The Ranger Boys in Space

by Hal Clement

  Peter started to say something, but stopped before the words had formed. Bowen was about to go on with his remarks when the expression on the boy's face caught his attention. He looked at him narrowly for a moment.

  "Pete! Do you mean you do have an idea about this matter?" The others looked at the "bookworm" expectantly, but Peter did not answer directly. He asked a question of his own instead.

  "Did anyone check to see whether our little friend had put a new tape in that recorder? We know he got away with the old one."

  They had decided the previous evening not to try to remove the listening device without further thought, and no one had looked to see whether it was still in working condition. Bart hastily went out to determine this point, and returned in two or three minutes with the news that the reel magazine was empty. Evidently the redhead had not had time to replace the one he had taken. This appeared to relieve Peter.

  "All right," he said, "I do have an idea. I can't tell how good it is, but I don't think anyone else can either without trying it. Tell me, Uncle Jim, did anything ever happen to those monkeys they sent out on that two-week orbital test several years ago—the one where they used old-style rockets, and were trying to find out what weightlessness would do? I read about the test, but nothing much was ever said about what happened to the test animals—most of the reports just bragged about all the automatic controls they tested at the same time."

  "They suffered no apparent ill effects," replied Bowen. "They were all alive when the pay-chamber of the test rocket was parachuted back to the surface, and I believe one of them is still alive. That's why this business took us by surprise; we assumed that if a monkey, who certainly couldn't understand what it was all about, could nevertheless stand the sensations, then a man should have little trouble."

  "That's what I thought. That, and something you said last night, started me thinking."

  "Duck, everybody!" remarked Dart. "It's one of Pete's ideas!"

  "Of course, people who are afraid of ideas can stay on the ground," Peter replied pointedly. "But my point was simply this: doesn't it seem likely that the trouble is caused by learning? That a grown man, who has spent years getting himself used to situations which always include weight, simply can't unlearn all that when the weight disappears?"

  "That's about what I said last night," remarked Bowen.

  "I know. However, short-lived animals like monkeys, which aren't too well equipped for learning anyway, had no trouble. Wouldn't it seem likely, then, that the younger a person was, the better his chances of getting used to space?"

  This question was received in silence, while Bowen and his nephews digested its implications—and Dart came as close as he ever had to apologizing to Peter. Even he could see where this line of thought was likely to lead. He said nothing, however, for he could see the sort of objections likely to be raised, and felt that the originator of the idea was best qualified to fight for it.

  Bowen could see what Peter had in mind, of course, but chose not to admit it at first.

  "You mean, I take it, that newborn children could get away with lack of weight? I see two objections. One is that they couldn't operate controls anyway, and the other is that you're wrong—the sensation of weightlessness is one of endless falling, and that's one of the few things that does bother a newborn child."

  "But it doesn't bother a six-year-old nearly so much. That helps my point. As a person grows older and his brain improves, he learns that falls of a certain distance are not dangerous—we've all seen kids jumping out of trees. Then later he gets the idea more and more firmly fixed that above a certain height it is dangerous to fall, and winds up in the situation you're in. It seems to me that there should be a happy medium somewhere, where a person is grown-up enough to learn to handle machinery, but not so set in his thinking that he can't get used to new conditions. I don't know that that's the case, and I certainly don't know that Bart and Dart and I are at the right age even if the idea is sound; but it seems to me that it's something worth testing."

  Bowen thought for some time before he answered.

  "You certainly have some sort of idea there," he admitted at last, "but there are more difficulties than you seem to have considered. The most obvious one is the matter of having fifteen- and sixteen-year-old boys gadding around through the solar system with no supervision. I'm not saying that I don't trust you myself, but you can see how a lot of people would react."

  "Isn't that a problem which won't really come until after the idea proves possible?" asked Peter. "If it turns out that we can stand constant fall, then we can tackle the problem of making it legal." Bowen noted with amusement the smooth way in which Peter had gone from mentioning young people in general to "we."

  "Even the first trial would be a problem that way, though. What parent is going to let his teen-ager fly a rocket—particularly when it won't be possible for any adult to teach him how, at least not in the way flying is usually taught?"

  "You'll just have to use boys without parents, I guess."

  "Nice try, Pete. Unfortunately, a legal guardian is in an even worse position than a parent, as regards what he can allow his ward to do. I suppose I might possibly arrange it for Dart and Bart here, thought it wouldn't be easy—I'm a blood relative of theirs, and their 'natural' as well as legal guardian. In your case—well, I don't know what we could do. I assume, of course, that you're casting yourself as well as my nephews in the role of test pilots."

  "That was the idea," admitted Peter.

  Bowen nodded, and the brothers perceived with delight that he wore an expression suggesting that he was willing to be convinced.

  "Hmph. What do the school authorities say when I cart you off with the story that I need you for guinea pigs?

  "You took Bart and Dart to Africa four years ago."

  "That was supposed to be educational. I had to agree to spend a certain number of hours a week teaching them, or seeing that they were taught, material which the school board had selected."

  "Well, can't you do that here? Or would you even need to? This sort of thing would be about as educational as anything we could possibly be doing."

  "There's something in that, I suppose. Certainly a young man majoring in physics would profit by it. I'm not so sure about a couple of track stars, of course; it's hard to see where running or jumping could help or be helped by space travel."

  The brothers stiffened at this remark. It seemed probable that their uncle was joking, but there was enough doubt about it so that they both felt the need to say something. They looked at each other in some consternation.

  "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Dart. "It seems to me that running and jumping will be a darned sight more useful in a place where you have to use your muscles than sitting in a chair reading a book—or swimming!" Peter had his answer ready.

  "I don't know about the swimming end, though it seems to me that moving around without weight will be a lot closer to that than to running, but how about diving? How's a fellow who still depends on luck for what happens between the end of the diving board and the water going to know which way is up out in space?"

  "There isn't any up, so what does it matter?" retorted Dart.

  "Well, it will be nice to find out which is the best preparation," Bart cut in. "After all, it would be foolish to use only one guinea pig in any experiment." Dart grinned at this, and the argument ended; the brothers had made the point they wanted. Bowen took up the discussion once more.

  "There is still the matter," he said, "law or no law, school or no school, of putting you fellows into any position of risk. I know that you don't object, but whatever sort of brains you may have, you still don't have adult judgement; if anything did happen to you it would be my fault. I know Pete's folks will feel the same."

  "We wouldn't blame you."

  "That's not the point; I'd blame myself. So would

  Peter's guardians, and so would the law. You know it perfectly well. With no reflection on your abilities, I'd feel about the way
you would if you told a three-year-old that it was all right to cross the street, and then saw him hit by a car."

  There seemed at first no answer to this. While each of the boys felt that he would certainly be able to take care of himself in any situation which was likely to arise, they also knew in their hearts that Bowen's feeling was perfectly justified. Bart even wondered whether it was fair to try to persuade his uncle, considering his present condition. After all, had James Bowen been in his normal state of health, none of this discussion would have occurred; he would have heard Peter's idea, thought it over for about thirty seconds, come out with a definite "yes" or "no," and that would have closed the matter.

  If Peter felt the way Bart did, however, he managed to keep his attitude under control. He wanted to get into space and see for himself the worlds that he had read about; he wanted it as he had never wanted anything in his life, and he was prepared to ignore the finer points of fair play to get there. Therefore, during the brief silence which followed Bowen's remark, he mustered his thoughts for another attack.

  "Uncle Jim," he finally asked, "just how important do you think it is that we do get out into space? What good will it do the country or the world?" Bowen leaned forward and began answering, earnestly and without hesitation.

  "I think it's one of the most important things that can possibly happen right now. In the last three or four centuries the sciences which have been keeping mankind alive have been suffering more and more from the fact that all their observations were from the viewpoint of one world. That viewpoint kept Tycho Brahe from realizing the true nature of the solar system, which didn't hamper the rest of science much at the time; but it was more serious when Lowell drew canals on his maps of Mars and Ganymede and when Michelson and Morley tried to find the actual speed of the earth. It's become worse since; researchers in physics, chemistry, nucleonics, meteorology, and literally dozens of other really important fields—important in that we need them to keep the population of the earth alive—are being hampered because they can't observe the earth from outside or because they can't get weight-free conditions or cold enough conditions or oxygen-free conditions in a large enough space— I could go on half the day, but you see what I mean."

  "Then, if getting into space is so important for mankind, have we any right not to try any plan which has a chance of working, regardless of how much worry it may cause or how much danger may be involved?" Peter stared straight into Bowen's eyes as he asked this. Now he was serious; it was not just a matter of finding an argument which would let him personally reach the moon, but a feeling of urgency which matched Bowen's own. Bowen himself realized this, and very slowly nodded.

  "You're right; I haven't," he admitted. "I'll do what I can to try out what you have in mind, and to persuade your folks to let you in on it too. Thanks, Pete; that was a very, very good point."

  6

  NIAGARA

  FORTUNATELY, Peter's guardians knew, respected, and trusted James Bowen. They also felt about Peter as though he had been their own son, however, and they were naturally dubious about the proposal. Bowen's own condition was not very encouraging; the agreement finally reached was that if Bowen himself showed reasonable improvement within the next few weeks, and if nothing serious happened to any of the crew of the satellite station now in space during the same period, then Peter would be free to do as he pleased in the matter.

  This waiting period solved another problem; it removed the need for getting the boys out of school before the normal summer vacation. That took care of Peter permanently in that respect, since he was graduating, and the Ranger boys would not have to worry about the matter until September. If they were at all disappointed at not getting out of the spring term at school, they had the sense not to say so.

  The principal anxiety for all of them, naturally, was James Bowen's health. This was not entirely a selfish feeling; as Bart remarked to the others one day, it gave him a queer feeling in the stomach to see the man they had always regarded as one of the strongest and bravest in the world unable to stand on his own feet.

  However, as the weeks passed, he did gradually improve. He slept better and better; the nightmares in which he would wake up grasping at anything solid in reach to stop the endless falling sensation gradually became fewer. He learned to stand again, at first for just a few seconds by dint of using his eyes and ignoring his undependable sense of balance; bit by bit, as his nervous system began to trust his semicircular canals once more, the balance itself improved. By the middle of May he could keep on his feet with his eyes shut.

  Then it was simply a matter of getting his strength back, since two months in a wheel chair had not given him much exercise. By the time the schools closed he was perfectly able to get around by himself and do a certain amount of work, though he was not yet the man he had been. Peter's guardians were satisfied, to that young man's frank relief, and the day after school closed the four of them boarded a plane for Niagara. Three of them were looking forward eagerly to the prospect of the "long fall," while the fourth very definitely was not. He felt strongly that enough was enough.

  There had been no further detected attempt at spying on the Bowen home. They could not decide whether the discovery of the first try had discouraged the unknown people responsible, that they had found out all they wanted to know—or that they had taken up some more efficient method, and simply not been caught at it. Bowen and Peter had thought of that last possibility, though it had not bothered the Rangers. None of them had caught another glimpse of the redheaded athlete who had escaped them the first night, though all three of the boys had kept their eyes open for him.

  The satellite station had not been out of the news since the first announcement, and the classmates of the boys had been bombarding them with questions of all sorts regarding the project, since it was generally known that Bowen was connected with it. It is hard to guess what might have happened had their friends learned that Bart, Dart, and Peter were to attempt to fly rockets and actually visit the station, but Bowen had requested that they keep the matter secret. He had no desire to receive several bushels of letters from horrified parents, and still less to have someone bring legal pressure to stop the matter. He was convinced that he was doing right, but realized that many others did not share his feelings about the importance of space flight. Several times one or another of the boys almost let the matter out, since it was hard not to brag; but as far as they could tell, no one had suspected the truth up to the time they left.

  The flight was. uneventful. Forty minutes after the doors of the plane closed at Washington the group was walking down the exit ramp at the Niagara field, and a few minutes later they had been driven to the outskirts of the city and the great building of the aluminum plant where the parts for the satellite vehicle had been made. This was a scene of considerable activity, for although many people now felt that there was no future in space flight, a great deal of equipment for that purpose was still being made. Most of the plant was open, but a number of sheds were closed and guarded; and it was into one of these that Bowen took the boys. The guard recognized Bowen and let the whole group in without comment.

  The boys had hoped to be introduced at once to the rockets they were to try to fly, but a good deal had to be done first. Their initial experience on entering the building was with a complete medical laboratory, and they spent the rest of the day being examined with a thoroughness they had never before seen. Peter was moved to comment toward the end of the procedure.

  "I think there's a blood corpuscle in my left little toe that you missed," he remarked.

  The doctor working on him at the moment was able to hold his own in that sort of talk.

  "There are two more near your right elbow. We don't care about those; they'll be gone by the time you take off anyway. Tell me, when did you have that skull fracture?" Peter gasped, while visions of being grounded for medical reasons danced through his head.

  "It's never been fractured! I never was even knocked out!"

>   "Really? You mean wisecracks like that came in through the regular channels? I find it hard to believe." Peter realized he had met his match, and made no more remarks.

  The examinations included a set of measurements of a very complete nature. Dart, undeterred by what had happened to Peter, asked whether the rockets were going to be tailored to fit them. His Uncle Jim answered this question.

  "No, although the one-man rockets are pretty cramped gadgets. What really has to fit, though, is your vacuum suit. You'd feel a trifle silly if you put the thing on and then couldn't move because the knees were half an inch too far down the legs."

  They thought the examination was over at the end of the first day, but on the second, they were introduced to the Barany chair, a device which had been used for many years in checking airplane pilots. It was a chair of the revolving type—not revolving when the person sitting in it wished, like an office chair, but spinning under the influence of an electric motor in its base. The control of the motor was not in the chair but on a panel well out of reach, and this feature, together with a set of safety belts attached to the chair itself, caused the boys to eye it somewhat uneasily. Bowen seemed amused about something.

  "Well, Pete," he said, "this will give some sort of test for your idea. This thing used to serve to show whether or not a pilot's sense of balance was normal. They spun him for a while and then turned him loose to walk a straight line—if he could."

  "And he was supposed to be able to?"

  "No. He was expected to be dizzy. If he wasn't, something was wrong with his semicircular canals. I expect you fellows will be dizzy at first, too. However, if there is anything to your idea, Pete, it may be possible for you to learn to overcome—no, that's not a good word—to allow for dizziness. I don't see why my advice should be much good, but it would seem that the thing you'd have to do would be learn to ignore your feelings and trust your eyes alone. I don't know whether it's possible, and even if it isn't you might still be able to get used to weightlessness; but we're going to try this anyway. Who's first?"