Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  McGinty was a gardener and obviously enjoyed his work. Gail established contact with him, got out of him what little he knew. Joe left him alone save for contacts in character.

  There was a staff of over two hundred, having its own social hierarchy, from engineers for dome and equipment, Mrs. Keithley’s private pilot, and so on down to gardeners’ helpers. Joe and Gail were midway, being inside servants. Gail made herself popular as the harmlessly flirtatious but always helpful and sympathetic wife of a meek and older husband. She had been a beauty parlor operator, so it seemed, before she “married" and had great skill in massaging aching backs and stiff necks, relieving headaches and inducing sleep. She was always ready to demonstrate.

  Her duties as a maid had not yet brought her into dose contact with their employer. Joe, however, had acquired the job of removing all potted plants to the “outdoors" during “night"; Mrs. Keithley, according to Mr. James, the butler, believed that plants should be outdoors at “night." Joe was thus in a position to get outside the house when the dome was dark; he had already reached the point where the night guard at the Grecian temple would sometimes get Joe to “jigger" for him while the guard snatched a forbidden cigarette.

  McGinty had been able to supply one more important fact: in addition to the guard at the temple building, and the locks and armor plate of the building itself, the arming circuit was booby-trapped. Even if it were inoperative as an arming circuit for the 'Nova’ bomb on Earth, it itself would blow up if tampered with. Gail and Joe discussed it in their room, Gail sitting on his lap like an affectionate wife, her lips close to his left ear. “Perhaps you could wreck it from the door, without exposing yourself."

  “I’ve got to be sure. There is certainly some way of switching that gimmick off. She has to provide for possible repairs or replacements."

  “Where would it be?"

  “Just one place that matches the pattern of the rest of her planning. Right under her hand, along with die disarming switch and the trigger switch." He rubbed his other ear; it contained his short-range radio hook-up to McGinty and itched almost constantly.

  “Hmm — then there’s just one thing to be done; I’ll have to wring it out of her before I kill her."

  “We’ll see."

  Just before dinner the following “evening" she found him in their room. “It worked, Joe, it worked!"

  “What worked?"

  “She fell for the bait. She heard from her secretary about my skill as a masseuse; I was ordered up for a demonstration this afternoon. Now I am under strict instructions to come to her tonight and rub her to sleep."

  “It’s tonight, then."

  McGinty waited in his room, behind a locked door.

  Joe stalled in the back hall, spinning out endlessly adull tale to Mr. James.

  A voice in his ear said, “She’s in her room now."

  “— and that’s how my brother got married to two women at once," Joe concluded. “Sheer bad luck. I better get these plants outside before the missus happens to ask about 'em."

  “I suppose you had. Goodnight."

  “Goodnight, Mr. James." He picked up two of the pots and waddled out.

  He put them down outside and heard, “She says she’s started to massage. She’s spotted the radio switching unit; it’s on the belt that the old gal keeps at her bedside table when she’s not wearing it."

  “Tell her to kill her and grab it."

  “She says she wants to make her tell how to unswitch the booby-trap gimmick first."

  “Tell her not to delay.’

  Suddenly, inside his head, clear and sweet as a bell as if they were her own spoken tones, he heard her. — Joe, I can hear you. Can you hear me?

  — yes, yes! Aloud he added, “Stand by the phones anyhow, Mac."

  — it won’t be long. I have her in intense pain; she’ll crack soon.

  — hurt her plenty! He began to run toward the temple building. — Gail, are you still shopping for a husband?

  — I’ve found him.

  — marry me and I’ll beat you every Saturday night.

  — the man who can beat me hasn’t been born.

  — I’d like to try. He slowed down before he came near the guard’s station. “Hi, Jim!"

  — it’s a deal.

  “Well, if it taint Joey boy! Got a match?"

  “Here." He reached out a hand — then, as the guard fell he eased him to the ground and made sure that he would stay out. — Gail! It’s got to be now!

  The voice in his head came back in great consternation: — Joe! She was too tough, she wouldn’t crack. She’s dead!

  — good! get that belt, break the arming circuit, then see what else you find. I’m going to break in.

  He went toward the door of the temple.

  — it’s disarmed, Joe. I could spot it; it has a time set on it. I can’t tell about the others, they aren’t marked and they all look alike.

  He took from his pocket a small item provided by Baldwin’s careful planning. — twist them all from where they are to the other way. You’ll probably hit it.

  — oh, Joe, I hope so!

  He had placed the item against the lock; the metal around it turned red and now was melting away. An alarm clanged somewhere.

  Gail’s voice came again in his head; there was urgency in it but no fear: — Joe! they’re beating on the door. I’m trapped.

  — McCinty! be our witness! He went on: — I, Joseph, take thee. Gail, to be my lawfully wedded wife —

  He was answered in tranquil rhythm:

  — I, Gail, take thee, Joseph, to be my lawfully wedded husband —

  — to have and to hold, he went on.

  — to have and to hold, my beloved!

  — for better, for worse —

  — for better, for worse — Her voice in his head was singing …

  — till death do us part. I’ve got it open, darling, I am going in.

  — till death do us part! They are breaking down the bedroom door, Joseph my dearest.

  — hang on! I’m almost through here.

  — they have broken it down, Joe. They are coming toward me. Goodbye my darling! I am very happy. Abruptly her “voice" stopped.

  He was facing the box that housed the disarming circuit, alarms clanging in his ears; he took from his pocket another gadget and tried it.

  The blast that shattered the box caught him full in the chest.

  The letters on the metal marker read:

  TO THE MEMORY OF

  MR. AND MRS. JOSEPH GREENE

  WHO, NEAR THIS SPOT,

  DIED FOR ALL THEIR FELLOW MEN

  Destination Moon

  Short Stories Magazine, September 1950

  Today, with space full of ships, colonies on the inner planets, and Earth’s Moon so close that pilots on the Luna run sleep home nights, it is hard to imagine when “flying to the Moon" was a figure of speech for the impossible, when men who thought it could be done were visionaries, crackpots.

  It is hard to realize the opposition they faced, to understand why they persisted, what they thought —

  Farquharson, History of Transportation, III: 414

  Chapter One

  The Mojave Desert was gray with first morning light, but at the construction site lights were still burning in the office of the technical director. The office was quiet, save for petulant burbling of a pot of coffee.

  Three men were present — the director himself, Doctor Robert Corley, Lincoln-tall and lean, Rear Admiral “Red" Bowles, regular navy retired, and Jim Barnes, head of Barnes Aircraft, Barnes Tool Works, other enterprises.

  All three needed shaves; Barnes badly needed a haircut as well. Barnes was seated at Corley’s desk; Bowles sprawled on a couch, apparently asleep and looking like a fat, redheaded baby; Doctor Corley paced the room, following a well worn pattern.

  He stopped, and stared out the window. A thousand yards away on the floor of the desert a great ship, pointed and sleek, thrust up into the sky, ready to
punch out through Earth’s thick atmosphere.

  Wearily he turned away and picked up a letter from the desk; it read:

  Reaction Associates, Inc.

  Mojave, California.

  Gentlemen:

  Your request to test the engine of your atomic-powered rocket ship at the site of its construction is regretfully denied.

  Although it is conceded that no real danger of atomic explosion exists, a belief in such danger does exist in the public mind. It is the policy of the Commission — Corley skipped down to the last paragraph: — therefore, test is authorized at the Special Weapons Testing Center, South Pacific. Arrangements may be —

  He stopped and shoved the letter at Barnes. “If we’ve got to test at Eniwetok, we’ve got to find the money to do it."

  Barnes’ voice showed exasperation. “Doc, I’ve told you the syndicate won’t put up another dime; there is no other money to be found."

  “Confound it — we should have government money!"

  Barnes grunted. “Tell that to Congress."

  Without opening his eyes Bowles commented, “The United States is going to stall around and let Russia get to the Moon first — with hydrogen bombs. That’s what you call 'policy.’"

  Corley chewed his lip. “It’s got to be now."

  “I know it." Barnes got up and went to the window. The rising sun caught a highlight on the polished skin of the great ship. “It’s got to be now," he repeated softly.

  He turned and said, “Doc, when is the next favorable time to leave?"

  “When we planned on it — next month."

  “No, I mean this month."

  Corley glanced at the wall calendar, dug into a bookcase for a well-thumbed volume, did a quick estimate. “Tomorrow morning — around four o’clock."

  “That’s it, then. We blast off tomorrow morning."

  Admiral Bowles sat up with a jerk. “Blast off in an untested ship? Jim, you’re crazy!"

  “Probably. But now is the time — now. If we wait even a month, we will be tangled in some new snafu. That ship is ready, except for testing the power plant. So we’ll skip the test!"

  “But we haven’t even selected a crew."

  Barnes grinned. “We’re the crew!"

  Neither Corley nor Bowles answered. Barnes went on, “Why not? The takeoff is automatic. Sure, we agreed that we should have young men, fast reflexes, and all that malarkey — and every damned one of us has been trying to figure out a reason why he should be included. You, Red, you sneaked off to Moffeatt Field and took a pilot’s physical. Flunked it, too. Don’t lie to me; I know. And you, Doc, you’ve been hinting that you ought to nurse the power plant yourself — you’ve been working on your wife, too."

  “Eh?"

  “She wanted me to say that the syndicate would object to your going. Don’t worry; I didn’t agree."

  Corley looked at him levelly. “I’ve always intended to go. She knows that."

  “That’s my boy! Red?"

  Bowles heaved himself to his feet. “Shucks, Jim, I didn’t bust that physical much — just overweight."

  “You’re in. I don’t want an eager young beaver as copilot anyhow."

  “'Copilot?’"

  “Want to rassle me for skipper? Red, I’ve meant to gun this crate myself ever since the day — Lordy, four years ago! — when you brought Doc to see me with a satchelful of blueprints." He drew a breath and looked around exultantly.

  Bowles said, “Let’s see. You for pilot; I’m co-; Doc is chief. That leaves nobody but the radarman. You can’t possibly train a man in the electronics of that ship by tomorrow morning."

  Barnes shrugged. “Hobson’s choice — it has to be Ward." He named the chief electronics engineer of the project.

  Bowles turned to Corley. “Does Ward hanker to go?" Corley looked thoughtful. “I’m sure he does. We haven’t discussed it." He reached for the phone. “I’ll call his quarters."

  Barnes stuck a hand in the way. “Not so fast. Once the word got out, the Commission has twenty-four hours in which to stop us."

  Bowles glanced at his watch. “Twenty-one hours."

  “Long enough, anyhow."

  Corley frowned. “We can’t keep it secret. We’ve got to load that ship. I’ve got to reach Dr. Hastings and get our ballistic calculated."

  “One thing at a time." Barnes paused, frowning.

  “Here’s the plan: we’ll tell everybody that this is just a. dress rehearsal, but complete in all details, road blocks, rations, reporters, check-off lists, the works. Doc, you get the power plant ready. Red, you’re in charge of loading. Me, I’m going into Mojave and phone Hastings. Then I’ll phone the University and arrange for the big computer."

  “Why drive twenty miles?" Corley protested. “Call from here."

  “Because these wires are probably tapped — and I don’t mean the F.B.I.! Aside from us three and Ward, Hastings is the one man who must know the truth — when he figures that ballistic, he’s got to know it matters."

  Barnes reached for his hat. “Doc, you can call Ward now — here I go."

  “Wait!" said Bowles. “Jim, you’re going off half cocked. You can at least find out from here where Hastings is. You may have to fly down to Palomar and get him."

  Barnes snapped his fingers. “I am half cocked, Red. I forgot the most important item — the reason why I can’t use my plane myself; I need it for the Resident Inspector." He referred to the project representative of the Atomic Energy Commission.

  “Holmes? Why does he need your plane?"

  “To get lost in. I’m going to persuade Ned Holmes to go to Washington and make one last plea for us to be allowed to test our engine here. He’ll do it; turning us down wasn’t his idea. Our boy Andy will fly him in my plane — and Andy will be forced down in the desert, forty miles from a phone. Very sad."

  Corley grudged a smile. “Sounds like kidnapping."

  Barnes looked innocent.

  “Of course Holmes will put the Commission’s seal on the power pile before he leaves."

  “And we’ll break it. Any more objections? If not, let’s get Andy, Holmes, and Ward, in that order."

  Admiral Bowles whistled. “Doc," he said, “that engine of yours had better work, or we will spend the rest of our lives in jail. Well, let’s get busy."

  Chapter Two

  The morning was well worn by the time Jim Barnes drove back to the construction site. The company guard at the pass gate waved him through; he stopped nevertheless. “Howdy, Joe."

  “Morning, Mr. Barnes."

  “I see the gate is open. Any orders from the front office?"

  “About the gate? No. Somebody called and said today was dress rehearsal for the Big Boy." The guard hooked a thumb toward the ship, two miles away.

  “That’s right. Now listen; this dress rehearsal must be letter perfect. Keep that gate locked. Clear with me, or Admiral Bowles, or Doctor Corley himself before unlocking it."

  “Gotcha, Mr. Barnes."

  “Just remember that there are people who would do anything to keep that ship over there from leaving the ground — and they don’t necessarily have foreign accents."

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Barnes."

  But he did worry; corking up the gate still left fourteen miles of unguarded fence.

  Oh, well — it was a risk that must be accepted. He drove on past the living quarters, through the circle of shops. The area swarmed with people, on foot, in trucks, in jeeps. Trucks were lined up at the entrance to the bull pen surrounding the ship itself. Barnes pulled up at the administration building.

  In Corley’s office he found Bowles, Corley himself — and Corley’s wife. Corley looked harassed; Mrs. Corley was quite evidently angry. “Greetings, folks," he said. “Am I butting in?"

  Corley looked up. “Come in, Jim."

  Barnes bowed to Mrs. Corley. “How do you do, ma’am?"

  She glared at him. “You! You’re responsible for this!"

  “Me, Mrs. Corley? For what?"


  “You know very well 'what’! Oh you … you …" She caught her breath, then gave vent to one explosive word: “Men!" She slammed out of the room.

  When the door had closed behind her, Barnes let his eyebrows seek their natural level. “I see she knows. You shouldn’t have told her, not yet, Doc."

  “Confound it, Jim. I didn’t expect her to kick up a fuss."

  Bowles faced around in his chair. “Don’t be a fool, Jim. Doe’s wife had to know — wives aren’t hired hands."

  “Sorry. The damage is done. Doc, have you put any check on phone calls?"

  “Why, no."

  “Do it. Wait, I’ll do it." He stepped to the door. “Countess, call our switch board. Tell Gertie to switch all outgoing calls to you. You tell 'em firmly that outside lines are all in use, find out who it is, why they want to call, and whom — then tell the Director, Admiral Bowles, or me. Same for incoming calls."

  He closed the door and turned back to Bowles.

  “Your wife knows?"

  “Of course."

  “Trouble?"

  “No. Navy wives get used to such things, Jim."

  “I suppose so. Well, I got Hastings squared away. He says that he will be here with the tape not later than two in the morning. I’ve got a plane standing by for him."

  Corley frowned. “That’s cutting it fine. We ought to have more time to set up the autopilot."

  “He says he can’t promise it sooner. How about things here?"

  “Loading is coming all right," answered Bowles, “provided the trucks with the oxygen aren’t late."

  “You should have flown it in."

  “Quit uttering. The trucks are probably in Cajon Pass this minute."

  “Okay, okay. Power plant, Doc?"

  “I haven’t broken Ned Holmes’ seal on the atomic pile yet. The water tanks are filling, but they’ve just started."

  He was interrupted by the telephone at his elbow. “Yes?"

  His secretary’s voice sounded in the room. “Your wife wants to call long distance, Doctor. I’m stalling her. Are you in?"

  “Put her on," he said wearily. Mrs. Corley’s words could not be heard, but her angry tones came through. Corley answered, “No, dear… That’s right, dear. I’m sorry but that’s how it is… no, I don’t know when the lines will be free; we’re holding them for calls placed to the east coast… no, you can’t have the car; I’m using it. I —" He looked surprised and replaced the instrument. “She hung up on me."