by Zach Hughes
The computer gave angle of climb, increments of power, times, and the automatics fed it into the engine. Neil followed the motions with his hands, just to get the feel of it. There was a different pitch to the quiet background hum inside her. The acceleration was slight at first. Only instruments could feel it. The ship mushed slowly upward. Full speed could not be attained in the drag of the atmosphere. The upward flight was slow and tedious. It was monitored by thousands of instruments ranging from hull-temperature gauges to nutrino traps measuring the efficiency of the hydroplant.
She was a pure thing of joy, Neil was thinking. He’d flown every type of ship built in the United States and some that were built elsewhere. He’d never flown anything like this one.
“You’re a helluva ship builder,” he told Dom with a grin.
Dom smiled ruefully. Being praised by a man like Neil was pleasant, but it was small compensation. There was, of course, the pride which comes when your own ideas and work bear fruit and prove a successful design. There wasn’t another ship like Folly.
Revealing, of course, that he was thinking of her not as the J.F.K., but as Folly. J.J.’s Folly.
The tension in the control room was not all engendered by the ticklish task of lifting the ship out of the atmosphere into clear space without straining the laden hull, without burning a thruster tube with too much power. Actually, the lifting went on so long it became routine. It was J.J.’s presence which caused most of the tension. Dom felt a sick disappointment. He had not realized, until the moment of J.J.’s surprise announcement, that he’d been counting heavily on that alien ship. There was a personal element in his disappointment. He had been duped into going on the ultimate treasure hunt, a sublight drive the potential reward, and all the time there had been no treasure. He had been promised the stars, and the payload was Jovian soup, thick soup compressed inside Folly’s cargo hold.
In the ideal world, Folly could have been built in the interest of pure research, to prove that it could be done, to obtain samples of Jovian atmosphere, to merely add to knowledge. In an ideal world, however, there would also be plenty of food. That situation had not existed on the world for decades.
Idle thoughts as the ship lifted. From a long-range viewpoint, pure research paid off. The hydrogen engine which powered the Folly had roots in the early space program. Photographs taken during the first Skylab experiment, a pure research project, gave astrophysicists new and startling information about the sun. Questions raised about traditional ideas of the sun’s power way back in the 1970s led to the breakthrough which allowed Folly to rise against the force of Jovian gravity. Had not scientists doing pure research work at an observatory in Arizona discovered that the sun’s entire globe pulsated, the theories which made the hydrogen drive a reality would have been left unformulated. From a long-range point of view, Skylab was worthwhile, but even then there were people who screamed against the expenditure and wanted, instead, to buy butter, or welfare Cadillacs, for that group of non-achievers who are always a festering portion of human society.
Reactionary thinking, he told himself. The poor are always with us. He was not right-wing enough to be able to forget them, especially in view of the fact that he would soon be one of them, in the same boat with the starving millions. Where had it all gone wrong? All he wanted was to work in space, perhaps do a little bit to help halt man’s galloping breeding, perhaps, eventually, to help man escape the overcrowded planet into richer pastures.
The man who built the Folly was feeling guilty. Enough money had been spent building her to expand the mining on Mars tenfold, to produce enough phosphates to fertilize half of the farmlands of the world. An achievement in pure science had come at the expense of many more needed projects. Once the whole story of Folly was known, the impact would kill the space program. Even if the civil war was won by government forces there would continue to be criticism of Folly as long as man hungered for food.
For a moment Dom wondered if it wouldn’t be best for the hull to fail or a thruster to burn, leaving Folly to perish, never to be seen by human eyes again. But to have Folly plunge into the depths of Jupiter would not erase the knowledge that she had been built. Dead or alive, the ship, the ultimate achievement of the Department of Space Exploration, would be the instrument used by opponents of space spending to cripple the program for decades, perhaps forever.
The man who had engineered Folly went to his cabin as Neil brought her out into space through the thinning zone of frozen ammonia. From his bunk, he felt the power which sent the ship swooping upward and outward past the lonely moons, so powerful she did not feel the burden of Jovian soup in her hold.
He could not hide from his part in it. He went back into the control room. He called the picket ship and said, “It’s over. We’re headed home. Do you have fuel for Mars?”
“Affirmative,” came the reply. “Congratulations, J.F.K.”
Dom made a grimace and did not acknowledge. He could feel the acceleration. He was tired. As far as he was concerned the ship could be put on auto and left to her own devices. At the moment he didn’t care much about anything. He was thinking of the war, American killing American. He tried to gauge the impact of the news that the Folly’s mission, made possible by the expenditure of billions, was a waste. The news could not be suppressed for long. An organization which could plant a fanatic on Mars, DOSE’s most secure stronghold, could ferret out the news that Folly had been sent on a fool’s errand and had come back with a load of noxious things from deep inside Jupiter.
He went back to his quarters and fell heavily onto his bunk. Doris was still at station and would be there until the flight plan was finalized and double-checked. When he heard a knock on his door he didn’t answer, but the door was not locked.
J.J. stuck his head in. “Want to talk a minute, Flash?”
“I’d rather not right now,” Dom said.
J.J. closed the door behind him. “It was a dirty trick, wasn’t it?”
“J.J., just get out, huh?”
“In a minute.” J.J. sat down. “Would it make you feel better to take a poke at me?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I wouldn’t even put you on report,” J J. said. “Are you ready to listen, or are you still feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Do I have a choice?” Dom growled.
“You got the idea, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Dom said. “I got it. My God, J J., you faked an alien ship and spent billions of dollars to chase a fairy tale.”
“I had to fake the ship,” J.J. said. “I had to do something so that practical types, like you, could relate to it. I thought the idea was rather brilliant, didn’t you?”
“J.J., I’m damned tired. Why don’t you go take a nap?”
“Who would have listened if I’d told them the real reason?” J J. asked. “It took a powerful incentive, like the prospect of finding a free sublight drive, to get anyone to listen.”
“Yes,” Dom said wearily.
“No need to put into Mars on the way home, huh?”
“No.”
“We go in Moon Base, darkside.”
“What difference does it make? Wherever we put her down she probably won’t ever lift off again.”
“She’ll lift,” J.J. said, “and dozens of others like her.”
“Go away,” Dom said.
“Promise me one thing.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Promise me that no matter what you won’t dump the cargo. Promise me that.”
“What difference does it make?” Dom asked. “OK, we’ll haul it back. It’ll make a fine temporary cloud when we dump it out behind the moon.”
“I’ve got something better to do with the cargo,” J. J. said.
“Sure,” Dom said, “you can supply the last two living scientists with enough Jovian atmosphere to last the few remaining days of their lifetimes, until the mobs catch them and tear their arms off.”
J.J. was standing. “I c
an see you’re a nonbeliever. Look up, boy. Peace and plenty lie ahead.”
Dom heard the click of the door. He dozed and was wakened by the communicator.
It was Neil. “J.J. is calling a crew meeting in the lounge. I thought you’d want to listen.”
“Might as well,” Dom said. He splashed water into his eyes and walked heavily, still tired, through the half gravity of the corridors. He checked in at control. The ship was on auto. She was a good ship. Behind them, visible on the stem viewers, was the mass of Jupiter. It was still an awesome sight. He felt a flash of pride in having, in a small way, conquered the mass of the second-largest object in the solar system, but his pride faded quickly.
He made one final visual check on instruments. The autos were clicking and humming nicely, making mere man unnecessary, running the ship with a precision which man could never match. He walked toward the lounge slowly, dreading to see J.J. reveal his madness further.
The door was open. He halted just outside and heard Doris laugh. Neil was seated so that he could face the lounge instrument board, thus keeping his eye on important ship’s functions. Doris was standing beside J.J. at the bar, serving drinks from J.J.’s personal bottle. They were all there except Jensen. Dom stood outside and watched. Ellen accepted a drink. Doris laughed at something Ellen said. They all drank and laughed. Nero, fiddling while Rome burned around him. Dom didn’t want to face it.
Still, sooner or later the others would have to hear the full story. He went in, resolved to see it through, then he changed his mind. Jensen wasn’t there, and if they were not all there to hear it it would be told again, and one more telling was all Dom could stand.
He had passed through control only a couple of minutes before, but it was automatic to look around. His eyes made a scan and halted on a trouble light. Alerted, he punched the scan and was relieved to find that the problem was with nothing more important than the venting system in the hold. It wouldn’t hurt to lose a few tons of Jupiter into space. He activated the self-examination system. The problem was in the control-room panel. He lifted a section and smelled burning insulation. It was nothing serious. All important systems were redundant. Even the venting system had backup. Down in the atmosphere, the venting system was all-important. He punched a complete check and got a second trouble light. Strange, but still not serious. When a third system went red in the stern section, a system designed for manual venting in the unlikely event that both venting systems went haywire, he got suspicious. The odds against two systems going out together were astronomical, but it had happened in space. For three to go without help was a little weird. He was not overly concerned yet, as he went toward the stern with the double purpose of finding Jensen and of checking to see what the hell had happened to the venting system. It was not a critical malfunction, or he would have alerted the crew. The shorted circuits in the central control room could be repaired easily, and the other malfunctions could be repaired at leisure, since the venting system would not be needed until they had reached the moon and received word to dump the useless cargo into space. He would merely check back in the stern; gather up Jensen, and then return to the lounge to allow J. J. to tell his pathetic story.
His deck shoes made his progress silent in the long corridor alongside the hold. The safety doors leading into the aft compartments were closed. He went into the lock, opened the last set of doors, and stepped into the forward engine compartment. Jensen was facing him, a spatter gun pointing its flared muzzle at his chest. Behind Jensen his board showed the venting system in red. Now Dom knew that if he could look out, he’d see the contents of the hold spewing out under great pressure into space.
“What the hell, Paul?” he asked, halting in mid-stride, careful not to make a sudden move. It was the second time in recent days he’d been in front of a spatter gun.
“You’re supposed to be in the lounge,” Paul said.
“Paul, isn’t one nut on board enough?” He smiled disarmingly. “What’s your problem?”
“I rather liked you, Dom,” Jensen said, and Dom saw the preliminary tightening of Jensen’s finger as he threw himself aside, hit the floor rolling as a spatter load smacked deck and bulkhead. He took a pellet on the ankle as the gun fired a second time, and he was still moving, no pain yet to indicate a hit, as he lifted a cleaning robot and, falling away behind a console, threw the heavy robot at Jensen. Jensen lifted his gun hand to try to block the robot. It struck him a glancing blow. Dom was diving toward him, moving up and under the gun, as the robot clanged off the deck and Jensen started lowering the gun to take aim. Dom had his hand on the wrist of the gun hand as they went down.
Jensen was surprisingly strong. Once the gun exploded inches away from Dom’s ear, leaving his ear ringing with the concussion. With a climactic effort, he pinned the gun hand to the deck. Jensen landed a blow and Dom saw stars for a moment as his nose flattened and started spewing blood. Jensen pulled free, leaving the gun on the floor. Dom got to his feet. Jensen was standing by the control panel.
“Make a move, Gordon,” Jensen panted, “and the whole ship goes.” He had his hand on the manual drive control. “I’ve got the safeties bypassed. I can overload the plant and she’ll become a real bomb.”
“You’ll die with the rest of us,” Dom said.
“I don’t want anyone to die.”
“What do you want?”
“A couple of hours. Just long enough to empty the hold.”
“Why is that so damned important?” Dom asked. “Are you crazy, too?”
“Why? Because the whole system is corrupt,” Jensen said. “Because it’s time for a change.”
“You’ve blown your cover for nothing, Paul,” Dom said. “But then I’ve always thought Firsters were crazy.”
“You’re the stupid one,” Paul said. “Now listen. I don’t want to die, not now that we’re winning, but I will if necessary. I want you to walk slowly over there, pick up the gun by the barrel, and hand it to me.”
“May I say something first?”
“Make it quick.”
“Paul, I don’t give a damn if you empty the hold. Can you believe that? I couldn’t care less. I’m not about to die just to try to save a sample of Jupiter’s atmosphere. It would be interesting to analyze it, but I don’t want to die either, and especially not for scientific curiosity. So do me a favor and don’t panic, huh? Don’t do anything silly. You’re probably right when you say you’re winning. Once this ship gets back she’ll probably never go into space again. J.J. did more to kill space than all of you Firsters have done in fifty years. When you take over the country, you should give J.J. a medal. The point is, the damage is done. Let’s all go home together, huh?”
“Do as I say, then.”
“All right. I’m moving slow and easy. No tricks.” He picked up the gun and began to straighten.
“One quick move and I’ll blow her,” Jensen said.
“Yes, I know,” Dom said. “I’m moving slow.” He walked very slowly, holding the gun by its muzzle in front of him. Jensen watched nervously, licking his lips. He kept one hand on the lever which, if he really had bypassed the safeties, would send the drive into a cataclysm which would make the Kennedy into a small temporary star.
“Here it is,” he said. “Take it.” Jensen looked down, leaned slightly forward. Off balance, he’d have to make two moves to throw the level to full on. No man alive could make two moves while Dom was making one. Dom flipped the gun, caught it, and triggered it, even as Jensen saw and tried to recover. The charge took Jensen’s hand off at the wrist, the bloody stump completing the move which would have killed them all. Jensen’s mouth opened to scream. The sound began, and in his shock and pain he showed good training, for his other arm reached for the lever, almost contacted the lever before Dom’s second shot took him full in the face. There was no need for a third shot.
Dom stood for a moment, looking down to see that death was not instantaneous. The creature writhing in terminal pain no longer looked li
ke a man.
Dom made a quick survey of the venting board. Only a fraction of the cargo had been dumped. He closed the vents and began checking to see if Jensen had really bypassed the safeties on the drive. The door opened, and Neil and J.J. rushed in.
“We’re OK,” Dom said. “Just don’t try to add power until we’ve done some repairs.”
“What happened?” Neil asked.
“He was dumping J.J.’s Jovian soup,” Dom said. “He was a Firster.”
With a cry of alarm, J.J. leaped to the venting board, checking the contents of the hold. When he saw that only a small part of the cargo was gone, he said, “I owe you again, Flash.”
“I didn’t do it to save your soup,” Dom said. “I did it because I was not about to leave my life and the lives of the others in the hands of a nut.”
“You’ll get that promotion, Flash,” J.J. said.
“Go go hell,” Dom said. “You and Art clean this up.” He indicated the body. “I’ll help Neil make repairs.”
Ellen pitched in and was not a bad hand with a tool. The work gave Dom something to take his mind off J.J.’s madness. When they were finished, several hours later, he was tired and dirty and wanted a bath and ten hours’ sleep. He was almost into the second half of the program when J.J. came in, uninvited.
“Jensen is in cold storage. There’ll be an inquiry when we get home.”
Dom nodded.
“I’ve spent some time in the galley, Flash.”
Dom sat up. J.J. extended a tray from a server which had been concealed behind him. Dom took a cup of coffee.
“Sugar, cream?” J.J. asked politely.
Dom shook his head.
“Try this with it,” J.J. said, lifting the top of a silver server. On the tray inside were small pieces of something which looked very much like butter.
“What is it?”
“Just try it.” J.J. picked up a small piece and popped it into his mouth.
