by Hal Clement
"The thing which seemed to remove all difficulties was an entirely new rocket. You must have learned in school that the problem with early rockets was the terrific amount of fuel they wasted in building up speed. It was known that the faster you could squirt, gas out of the rocket's tail, the less fuel you needed to get to a particular speed; so they did their best to make more and more powerful fuels, since it was the energy in the fuel which had the most to say as to how fast the gas went out.
"About a year and a half ago, a completely new motor was built. It is still a rocket, but it uses water as the 'gas' and shoots it out at many thousands of miles a second—so fast that a ship weighing as much as an ordinary jet fighter and carrying the same amount of fuel could go anywhere in the solar system, using power all the way, instead of coasting. It was very wasteful of energy—maybe you've had enough math to see why, Pete—but we could afford the energy; it was powered by the same reaction that makes the sun go—the so-called Phoenix reaction, something like that in the old H-bombs, I guess. The important thing was that a ship could now carry all the fuel it was ever likely to need; we began to see ourselves running around the whole solar system in the next couple of years. In fact, there was an argument for a while that we shouldn't try to build the satellite station—there would be no use for it, since any ship could take off from the earth and still have fuel enough to go anywhere it wanted. We finally decided to build it, though, since it would have a lot of uses besides a fueling station. That much you knew."
"And it's done and up? How can you say you failed, then?"
"It's finished, and in its orbit, and there is a crew aboard. Twenty years ago, anyone would have said that we had done ninety percent of the work toward conquering the inner planets.
"However, there's a catch. Pete, when you first started diving, how did it feel between the time you left the board and the time you hit the water?"
"Well—I don't know. Or at least, I don't remember. I don't think it bothered me much."
"Well, then, how about elevators—just as you start down, or just as you stop on the way up?"
"It's not too bad. I used to get sort of queasy in the stomach, but I hardly notice it now."
"Do you think you'd notice it if it didn't stop?"
"What do you mean?"
"The elevator feeling occurs when you accelerate downward, so that your feet don't press the floor so hard, your insides don't press down on each other so hard, and the fluid in your middle ear which controls your sense of balance doesn't stay so firmly in the bottom of its tubes. Since you never can accelerate for more than a few seconds in a downward direction while you're on the earth, you never suffer the sensation for long. In a rocket, though, you'll feel it any time you're using power different from the amount you need to accelerate at falling-body rate, and if your power is off—" He shook his head, and the expression on his face grew sharper.
"If it's off, I should think you'd have no weight at all," Peter remarked.
"That's right."
"But why should that bother you? I should think it would be fun; you could float around without—" Bowen, falling from his usual standards of courtesy, interrupted.
"Don't say that! You don't float; you fall! And believe me there's a difference! With no weight at all, nothing keeps the fluid in your middle ear at the bottom of its semicircular canals; it spreads out and covers the whole inside of them. That means your brain gets signals that you're right side up, upside down, and lying on your stomach, back, and both sides all at once. The closest thing you get to it on Earth or any planet of decent size is when you spin yourself around rapidly for a while and then stop suddenly, so that the liquid sloshes around inside; then your sense of balance tells you that one way is up and your eyes tell you something different. The good thing is that it only lasts a short time."
"Spinning makes me dizzy," remarked Dart.
"And what I've been describing is just that—dizziness," replied his uncle. "You get dizzy; you feel as though you were falling but you don't know which way is down, since there isn't any 'down.' For a while you keep yourself under control, telling yourself that it's all right and you're not going to run into anything and that you don't really care which is down—that it's no worse than learning to fly an airplane on instruments, when you have to disregard your sense of balance too; but sooner or later your feelings win out over your mind. If it doesn't happen while you're on duty, it does later—for example, while you're waking up from sleep and don't quite know yet what is going on around you."
"I think I see," Peter said after a moment's silence.
"I should think you could get used to it, though, after a while; and didn't you say that there was a crew aboard that satellite station? That can't be using power, and must be weightless; how do they stand it? Did you get them used to it by easy stages?"
"We thought that might be possible, at first," Bowen replied. "We knew that weightlessness wouldn't be comfortable, of course, and expected that it would take a good deal of getting used to; so we designed the station to spin. Centrifugal force in the outer portions was to act as artificial gravity and make the place more or less comfortable, while the parts near the center could be used for weightless practice."
"And it didn't work?"
"It didn't. Every soul on board got deathly sick while we were working into the position and velocity needed for the orbit, while weight was changing constantly and 'down' altering its direction all the time; when we were finally set up, and power went off altogether, only one man was able to control himself enough to get the thing spinning. About half of the men failed to get their sense of balance back for the best part of a week; when they did, we started experimenting as you suggested, Pete, to see whether we could get used to it.
"All I can say is that we tried, in every way anyone could think of, and we failed. Some of them are trying yet—I suspect that they offered to stay because they couldn't face the thought of the trip back. I lost my sense of balance during one of the experiments, but I had to come back no matter how I felt. That's why I didn't ride back with you; I could see the sky from your car, and it's hard to look at if you don't know whether it's up or down."
"Is this permanent?" asked Bart in alarm. He had visions of his uncle spending his life in a wheel chair.
"How can I tell? Nothing like this has ever happened to anyone before. At least, I'm getting so that I can stand it a little better, and can sleep for a few minutes every now and then. It was pretty bad at first, I must admit, and I still don't like to think about the cause. That's why I was so rude a little while ago, Pete, when you talked about the joys of weightless floating; believe me, it's no joy!"
"Then they're giving up on the whole business of space travel? You said that secrecy was being ended tonight," Peter said.
"I'm afraid they are. It seems logical to me, though I don't like it any better than you do. What we're facing is the fact that man spends a lifetime training his mind and nervous system to link together the messages from his muscles, his eyes, and his semicircular canals; now he faces a situation where those messages disagree with each other. It's no wonder his mind quits under the strain. I'm afraid, Pete, that we're not going to walk around on the deserts of Mars—ever."
3
THE WIRE
FOR several minutes the room was silent. Although the boys had been really too sensible to expect to accompany their uncle into space in the near future, they had been looking forward to exploring the planets when they were older; Uncle Jim's flat statement that this could never be done was a shock. Being boys, they found it hard to believe. Bart was the first to give voice to this feeling.
"I can't see it, Uncle Jim. You say that you've been working on this particular problem only three weeks and have already given it up? That's not like you, and it's not like the picture I've always had of scientists. You've told us time and again how it has taken years to solve some of the problems Old Lady Nature has set up, and lots of others aren't solved yet—but t
hey aren't giving up on them."
Bowen flushed slightly.
"I suppose it would seem that way to you. However, I can assure you that a number of pretty brilliant people have been considering this question since it came up, and they haven't even been able to think of a line of attack on the problem. That's a little different from the usual situation, where the investigator at least knows where he's heading.
"Still, you're partly right. The actual reason for publicizing the whole thing is to get more ideas. We all admit that there may be an answer, but we have no idea of what it will be like. What I said is true; a person spends his whole life in unfitting himself for space, and practically has to throw his brain out of gear in order to be able to stand weightlessness. Since he's not much use without a brain........ " Bowen shrugged.
Bart nodded slowly.
"I suppose you must be right, though it seems to me that there must be ways—how about some drug that numbs your ears, so that you don't get the dizzy sensation?"
"I'm already in that condition, with the result that I not only can't fly but can't walk."
"It seems to me I've heard of folks with some kind of deafness which interfered with their ear canals, but they were able to get along all right."
"Yes, we thought of that before the take-off, and had two of them on the crew. They're both still up there; neither wants to face weightlessness again. Apparently they depend more than most people on muscle sense
—the thing that tells you whether your leg is straight or bent and whether the head that has your normal sense of balance is sitting straight on your neck."
Bart was silent, and his brother took up the questioning.
"How do they know that anyone who gets an idea from this new publicity won't keep it to himself and use it for his own ends? As I understood it, that was the reason for the original secrecy."
"That was most of it. The news accounts tonight are not going to carry complete specifications for the Phoenix motor, though, and ideas of the sort we want won't be much use by themselves. I think there's a pretty good chance, actually, that we'll get something."
Dart had been frowning through a good deal of this conversation. Now he spoke up.
"Since this whole thing was never a military proposition, just why was all the secrecy being observed, anyway? You told us not to tell anyone, and somehow we always thought about how long we'd spend in jail if we talked; actually, would there have been any law broken if we had?"
"No; but your respected uncle would have been out of a job. The Geographic Institute did make agreements with several governments, according to which we were to get to the planets first. It was for just one reason, really; if private individuals or government-sponsored expeditions make the first landings, there'll be a lot of legal fuss about who owns the planets, because no laws have been really worked out on the matter. If an international outfit like Geographic gets there first, at least there won't be anyone claiming the moon or Mars by right of first landing or something. Actually, the whole thing is not too important, the average man would say, but it might save a lot of argument later, and that was the reason for the agreement."
"But do they think anybody else is actually trying to get out into space? I never thought of anyone's trying to claim the moon just because he landed there first. It sounds silly."
"Not so silly when you think about the arguments over who owned the Americas, back in the sixteenth century," Bowen pointed out. "Anyway, that was the reason for it all; the fact that no spies seem to have kidnapped any of the Institute group to make them tell about the project doesn't make the whole idea senseless. We are still, as I say, keeping the details of the Phoenix motor as secret as possible, so—" he grinned —"if you see any spies around, better let me know." The boys realized he did not mean this literally, and probably did not believe for an instant that there would actually be an attempt to spy on them, but one of them, at least, took the matter seriously. It was just as well he did.
The question bee broke up as Mrs. Lynn called from the kitchen that supper was nearly ready. It was taken for granted that Peter would stay, as he normally did when Bowen was home. Bart got up and began pacing the floor in thought; Dart went off on some project of his own. No ideas had emerged from any of them by the time the housekeeper called out that the food was ready.
Bart pushed the wheel chair into the dining room, while Peter brought the hot dishes from the cooker, and the two boys sat down beside Bowen.
"Where's Dart?" asked Peter as he reached for his napkin. "He must have heard." The others listened for a moment, but heard no sound of approaching footsteps.
"He's interested in something," sighed Bart. "Goodness knows it's not the first time. Shall we hunt him up, Uncle Jim, or let him remember for himself?"
"I'm a little curious to know what could be holding his attention at this point," replied Bowen. "I can wait, if you want to collect him." The two boys shrugged and rose from the table in unison.
"You try up, and I'll go down, Pete." They started for the door, but before they reached it they were stopped by the sound of hasty footsteps in the hall outside. An instant later the missing member of the group plunged into the room and skidded to a halt beside his uncle's wheel chair, panting heavily.
"Uncle Jim! I thought you were kidding about that spy business!"
"I'm afraid I was, Dart." The other two boys looked at each other; Dart was excitable, but far from stupid. He must have seen something............
"Well, you were wrong! We were being listened to, there in the sitting room!"
Bowen started to rise from his wheel chair, then fell back as a wave of dizziness warned him that he could not stand unaided. Like the others, he knew that Dart was intelligent and his report called for a sudden change in plans if it were correct.
"How do you know? What did you see?"
"Well, ever since you mentioned spies I've been trying to figure out what ways we could be checked on in this house; it seemed to me that about the only way was to hide microphones of some sort. If anyone had done that, there would have to be wires going out; so I just looked for wires."
"And you found them?"
"One, yes."
"You're sure it wasn't the phone wire?" Dart gave his older brother a look of scorn.
"I'm sure, unless you've had a new drop run in while I was out—and fastened it to a matchbox-sized gadget stowed behind a picture in the sitting room."
"Which picture?"
"That two-foot-square thing of an Arizona sunset on the wall toward the kitchen."
"You're, crazy; even if the wire hadn't been put in till we went out this afternoon, I'd have seen it afterward while we were talking. I was facing that picture the whole time."
"Hadn't we better look, rather than argue?" asked
Bowen. There was no answer to this, and the party headed for the sitting room, Dart leading the way and Peter bringing up the rear with the wheel chair.
"All right, bright boy. Why didn't you see it?" Dart was asking as Peter and Bowen arrived beneath the picture. Actually, there was every excuse for Bart's failure, for the tiny box which his brother had now pulled out into view had been completely concealed behind the heavy frame, and the wire leading from it was little thicker than a hair. It led up the wall, along one of the much heavier wires which supported the picture, along the molding next to the ceiling, until it reached a window opening onto the side drive of the Bowen house, and disappeared between the upper sash and the frame. It took several seconds for all the group to perceive this, since the wire was difficult to see even after its location was known.
After following it to the window with their eyes, Peter and Bart started for the door to find what it did outside, but Bowen stopped them.
"Wait a moment, boys. Dart, did you go out to see where it went?"
"Yes."
"What did you find?"
"It runs down to the ground right outside the window and ends in a box about three inches square and I don't
know how thick, buried to its top in the flower bed and pretty well hidden by the plants."
"Do you know whether anyone was watching you while you examined it?"
"I didn't think to look. I didn't see anyone, either on the street or on the neighbors' grounds—or ours."
"Then it's possible, but not certain, that whoever installed this set doesn't know we've found it. I don't think it would be wise for anyone else to go to have a look, though."
"But why not, Uncle Jim?" asked Bart. "Won't they have already heard us talking in the last minute or so, and know what's happened?"
"I doubt it. Of course, it's possible that the box may be a radio, but I doubt that anyone would take such a chance; there's no such thing as a secret wave length, and they wouldn't have wanted to broadcast our talk to the whole world. I imagine that box is a tape or wire recorder; whoever is listening in on us will have to come back to pick it up, or at least its record. That gives us a chance to do a little thinking, since it won't be dark for a while yet and I shouldn't think they'd come by daylight. I could have the police waiting, I suppose."
"But wouldn't that mean that the tape would fall into their hands?" objected Dart.
"Probably; but why should that bother us? We haven't said anything that isn't going to be published soon anyway—in fact, it's probably on the air right now."
"Even the part about the chance of claiming a planet because you are first to land on it?" It was Peter's first remark for some time. Bowen was silent for several seconds.
"That's a point," he said at last. "Perhaps the civilian police would not be the best. The trouble is, I can't use military intelligence, since the project is not military."
Bart glanced at the other boys. They both knew what he was thinking; Dart grinned and gave him a "go-ahead" nod; Peter's expression did not change.
"Uncle Jim," Bart said carefully, "why wouldn't it be possible for us to ambush this character ourselves?"
The answer was prompt.
