. And there was the Moonship. + +It didn't look like the Platform, but rather like something a child +might have put together out of building blocks. It was built up out of +welded-together cells with strengthening members added. It was 60 feet +high from the floor and twice as long, and it did not weigh nearly what +it seemed to. Already it was being clad in that thick layer of heat +insulation it would need to endure the two-week-long lunar night. It +could take off very soon now. + +The pictured preparations back on Earth meant round-the-clock drudgery +for Joe and the others. They wore themselves out. But the storage space +on the Platform filled up. Days and weeks went by. Then there came a +time when literally nothing else could be stored, so Joe and his crew +made ready to go back to Earth. + +They ate hugely and packed a very small cargo in their ship. They picked +up one bag of mail and four bags of scientific records and photographs +which had only been transmitted by facsimile TV before. They got into +the space tug. It floated free. + +"_You will fire in ten seconds_," said a crisp voice in Joe's +headphones. "_Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four +... three ... two ... one ... fire!_" + +Joe crooked his index finger. There was an explosive jolt. Rockets +flamed terribly in emptiness. The space tug rushed toward the west. The +Platform seemed to dwindle with startling suddenness. It seemed to rush +away and become lost in the myriads of stars. The space tug accelerated +at four gravities in the direction opposed to its orbital motion. + +As the acceleration built up, it dropped toward Earth and home like a +tumbled stone. + + + + +10 + + +There was bright sunshine at the Shed, not a single cloud in all the +sky. The radar bowls atop the roof--they seemed almost invisibly small +compared with its vastness--wavered and shifted and quivered. Completely +invisible beams of microwaves lanced upward. Atop the Shed, in the +communication room, there was the busy quiet of absolute intentness. +Signals came down and were translated into visible records which fed +instantly into computers. Then the computers clicked and hummed and +performed incomprehensible integrations, and out of their slot-mouths +poured billowing ribbons of printed tape. Men read those tapes and +talked crisply into microphones, and their words went swiftly aloft +again. + +Down by the open eastern door of the Shed at the desert's edge, Sally +Holt and Joe's father waited together, watching the sky. Sally was white +and scared. Joe's father patted her shoulder reassuringly. + +"He'll make it, all right," said Sally, dry-throated. + +Joe's father nodded. "Of course he will!" But his voice was not steady. + +"Nothing could happen to him now!" said Sally fiercely. + +"Of course not," said Joe's father. + +A loudspeaker close to them said abruptly: "_Nineteen miles._" + +There was a tiny, straggling thread of white visible in the now. It +thinned out to nothingness, but its nearest part flared out and flared +out and flared out. It grew larger, came closer with a terrifying speed. + +"_Twelve miles_," said the speaker harshly. "_Rockets firing._" + +The downward-hurtling trail of smoke was like a crippled plane falling +flaming from the sky, except that no plane ever fell so fast. + +At seven miles the white-hot glare of the rocket flames was visible even +in broad daylight. At three miles the light was unbearably bright. At +two, the light winked out. Sally saw something which glittered come +plummeting toward the ground, unsupported. + +It fell almost half a mile before rocket fumes flung furiously out +again. Then it checked. Visibly, its descent was slowed. It dropped more +slowly, and more slowly, and more slowly still.... + +It hung in mid-air a quarter-mile up. Then there was a fresh burst of +rocket fumes, more monstrous than ever, and it went steadily downward, +touched the ground, and stayed there spurting terrible incandescent +flames for seconds. Then the bottom flame went out. An instant later +there were no more flames at all. + +Sally began to run toward the ship. She stopped. A procession of +rumbling, clanking, earth-moving machinery moved out of the Shed and +toward the upright space tug. Prosaically, a bulldozer lowered its wide +blade some fifty yards from the ship. It pushed a huge mass of earth +before it, covering over the scorched and impossibly hot sand about the +rocket's landing place. Other bulldozers began to circle methodically +around and around, overturning the earth and burying the hot surface +stuff. Water trucks sprayed, and thin steam arose. + +But also an exit-port opened and Joe stood in the opening. + +Then Sally began to run again. + + * * * * * + +Joe sat at dinner in the major's quarters. Major Holt was there, and +Joe's father, and Sally. + +"It feels good," said Joe warmly, "to use a knife and fork again, and to +pick food up from a plate where it stays until it's picked up!" + +"The crew of the Platform----" Major Holt began. + +"They're all right," said Joe, with his mouth full. "They're wearing +gravity simulator harness. Brent's got his up to three-quarters gravity. +They get tired, wearing the harness. They sleep better. Everything's +fine! They can handle the space wagons we left and they've got guided +missiles to spare! They're all right!" + +Joe's father said unsteadily, "You'll stay on Earth a while now, son?" + +Sally moved quickly. She looked up, tense. But Joe said, "They're going +to get the Moonship up, sir. We came back--my gang and me--to help train +the crew. We only have a week to do it in, but we've got some combat +tactics to show them on the training gadget in the Shed." He added +anxiously, "And, sir--they'll have to take the Moonship off in a spiral +orbit. She can't go straight up! That means she's got to pass over enemy +territory, and--we've got to have a real escort for her. A fighting +escort. It's planned for the space tug to take off a few minutes after +the Moonship and blast along underneath. We'll dump guided missiles +out--like drones--and if anything comes along we can start their rockets +and fight our way through. And we four have had more experience than +anybody else. We're needed!" + +"You've done enough, surely!" Sally cried. + +"The United States," said Joe awkwardly, "is going to take over the +Moon. I--can't miss having a hand in that! Not if it's at all possible!" + +"I'm afraid you will miss it, Joe," Major Holt said detachedly. "The +occupation of the Moon will be a Navy enterprise. Space Exploration +Project facilities are being used to prepare for it, but the Navy won +the latest battle of the Pentagon. The Navy takes over the Moon." + +Joe looked startled. "But----" + +"You're Space Exploration personnel," said the major with the same +coolness. "You will be used to instruct naval personnel, and your space +tug will be asked to go along to the Platform as an auxiliary vessel. +For purposes of assisting in the landing of the Moonship at the +Platform, you understand. You'll haul her away from the Platform when +she's refueled and supplied, so she can start off for the Moon. But the +occupation of the Moon will be strictly Navy." + +Joe's expression became carefully unreadable. "I think," he said evenly, +"I'd better not comment." + +Major Holt nodded. "Very wise--not that we'd repeat anything you did +say. But the point is, Joe, that just one day before the Moonship does +take off, the United Nations will be informed that it is a United States +naval vessel. The doctrine of the freedom of space--like the freedom of +the seas--will be promulgated. And the United States will say that a +United States naval task force is starting off into space on an official +mission. To attack a Space Exploration ship is one thing. That's like a +scientific expedition. But to fire on an American warship on official +business is a declaration of war. Especially since that ship can shoot +back--and will." + +Joe listened. He said, "It's daring somebody to try another Pearl +Harbor?" + +"Exactly," said the major. "It's time for us to be firm--now that we can +back it up. I don't think the Moonship will be fired on." + +"But they'll need me and my gang just the same," said Joe slowly, "for +tugboat work at the Platform?" + +"Exactly," said the major. + +"Then," Joe said doggedly, "they get us. My gang will gripe about being +edged out of the trip. They won't like it. But they'd like backing out +still less. We'll play it the way it's dealt--but we won't pretend to +like it." + +Major Holt's expression did not change at all, but Joe had an odd +feeling that the major approved of him. + +"Yes. That's right, Joe," his father added. "You--you'll have to go +aloft once more, son. After that, we'll talk it over." + +Sally hadn't said a word during the discussion, but she'd watched Joe +every second. Later, out on the porch of the major's quarters, she had a +great deal to say. But that couldn't affect the facts. + +The world at large, of course, received no inkling of the events in +preparation. The Shed and the town of Bootstrap and all the desert for +a hundred-mile circle round about, were absolutely barred to all +visitors. Anybody who came into that circle stayed in. Most people were +kept out. All that anyone outside could discover was that enormous +quantities of cryptic material had poured and still were pouring into +the Shed. But this time security was genuinely tight. Educated guesses +could be made, and they were made; but nobody outside the closed-in area +save a very few top-ranking officials had any real knowledge. The world +only knew that something drastic and remarkable was in prospect. + +Mike, though, was able to write a letter to the girl who'd written him. +Major Holt arranged it. Mike wrote his letter on paper supplied by +Security, with ink supplied by Security, and while watched by Security +officers. His letter was censored by Major Holt himself, and it did not +reveal that Mike was back on Earth. But it did invite a reply--and Mike +sweated as he waited for one. + +The others had plenty to sweat about. Joe and Haney and the Chief were +acting as instructors to the Moonship's crew. They taught practical +space navigation. At first they thought they hadn't much to pass on, but +they found out otherwise. They had to pass on data on everything from +how to walk to how to drink coffee, how to eat, sleep, why one should +wear gravity harness, and the manners and customs of ships in space. +They had to show why in space fighting a ship might send missiles on +before it, but would really expect to do damage with those it left +behind. They had to warn of the dangers of unshielded sunshine, and the +equal danger of standing in shadow for more than five minutes, and---- + +They had material for six months of instruction courses, but there was +barely a week to pass it on. Joe was run ragged, but in spite of +everything he managed to talk at some length with Sally. He found +himself curiously anxious to discuss any number of things with his +father, too, who suddenly appeared to be much more intelligent than Joe +had ever noticed before. + +He was almost unhappy when it was certain that the Moonship would take +off for space on the following day. He talked about it with Sally the +night before take-off. + +"Look," he said awkwardly. "As far as I'm concerned this has turned out +a pretty sickly business. But when we have got a base on the Moon, it'll +be a good job done. There will be one thing that nobody can stop! +Everybody's been living in terror of war. If we hold the Moon the cold +war will be ended. You can't kick on my wanting to help end that!" + +Sally smiled at him in the moonlight. + +"And--meanwhile," said Joe clumsily, "well--when I come back we can do +some serious talking about--well--careers and such things. Until +then--no use. Right?" + +Sally's smile wavered. "Very sensible," she agreed wrily. "And awfully +silly, Joe. I know what kind of a career I want! What other fascinating +topic do you know to talk about, Joe?" + +"I don't know of any. Oh, yes! Mike got a letter from his girl. I don't +know what she said, but he's walking on air." + +"But it isn't funny!" said Sally indignantly. "Mike's a person! A fine +person! If he'll let me, I'll write to his girl myself and--try to make +friends with her so when you come back I--maybe I can be a sort of +match-maker." + +"That, I like!" Joe said warmly. "You're swell sometimes, Sally!" + +Sally looked at him enigmatically in the moonlight. + +"There are times when it seems to escape your attention," she observed. + + * * * * * + +The next morning she cried a little when he left her, to climb in the +space tug which was so small a part of today's activity. Joe and his +crew were the only living men who had ever made a round trip to the +Platform and back. But now there was the Moonship to go farther than +they'd been allowed. It was even clumsier in design than the Platform, +though it was smaller. But it wasn't designed to stay in space. It was +to rest on the powdery floor of a ring-mountain's central plain. + +Let it get off into space, and somehow get to the Platform to reload. +Then let it replace the rockets it would burn in this take-off and it +could go on out to emptiness. It would make history as the first +serious attempt by human beings to reach the Moon. + +Joe and his followers would go along simply to handle guided missiles if +it came to a fight, and to tow the Moonship to its wharf--the +Platform--and out into midstream again when it resumed its journey. And +that was all. + +The Moonship lifted from the floor of the Shed to the sound of hundreds +of pushpot engines. + +Then the space tug roared skyward. Her take-off rockets here substituted +for the pushpots. Her second-stage rockets were also of the nonpoisonous +variety, because she fired them at a bare 60,000 feet. They were +substitutes for the jatos the pushpots carried. + +She was out in space when the third-stage rockets roared dully outside +her hull. + +When the Moonship crossed the west coast of Africa, the space tug was +400 miles below and 500 miles behind. When the Moonship crossed Arabia, +the difference was 200 miles vertically and less than 100 in line. + +Then the Moonship released small objects, steadied by gyroscopes and +flung away by puffs of compressed air. The small objects spread out. +Haney and Mike and the Chief had reloaded the firing racks from inside +the ship, and now were intent upon control boards and radar. They +pressed buttons. One by one, little puffs of smoke appeared in space. +They had armed the little space missiles, setting off tiny flares which +had no function except to prove that each missile was ready for use. + +By the time the two space craft floated toward India, above an area from +which war rockets had been known to rise, there were more little weapons +floating with them. One screen of missiles hurtled on before the space +tug, and another behind. Anything that came up from Earth would +instantly be attacked by dozens of midget ships bent upon suicide. + +Radar probed the space formation, but enemies of the fleet and the +Platform very wisely did no more than probe. The Moonship and its +attendants went across the Pacific, still rising. Above the longitude of +Washington, the space tug left its former post and climbed, nudging the +Moonship this way and that. And from behind, the Platform came floating +splendidly. + +Tiny figures in space suits extended the incredibly straight lines which +were plastic hoses filled with air. Very, very gently indeed, the great, +bulbous Platform and the squat, flat Moonship came together and touched. +They moored in contact. + +And then the inert small missiles that had floated below, all the way +up, flared simultaneously. Their rockets emitted smoke. In fine +alignment, they plunged forward through emptiness, swerved with a +remarkable precision, and headed out for emptiness beyond the Platform's +orbit. Their function had been to protect the Moonship on its way out. +That function was performed. There were too many of them to recover, so +they went out toward the stars. + +When their rockets burned out they vanished. But a good hour later, when +it was considered that they were as far out as they were likely to go, +they began to blow up. Specks of flame, like the tiniest of new stars, +flickered against the background of space. + +But Joe and the others were in the Platform by then. They'd brought up +mail for the crew. And they were back on duty. + +The Platform seemed strange with the Moonship's crew aboard. It had been +a gigantic artificial world with very few inhabitants. With twenty-five +naval ratings about, plus the four of its regular crew, plus the space +tug's complement, it seemed excessively crowded. + +And it was busy. There were twenty-five new men to be guided as they +applied what they'd been taught aground about life in space. It was +three full Earthdays before the stores intended for the journey to the +Moon and the maintenance of a base there really began to move. The tug +and the space wagons had to be moored outside and reached only by space +suits through small personnel airlocks. + +And there was the matter of discipline. Lieutenant Commander Brown had +been put in command of the Platform for experience in space. He was +considered to be prepared for command of the Moonship by that +experience. So now he turned over command of the Platform to Brent--he +made a neat ceremony of it--and took over the ship that would go out to +the Moon. He made another ceremony out of that. + +In command of the Moonship, his manner to Joe was absolutely correct. He +followed regulations to the letter--to a degree that left Joe blankly +uncomprehending. But he wouldn't have gotten along in the Navy if he +hadn't. He'd tried to do the same thing in the Platform, and it wasn't +practical. But he ignored all differences between Joe and himself. He +made no overtures of friendship, but that was natural. Unintentionally, +Joe had defied him. He now deliberately overlooked all that, and Joe +approved of him--within limits. + +But Mike and Haney and the Chief did not. They laid for him. And they +considered that they got him. When he took over the Moonship, Lieutenant +Commander Brown naturally maintained naval discipline and required +snappy, official naval salutes on all suitable occasions, even in the +Platform. And Joe's gang privately tipped off the noncommissioned +personnel of the Moonship. Thereafter, no enlisted man ever saluted +Lieutenant Brown without first gently detaching his magnet-soled shoes +from the floor. When a man was free, a really snappy salute gave a +diverting result. The man's body tilted forward to meet his rising arm, +the upward impetus was one-sided, and every man who saluted Brown +immediately made a spectacular kowtow which left him rigidly at salute +floating somewhere overhead with his back to Lieutenant Brown. With a +little practice, it was possible to add a somersault to the other +features. On one historic occasion, Brown walked clanking into a +storeroom where a dozen men were preparing supplies for transfer to the +Moonship. A voice cried, "Shun!" And instantly twelve men went floating +splendidly about the storeroom, turning leisurely somersaults, all +rigidly at salute, and all wearing regulation poker faces. + +An order abolishing salutes in weightlessness followed shortly after. + +It took four days to get the transfer of supplies properly started. It +took eight to finish the job. Affixing fresh rockets to the outside of +the Moonship's hull alone called for long hours in space suits. During +this time Mike floated nearby in a space wagon. One of the Navy men was +a trifle overcourageous. He affected to despise safety lines. Completing +the hook-on of a landing rocket, he straightened up too abruptly and +went floating off toward the Milky Way. + +Mike brought him back. After that there was less trouble. + +Even so, the Moonship and the Platform were linked together for thirteen +full days, during which the Platform seemed extraordinarily crowded. On +the fourteenth day the two ships sealed off and separated. Joe and his +crew in the space tug hauled the Moonship a good five miles from the +Platform. + +The space tug returned to the Platform. A blinker signal came across the +five-mile interval. It was a very crisp, formal, Navy-like message. + +Then the newly-affixed rockets on the Moonship's hull spurted their +fumes. The big ship began to move. Not outward from Earth, of course. +That was where it was going. But it had the Platform's 12,000 miles per +hour of orbital speed. If the bonds of gravitation could have been +snapped at just the proper instant, that speed alone would have carried +the Moonship all the way to its destination. But they couldn't. So the +Moonship blasted to increase its orbital speed. It would swing out and +out, and as the Earth's pull grew weaker with distance the same weight +of rockets would move the same mass farther and farther toward the Moon. +The Moonship's course would be a sort of slowly flattening curve, +receding from Earth and becoming almost a straight line where Earth's +and the Moon's gravitational fields cancelled each other. + +From there, the Moonship would have only to brake its fall against a +gravity one-sixth that of Earth, and reaching out a vastly shorter +distance. + +Joe and the others watched the roiling masses of rocket fumes as the +ship seemed to grow infinitely small. + +"We should've been in that ship," said Haney heavily when the naked eye +could no longer pick it out. "We could've beat her to the Moon!" + +Joe said nothing. He ached a little inside. But he reflected that the +men who'd guided the Platform to its orbit had been overshadowed by +himself and Haney and the Chief and Mike. A later achievement always +makes an earlier one look small. Now the four of them would be +forgotten. History would remember the commander of the Moonship. + +Forgotten? Yes, perhaps. But the names of the four of them, Joe and +Haney and the Chief and Mike, would still be remembered in a language +Joe couldn't speak, in a small village he couldn't name, on those +occasions when the Mohawk tribe met in formal council. + +The Chief grumbled. Mike stared out the port with bitter envy. + +"It was a dirty trick," growled the Chief. "We shoulda been part of the +first gang ever to land on the Moon!" + +Joe grimaced. His crew needed to be cured of feeling the same way he +did. + +"I wouldn't say this outside of our gang," said Joe carefully, "but if +it hadn't been for us four that ship wouldn't be on the way at all. +Haney figured the trick that got us back to Earth the first time, or +else we'd have been killed. If we had been killed, Mike wouldn't have +figured out the metal-concrete business. But for him, that Moonship +wouldn't even be a gleam in anybody's eye. And if the Chief hadn't blown +up that manned rocket we fought in the space wagons, there wouldn't be +any Platform up here to reload and refuel the Moonship. So they left us +behind! But just among the four of us I think we can figure that if it +hadn't been for us they couldn't have made it!" + +Haney grinned slowly at Joe. The Chief regarded him with irony. Mike +said, "Yeah. Haney, and me, and the Chief. We did it all." + +"Uh-huh," said the Chief sardonically. "Us three. Just us three. Joe +didn't do anything. Just a bum, he is. We oughta tell Sally he's no good +and she oughta pick herself out a guy that'll amount to something some +day." He hit Joe between the shoulders. "Sure! Just a bum, Joe! That's +all! But we got a weakness for you. We'll let you hang around with us +just the same! Come on, guys! Let's get something to eat!" + +The four of them marched down a steel-floored corridor, their +magnetic-soled shoes clanking on the plates. Their progress was +uncertain and ungainly and altogether undignified. Suddenly the Chief +began to bawl a completely irrelevant song to the effect that the +inhabitants of the kingdom of Siam were never known to wash their +dishes. Haney chimed in, and Mike. They were all very close together, +and they were not at all impressive. But it hit Joe very hard, this +sudden knowledge that the others didn't really care. It was the first +time it had occurred to him that Haney and Mike and the Chief would +rather be left behind with him, as a gang, than go on to individual high +achievement in a first landing on the Moon. + +It felt good. It felt _real_ good. + + * * * * * + +But that, and all other sources of satisfaction, was wiped out by news +that came back from the Moonship a bare six hours later. + +The Moonship was in trouble. The sequence and timing of its rocket +blasts were worked out on Earth, and checked by visual and radar +observation. The computations were done by electronic brains the +Moonship could not possibly have carried. And everything worked out. The +ship was on course and its firings were on schedule. + +But then the unexpected happened. It was an error which no machine could +ever have predicted, for which statistics and computations could never +have compensated. It was a _human_ error. At the signal for the final +acceleration blast, the pilot of the Moonship had fired the wrong set of +rockets. + +Inexperience, stupidity, negligence, excitement--the reason didn't +matter. After years of planning and working and dreaming, one human +finger had made a mistake. And the mistake was fatal! + +When the mistake was realized, they'd had sense enough to cut loose the +still-firing rockets. But the damage had been done. The ship was still +plunging on. It would reach the Moon. But it wouldn't land in +Aristarchus crater as planned. It would crash. If every rocket remaining +mounted on the hull were to be fired at the best possible instant, the +Moonship would hit near Copernicus, and it would land with a terminal +velocity of 800 feet per second--540 miles an hour. + +It could even be calculated that when the Moonship landed, the explosion +ought to be visible from Earth with a fairly good telescope. It was due +to take place in thirty-two hours plus or minus a few minutes. + + + + +11 + + +The others got the space tug into the platform's lock and did things to +it, in the way of loading, that its designers never intended, while Joe +was calling Earth for calculations. The result was infuriating. The +Moonship had taken off for the Moon on the other side of the Platform's +orbit, when it had a velocity of more than 12,000 miles an hour in the +direction it wished to go. The Platform and of course the space tug was +now on the reverse side of the Platform's orbit. And of course they now +had a velocity of more than 12,000 miles per hour away from the +direction in which it was urgently necessary for the space tug to go. +They could wait for two hours to take off, said Earth, or waste the time +and fuel they'd need to throw away to duplicate the effect of waiting. + +"But we can't wait!" raged Joe. Then he snapped. "Look here! Suppose we +take off from here, dive at Earth, make a near-graze, and let its +gravity curve our course! Like a cometary path! Figure that! That's what +we've got to do!" + +He kicked off his magnetic-soled shoes and went diving down to the +airlock. Over his shoulder he panted an order for the radar-duty man to +relay anything from Earth down to him there. He arrived to find Haney +and Mike in hot argument over whether it was possible to load on an +extra ton or two of mass. He stopped it. They would. + +"Everything's loaded?" he demanded. "Okay! Space suits! All set? Let's +get out of this lock and start blasting!" + +He drove them into the space tug. He climbed in himself. He closed the +entrance port. The plastic walls of the lock bulged out, pulled back +fast, and the steering rockets jetted. The space tug came out of the +lock. It spun about. It aimed for Earth and monstrous bursts of +rocket-trail spread out behind it. It dived. + +Naturally! When a ship from the Platform wanted to reach Earth for +atmosphere-deceleration, it was more economical to head away from it. +Now that it was the most urgent of all possible necessities to get away +from Earth, in the opposite direction to the space tug's present motion, +it was logical to dive toward it. The ship would plunge toward Earth, +and Earth's gravity would help its rockets in the attainment of frenzied +speed. But the tug still possessed its orbital speed. So it would not +actually strike the Earth, but would be carried eastward past its disk, +even though aimed for Earth's mid-bulge. Yet Earth would continue to +pull. As the space tug skimmed past, its path would be curved by the +pull of gravity. At the nearest possible approach to Earth, the tug +would fire its heaviest rockets for maximum acceleration. And it would +swing around Earth's atmosphere perhaps no more than 500 miles +high--just barely beyond the measurable presence of air--and come out of +that crazy curve a good hour ahead of the Platform for a corresponding +position, and with a greater velocity than could be had in any other +way. Traced on paper, the course of the tug would be a tight parabola. + +The ship dived. And it happened that it had left the Platform and +plunged deep in Earth's shadow, so that the look and feel of things was +that of an utterly suicidal plunge into oblivion. There was the seeming +of a vast sack of pure blackness before the nose of the space tug. She +started for it at four gravities acceleration, and Joe got his +headphones to his ears and lay panting while he waited for the figures +and information he had to have. + +He got them. When the four-gravity rockets burned out, the tug's crew +painstakingly adjusted the ship's nose to a certain position. They flung +themselves back into the acceleration chairs and Joe fired a six-g +blast. They came out of that, and he fired another. The three blasts +gave the ship a downward speed of a mile and a half a second, and +Earth's pull added to it steadily. The Earth itself was drawing them +down most of a 4,000-mile fall, which added to the speed their rockets +built up. + +Down on Earth, radar-bowls wavered dizzily, hunting for them to feed +them observations of position and data for their guidance. Back on the +Platform, members of the crew feverishly made their own computations. +When the four in the Space tug were half-way to Earth, they were +traveling faster than any humans had ever traveled before, relative to +the Earth or the Platform itself. When they were a thousand miles from +Earth, it was certain they would clear its edge. Joe proposed and +received an okay to fire a salvo of Mark Tens to speed the ship still +more. When they burned to the release-point and flashed away past the +ports, the Chief and Haney panted up from their chairs and made their +way aft. + +"Going to reload the firing-frames," gasped the Chief. + +They vanished. The space tug could take rockets from its cargo and set +them outside its hull for firing. No other ship could. + +Haney and the Chief came back. There was dead silence in the ship, save +for a small, tinny voice in Joe's headphones. + +"We'll pass Earth 600 miles high," said Joe in a flat voice. "Maybe +closer. I'm going to try to make it 450. We'll be smack over enemy +territory, but I doubt they could hit us. We'll be hitting better than +six miles a second. If we wanted to, we could spend some more rockets +and hit escape velocity. But we want to stop, later. We'll ride it out." + +Silence. Stillness. Speed. Out the ports to Earthward there was purest +blackness. On the other side, a universe of stars. But the blackness +grew and grew and grew until it neatly bisected the cosmos itself, and +half of everything that was, was blackness. Half was tiny colored stars. + +Then there was a sound. A faint sound. It was a moan. It was a howl. It +was a shriek.... And then it was a mere thin moan again. Then it was +not. + +"We touched air," said Joe calmly, "at six and a quarter miles per +second. Pretty thin, though. At that, we may have left a meteor-trail +for the populace to admire." + +Nobody said anything at all. In a little while there was light ahead. +There was brightness. Instantly, it seemed, they were out of night and +there was a streaming tumult of clouds flashing past below--but they +were 800 miles up now--and Joe's headphones rattled and he said: + +"Now we can give a touch of course-correction, and maybe a trace of +speed...." + +Rockets droned and boomed and roared outside the hull. The Earth fell +away and away and presently it was behind. And they were plunging on +after the Moonship which was very, very, very far on before them. + +It was actually many hours before they reached it. They couldn't afford +to overtake it gradually, because they had to have time to work in after +contact. But overtaking it swiftly cost extra fuel, and they hadn't too +much. So they compromised, and came up behind the Moonship at better +than 2,000 feet per second difference in speed--they approached it as +fast as most rifle-bullets travel--and all creation was blotted out by +the fumes of the rockets they fired for deceleration. + +Then the space tug came cautiously close to the Moonship. Mike climbed +out on the outside of the tug's hull, with the Chief also in space +equipment, paying out Mike's safety-line. Mike leaped across two hundred +yards of emptiness with light-years of gulf beneath him. His metal soles +clanked on the Moonship's hull. + +Then the vision-screen on the tug lighted up. Lieutenant Commander Brown +looked out of it, quietly grim. Joe flicked on his own transmitter. He +nodded. + +"_Mr. Kenmore_," said Brown evenly, "_I did not contact you before +because I was not certain that contact could be made. How many +passengers can you take back to the Platform?_" + +Joe blinked at him. + +"I haven't any idea," he said. "But I'm going to hitch on and use our +rockets to land you." + +"_I do not think it practicable_," said Brown calmly. "_I believe the +only result of such a course will be the loss of both ships with all +hands. I will give you a written authorization to return on my order. +But since all my crew can't return, how many can you take? I have ten +married men aboard. Six have children. Can you take six? Or all ten?_" +Then he said without a trace of emphasis, "_Of course, none of them will +be officers._" + +"If I tried to turn back now, I think my crew would mutiny," Joe said +coldly. "I'd hate to think they wouldn't, anyhow! We're going to hook on +and play this out the way it lies!" + +There was a pause. Then Brown spoke again. "_Mr. Kenmore, I was +hoping you'd say that. Actually--er--not to be quoted, you +understand--actually, intelligent defiance has always been in the +traditions of the Navy. Of course, you're not in the Navy, Kenmore, but +right now it looks like the Navy is in your hands. Like a battleship in +the hands of a tug. Good luck, Kenmore._" + +Joe flicked off the screen. "You know," he said, winking at Mike, "I +guess Brown isn't such a bad egg after all. Let's go!" + +In minutes, the space tug had a line made fast. In half an hour, the two +space craft were bound firmly together, but far enough apart for the +rocket blasts to dissipate before they reached the Moonship. Mike +returned to the tug. A pair of the big Mark Twenty rockets burned +frenziedly in emptiness. + +The Moonship was slowed by a fraction of its speed. The deceleration was +hardly perceptible. + +There were more burnings. Back on Earth there were careful measurements. +A tight beam tends to attenuate when it is thrown a hundred thousand +miles. It tends to! When speech is conducted over it, the lag between +comment and reply is perceptible. It's not great--just over half a +second. But one notices it. That lag was used to measure the speed and +distance of the two craft. The prospect didn't look too good. + +The space tug burned rocket after rocket after rocket. There was no +effect that Joe could detect, of course. It would have been like +noticing the effect of single oar-strokes in a rowboat miles from shore. +But the instruments on Earth found a difference. They made very, very, +very careful computations. And the electronic brains did the +calculations which battalions of mathematicians would have needed years +to work out. The electronic calculations which could not make a mistake +said--that it was a toss-up. + +The Moon came slowly to float before the two linked ships. It grew +slowly, slowly larger. The word from Earth was that considering the +rockets still available in the space tug, and those that should have +been fired but weren't on the Moonship, there must be no more blasts +just yet. The two ships must pass together through the neutral-point +where the gravities of Earth and Moon exactly cancel out. They must fall +together toward the Moon. Forty miles above the lunar surface +such-and-such rockets were to be fired. At twenty miles, such-and-such +others. At five miles the Moonship itself must fire its remaining +fuel-store. With luck, it was a toss-up. Safety or a smash. + +But there was a long time to wait. Joe and his crew relaxed in the space +tug. The Chief looked out a port and observed: + +"I can see the ring-mountains now. Naked-eye stuff, too! I wonder if +anybody ever saw that before!" + +"Not likely," said Joe. + +Mike stared out a port. Haney looked, also. + +"How're we going to get back, Joe?" + +"The Moonship has rockets on board," Joe told him. "Only they can't +stick them in the firing-racks outside. They're stowed away, all +shipshape, Navy fashion. After we land, we'll ask politely for rockets +to get back to the Platform with. It'll be a tedious run. Mostly +coasting--falling free. But we'll make it." + +"If everything doesn't blow when we land," said the Chief. + +Joe said uncomfortably: "It won't. Not that somebody won't try." Then he +stopped. After a moment he said awkwardly: "Look! It's necessary that we +humans get to the stars, or ultimately we'll crowd the Earth until we +won't be able to stay human. We'd have to have wars and plagues and such +things to keep our numbers down. It--it seems to me, and I--think it's +been said before, that it looks like there's something, somewhere, +that's afraid of us humans. It doesn't want us to reach the stars. It +didn't want us to fly. Before that it didn't want us to learn how to +cure disease, or have steam, or--anything that makes men different from +the beasts." + +Haney turned his head. He listened intently. + +"Maybe it sounds--superstitious," said Joe uneasily, "but there's always +been somebody trying to smash everything the rest of us wanted. As +if--as if something alien and hateful went around whispering +hypnotically into men's ears while they slept, commanding them +irresistibly to do things to smash all their own hopes." + +The Chief grunted. "Huh! D'you think that's new stuff, Joe?" + +"N-no," admitted Joe. "But it's true. Something fights us. You can make +wild guesses. Maybe--things on far planets that know that if ever we +reach there.... There's something that hates men and it tries to make us +destroy ourselves." + +"Sure," said Haney mildly. "I learned about that in Sunday School, Joe." + +"Maybe I mean that," said Joe helplessly. "But anyhow there's something +we fight--and there's Something that fights with us. So I think we're +going to get the Moonship down all right." + +Mike said sharply: "You mean you think this is all worked out in +advance. That we'd be here, we'd get here----" + +The Chief said impatiently, "It's figured out so we can do it if we got +the innards. We got the chance. We can duck it. But if we duck it, it's +bad, and somebody else has to have the chance later. I know what Joe's +saying. Us men, we got to get to the stars. There's millions of 'em, and +we need the planets they've got swimming around 'em." + +Haney said, "Some of them have planets. That's known. Yeah." + +"Those planets ain't going to go on forever with nobody using 'em," +grunted the Chief. "It don't make sense. And things in general do make +sense. All but us humans," he finished with a grin. "And I like us, +anyhow. Joe's right. We'll get by this time. And if we don't--some other +guys'll have to do the job of landing on the Moon. But it'll be +done--as a starter." + +"I can see lots of mountains down there. Plain," Mike said quietly. + +"What's the radar say?" + +Joe looked. Back at the Platform it had shown the curve of the surface +of Earth. Here a dim line was beginning to show on the vertical-plane +screen. It was the curve of the surface of the Moon. + +"We might as well get set," said Joe. "We've got time but we might as +well. Space suits on. I'll tighten up the chain. Steering rockets'll do +that. Then we'll take a last look. All firing racks loaded outside?" + +"Yeah," said Haney. He grinned wrily. "You know, Joe, I know what I +know, but still I'm scared." + +"Me, too," said Joe. + +But there were things to do. They took their places. They watched out +the ports. The Moon had seemed a vast round ball a little while back. +Now it appeared to be flattening. Its edges still curved away beyond a +surprisingly nearby horizon. The ring-mountains were amazingly distinct. +There were incredibly wide, smooth spaces with mottled colorings. But +the mountains.... + +When the ships were 40 miles high the space tug blasted valorously, and +all the panorama of the Moon's surface was momentarily hidden by the +racing clouds of mist. The rockets burned out. + +Haney and the Chief replaced the burned-out rockets. They were gigantic, +heavy-bore tubes which they couldn't have stirred on Earth. Now they +loaded them into the curious locks which conveyed them outside the hull +into firing position. + +The ring-mountains were gigantic when they blasted again! They were only +20 miles up, then, and some of the peaks rose four miles from their +inner crater floors. + +The ships were still descending fast. Joe spoke into his microphone. + +"Calling Moonship! Calling----" He stopped and said matter-of-factly, +"I suggest we fire our last blast together. Shall I give the word? +Right!" + +The surface of the Moon came toward them. Craters, cracks, frozen +fountains of stone, swelling undulations of ground interrupted without +rhyme or reason by the gigantic splashings of missiles from the sky a +hundred thousand million years ago. The colorings were unbelievable. +There were reds and browns and yellows. There were grays and dusty +deep-blues and streaks of completely impossible tints in combination. + +But Joe couldn't watch that. He kept his eyes on a very special gadget +which was a radar range-finder. He hadn't used it about the Platform +because there were too many tin cans and such trivia floating about. It +wouldn't be dependable. But it did measure the exact distance to the +nearest solid object. + +"Prepare for firing on a count of five," said Joe quietly. "Five ... +four ... three ... two ... one ... fire!" + +The space tug's rockets blasted. For the first time since they overtook +the Moonship, the tug now had help. The remaining rockets outside the +Moonship's hull blasted furiously. Out the ports there was nothing but +hurtling whitenesses. The rockets droned and rumbled and roared.... + +The main rockets burned out. The steering rockets still boomed. Joe had +thrown them on for what good their lift might do. + +"Joe!" said Haney in a surprised tone. "I feel weight! Not much, but +some! And the main rockets are off!" + +Joe nodded. He watched the instruments before him. He shifted a control, +and the space tug swayed. It swayed over to the limit of the tow-chain +it had fastened to the Moonship. Joe shifted his controls again. + +There was a peculiar, gritty contact somewhere. Joe cut the steering +rockets and it was possible to look out. There were more gritty noises. +The space tug settled a little and leaned a little. It was still. Then +there was no noise at all. + +"Yes," said Joe. "We've got some weight. We're on the Moon." + +They went out of the ship in a peculiarly solemn procession. About them +reared cliffs such as no man had ever looked on before save in dreams. +Above their heads hung a huge round greenish globe, with a white polar +ice-cap plainly visible. It hung in mid-sky and was four times the size +of the Moon as seen from Earth. If one stood still and looked at it, it +would undoubtedly be seen to be revolving, once in some twenty-four +hours. + +Mike scuffled in the dust in which he walked. Nobody had emerged from +the Moonship yet. The four of them were literally the first human beings +ever to set foot on the surface of the Moon. But none of them mentioned +the fact, though all were acutely aware of it. Mike kicked up dust. It +rose in a curiously liquid-like fashion. There was no air to scatter it. +It settled deliberately back again. + +Mike spoke with an odd constraint. "No green cheese," he said absurdly. + +"No," agreed Joe. "Let's go over to the Moonship. It looks all right. It +couldn't have landed hard." + +They went toward the bulk of the ship from Earth, which now was a base +for the military occupation of a globe with more land-area than all +Earth's continents put together--but not a drop of water. The Moonship +was tilted slightly askew, but it was patently unharmed. There were +faces at every port in the hull. + +The Chief stopped suddenly. A sizable boulder rose from the dust. The +Chief struck it smartly with his space-gloved hand. + +"I'm counting coup on the Moon!" he said zestfully "Tie that, you guys!" + +Then he joined the others on their way to the Moonship's main lock. + +"Shall we knock?" asked Mike humorously. "I doubt they've got a +door-bell!" + +But the lock-door was opening to admit them. They crowded inside. + +Commander Brown was waiting for them with an out-stretched hand. "Glad +to have you aboard." And there was a genuine smile creeping across his +face. + + * * * * * + +Joe talked with careful distinctness into a microphone. His voice took a +little over a second to reach its destination. Then there was a pause of +the same length before the first syllable of Sally's reply came to him +from Earth. + +"I've reported to your father," said Joe carefully, "and the Moonship +has reported to the Navy. In a couple of hours Haney and the Chief and +Mike and I will be taking off to go back to the Platform. We got rockets +from the stores of the Moonship." + +Sally's voice was surprisingly clear. It wavered a little, but there was +no sound of static to mar reception. + +"Then what, Joe?" + +"I'm bringing written reports and photographs and first specimens of +geology from the Moon," Joe told her. "I'm a mailman. It'll probably be +sixty hours back to the Platform--free fall most of the way--and then +we'll refuel and I'll come down to Earth to deliver the reports and +such." + +Pause. One second and a little for his voice to go. Another second and +something over for her voice to return. + +"And then?" + +"That's what I'm trying to find out," said Joe. "What day is today?" + +"Tuesday," said Sally after the inevitable pause. "It's ten o'clock +Tuesday morning at the Shed." + +Joe made calculations in his mind. Then he said: + +"I ought to land on Earth some time next Monday." + +Pause. + +"Yes?" said Sally. + +"I wondered," said Joe. "How about a date that night?" Another pause. +Then Sally's voice. She sounded glad. + +"It's a date, Joe. And--do you know, I must be the first girl in the +world to make a date with the Man in the Moon?" + + + + + COMBAT MISSION! + + + _Joe Kenmore's mission was as dangerous as it sounded simple:_ + + "DELIVER SUPPLIES AND ATOMIC WEAPONS TO THE SPACE PLATFORM. + THEN PREPARE FOR MAN'S FIRST EXPEDITION TO THE MOON." + + Joe had helped launch the first Space Platform--that initial rung in + man's ladder to the stars. But the enemies who had ruthlessly tried + to destroy the space station before it left Earth were still at + work. They were plotting to stop Joe's mission! + + Cover painting by Robert Schulz + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| Transcriber's Note | +| | +| The chemical symbol for carbon dioxide has been shown as | +| CO_2 to depict a subscript 2. | +| | +| In the following words, the hyphen has been removed to | +| conform to majority use in text. | +| brain-storm | +| loud-speaker | +| | +| The following words with and without a hyphen were left as | +| such because of equal prevalence of both forms: | +| half-way halfway | +| pay-load payload | +| rocket-lift rocketlift | +| sun-lamps sunlamps | +| hand-hold handhold | +| pin-points pinpoints | +| | +| "overall" and "over-all" were left as such since the writers | +| are different (The narrator and a character). | +| | +| The following typos have been corrected: | +| Adorning Adoring | +| level lever | +| runing running | +| shed Shed | +| thiry-nine thirty-nine | +| | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Space Tug, by Murray Leinster + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPACE TUG *** + +***** This file should be named 18719.txt or 18719.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1/18719/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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