“No time! Say good-bye to your wife, Doctor Hastings — good-bye, and thanks! Your plane’s waiting."
“Jim," protested Corley, “what’s the rush? It’s —"
“No time!" A car swung in through the gate of the pen, came toward them. “There’s your wife. Say good-bye
and get back here. Move!" Barnes turned away and went to the crane operator. “Barney!"
“Yeah?"
“We’re going up now — for the last time. As soon as we are off the crane, back it away. — The safety stops are off the tracks?"
“Sure."
“Off entirely, or just moved back?"
“Off entirely. Don’t worry; I won’t run her off the rails."
“Yes, you will. Run the crane right off the end." “Huh? Mr. Barnes, if I dropped the wheels into the sand, it would take a week to get her back on."
“Check. That’s exactly what I want. After you do it, don’t stop to explain; just run for the blockhouse."
The operator looked baffled. “Okay — you said it."
Barnes came back to the elevator. Corley and his wife were standing near her car. She was crying.
Barnes shaded his eyes against the floodlights and tried to see the road to the pass gate. The foundry cut off his view. Suddenly headlights gleamed around that building, turned onto the shop circle and came toward the bull pen entrance. Barnes shouted, “Doc! Now! Hurry!"
Corley looked up, then hastily embraced his wife. Barnes shouted, “Come on! Come on!"
Corley waited to hand his wife into the car. Barnes climbed onto the elevator and, as Corley reached it, pulled him aboard. “Barney! UP!"
Cables creaked and groaned; the platform crawled upward. As Mrs. Corley’s car approached the gate the other car started in. Both cars stopped, then the strange car bulled on through. It gunned in second toward the crane and slammed to a stop; a man swarmed out.
He ran to the elevator, the platform was thirty feet above his head. He waved and shouted. “Barnes! Come down here!"
Barnes shouted back, “Can’t hear you! Too much racket!"
“Stop the elevator! I’ve got a court order!"
The driver of the car jumped out and ran toward the crane control station. Barnes watched, unable to stop whatever was to come.
Barney reached behind him and grabbed a wrench; the driver stopped short. “Good boy!" Barnes breathed.
The elevator reached the airlock door; Barnes nudged Corley. “In you go!" He followed Corley, turned and lifted the gangway off the lip of the door, shoved it clear with his foot. “Barney! Get going!"’
The crane operator glanced up and shifted his controls. The crane quivered, then very slowly crawled back from the ship, cleared it, and continued.
It backed still farther, lurched out of plumb, and trembled. Its drive motor squealed and stopped. Barney slid out of his saddle and loped away toward the gate.
Chapter Four
Time checks had been completed with Muroc, with White Sands and with their blockhouse. The control room was quiet save for the sighing of air-replenishing equipment, the low hum of radio circuits, and stray sounds of auxiliary machinery. The clocks at each station read 3:29 — twenty-four minutes to H-hour.
The four were at their stations; two upper bunks were occupied by pilot and copilot; the lowers by power engineer and electronics engineer. Across the lap of each man arched a control console; his arms were supported so that his fingers were free to handle his switches without lifting any part of his body against the terrible weight to come. His head was supported so that he might see his instruments.
Traub lifted his head and peered out one of the two large quartz ports. “It’s clouding up. I can’t see the Moon."
Barnes answered, “Out where we’re going there won’t be any clouds."
“No clouds?"
“What do you expect, out in space?"
“Uh, I don’t know. I guess I got most of my ideas about space travel from -Buck Rogers. Electronics is my game." “Twenty-three minutes," announced Bowles. “Skipper, what’s the name of this bucket?"
“Huh?"
“When you launch a ship you have to name her."
“Eh, I suppose so. Doc, what do you say? She’s your baby."
“Me? I’ve never thought about it."
“How," Bowles went on, “about calling her the Luna?"
Corley considered. “Suits me, if it suits the rest of you."
“The space ship Luna," agreed Barnes. “Sounds good."
Traub chuckled nervously. “That makes us 'the Lunatics.’"
“And why not?" agreed Barnes.
“Twenty minutes," announced Bowles.
“Warm her up, Doc. Check-off lists, everybody."
“She’s hot now," Corley answered. “If I increase the fission rate, I’ll have to give her something to chew. Jim, I’ve been thinking. We could still test her."
“Huh?"
“Set her for a half-g lift, and clear her throat once I’ve got her set for that."
“What’s the point? She either works, or she blows up."
“Okay," Corley answered.
Traub gulped. “Could she blow up?"
“Don’t worry," Cqrley reassured him. “The scale model ran an hour and twenty-three minutes before it blew up."
“Oh. Is that good?"
“Mannie," Barnes ordered. “Switch on 'Ground Pick-Up.’ We might as well watch."
“Yes, sir." Above them was a large TV screen. Traub could hook it in to a scanner in the tail, another in the nose, or — as now — pick up an ordinary video channel. The screen lighted up; they saw their own ship, lonely and tall in the floodlights.
An announcer’s voice came with the picture: “— this ship, the mightiest ever built, will soon plunge into outer space. Its flight was unannounced until tonight, its destination has not been revealed. Is this —"
The broadcast was interrupted by Herb Styles. “Mr. Barnes! Boss!"
Barnes leaned out and looked at Traub in the couch beneath. “Are you hooked in?"
“Just a sec — go ahead."
“What is it, Herb?"
“Somebody tearing down the road, heading this way."
“Who?"
“Don’t know. We can’t contact the north road block."
“Call the pass gate. Head 'em off."
“It’s no longer manned. Hey — wait. North road block coming in." After a pause, Styles yelled, “Truck loaded with men — they crushed through and ran over a deputy!"
“Keep your shirt on," cautioned Barnes. “They can’t reach us. If they hang around down below, it’s their misfortune. I’m blasting on time."
Bowles sat up. “Don’t be too sure, Jim."
“Eh? What can they do to us now?"
“What would six sticks of dynamite against one of the tail jacks do to this ship? Let’s take off — now!"
“Before calculated time? Red, don’t be silly."
“Blast off and correct later!"
“Doc — could we do that?"
“Eh? No!"
Barnes stared at the TV picture. “Mannie — tell blockhouse to sound sirens!"
“Jim," protested Corley, “you can’t take off now!"
“Are you still set up to test? Half g?"
“Yes, but —"
“Stand by!" His eyes were fixed on the pictured scene outside; headlights came around the foundry, sped toward the pen. The moaning of sirens drowned out Corley’s answer.
The truck was almost at the gate. Barnes’ forefinger stabbed the firing button.
A whine of great pumps was blanked out by a roar they could feel in their bones. The Luna shivered.
In the TV screen a flower of white light burst from the tail of the ship, billowed up, blanketing the headlights, the buildings, the lower half of the ship.
Barnes jerked his finger back. The noise died out; the cloud changed from incandescent to opaque. In the silence Styles’ voice came over the speaker. “Great — D
ay — in the Morning!"
“Herb — can you hear me?"
“Yes. What happened?"
“Use the bull horn to warn them off. Tell 'em to scram; if they come closer I’ll fry them."
“I think you have."
“Get busy." He watched the screen, his finger raised. The cloud lifted; he made out the truck.
“Nine minutes," Bowles announced, calmly.
Through the speaker Barnes could hear a voice on the bull horn, warning the attacking party back. A man jumped down from the truck, was followed by others.
Barnes’ finger trembled.
They turned and ran.
Barnes sighed. “Doc, did the test suit you?"
“A mushy cutoff," Corley complained. “It should have been sharp."
“Do we blast, or don’t we?"
Corley hesitated. “Well?" demanded Barnes.
“We blast."
Traub heaved a mournful sigh. Barnes snapped, “Power plant — shift to automatic! All hands — prepare for acceleration. Mannie, tell blockhouse, Muroc, and White Sands to stand by for count off at oh three five two."
“Oh three five two," Traub repeated, then went on, “Ship calling blockhouse, Muroc, White Sands."
“Power plant, report."
“Automatic, all green."
“Copilot?"
“Tracking on autopilot." Bowles added, “Eight minutes."
“Doc, is she hot as she’ll take?"
“I’m carrying the fission rate as high as I dare," Corley answered, strain in his voice. “She’s on the ragged edge."
“Keep her so. All hands, strap down."
Corley reared up. “Jim — I forgot to pass out the drop-sick pills."
“Stay where you are! If we get seasick, we get seasick."
“One minute, coming up!" Bowles’ voice was harsh.
“Take it, 'Mannie!"
“Blockhouse — Muroc — White Sands. Ready for count off!" Traub paused; the room was still.
“Sixty! Fifty-nine — fifty-eight — fifty-seven —"
Barnes gripped his arm rests, tried to slow down his heart. He watched the-seconds click off as Traub counted them. “Thirty-nine! Thirty-eight! Thirty-seven!" Traub’s voice was shrill. “Thirty-one! Half!"
Barnes could hear sirens, rising and falling, out on the field. Above him in the TV screen, theLuna stood straight and proud, her head in darkness.
“Eleven"
“And ten"
“And nine!"
“And eight!" — Barnes licked his lips and swallowed.
“Five — four — three — two —
“Fire!"
The word was lost in sound, a roar that made the test blast seem as nothing. The Luna shrugged — and climbed for the sky.
Chapter Five
If we are to understand those men, we must reorient. Crossing the Atlantic was high adventure — when Columbus did it. So with the early spacemen. The ships they rode in were incredibly makeshift.
They did not know what they were doing. Had they known, they would not have gone.
Farquharson, Ibid., III: 415
Barnes felt himself shoved back into the cushions. He gagged and fought to keep from swallowing his tongue. He felt paralyzed by body weight of more than half a ton; he strained to lift his chest. Worse than weight was noise, a mind-killing “white" sound from unbearable ultrasonics down to bass too low to be heard.
The sound Dopplered down the scale, rumbled off and left them. At five effective gravities they outraced their own din in six seconds, leaving an aching quiet broken only by noise of water coursing through pumps.
For a moment Barnes savored the silence. Then his eyes caught the TV screen above him; in it was a shrinking dot of fire. He realized that he was seeing himself, disappearing into the sky, and regretted that he had not watched the blast-away. “Mannie," he labored, to say, “switch on 'View After.’"
“I can’t," Traub groaned thickly. “I can’t move a muscle."
“Do it!"
Traub managed it; the screen blurred, then formed a picture. Bowies grunted, “Great Caesar’s ghost!" Barnes stared. They were high above Los Angeles; the metropolitan area was map sharp, picked out in street lights and neon. It was shrinking visibly.
Rosy light flashed through the eastern port, followed at once by dazzling sunlight. Traub yelped, “What happened?"
Barnes himself had been startled but he strove to control his voice and answered, “Sunrise. We’re up that high." He went on, “Doc — how’s the power plant?"
“Readings normal," Corley replied in tongue-clogged tones. “How long to go?"
Barnes looked at his board. “More than three minutes."
Corley did not answer, three minutes seemed too long to bear. Presently Traub said, “Look at the sky!" Corley forced his head over and looked. Despite harsh sunlight the sky was black and spangled with stars.
At three minutes and fifty seconds the jets cut off. Like the first time, the cutoff was mushy, slow. The terrible weight left them gradually. But it left them completely. Rocket and crew were all in a free orbit “falling" upward toward the Moon. Relative to each other and to ship they had no weight.
Barnes felt that retching, frightening “falling elevator" feeling characteristic of no weight, but, expecting it, he steeled himself. “Power, plant," he snapped, “report!"
“Power plant okay," Corley replied weakly. “Notice the cutoff?"
“Later," decided Barnes. “Copilot, my track seems high."
“My display tracks on," wheezed Bowles, “— or a hair high."
“Mannie!"
No answer. Barnes repeated, “Mannie? Answer, man — are you all right?"
Traub’s voice was weak. “I think I’m dying. This thing is falling — oh, God, make it stop!"
“Snap out of it!"
“Are we going to crash?"
“No, no! We’re all right."
“All right,’ the man says, Traub muttered, then added, “I don’t care if we do."
Barnes called out, “Doc, get those pills. Mannie needs one bad." He stopped to control a retch. “I could use one myself."
“Me, too," agreed Bowles. “I haven’t been this seasick since I was —" He caught himself, then went on. “— since I was a midshipman."
Corley loosened his straps and pulled himself out from his couch. Weightless, he floated free and turned slowly over, like a diver in slow motion. Traub turned his face away and groaned.
“Stop it, Mannie," ordered Barnes. “Try to raise White Sands. I want a series of time-altitude readings."
“I can’t — I’m sick."
“Do it!"
Corley floated near a stanchion, grabbed it, and pulled himself to a cupboard. He located the pill bottle and hastily gulped a pill. He then moved to Traub’s couch, pulling himself along. “Here, Traub — take this. You’ll feel better."
“What is it?"
“Some stuff called Dramamine. It’s for seasickness."
Traub put a pill in his mouth. “I can’t swallow."
“Better try." Traub got it down, clamped his jaw to keep it down. Corley pulled himself to Barnes. “Need one, Jim?"
Barnes started to answer, turned his head away, and threw up in his handkerchief. Tears streaming from his eyes, he accepted the pill. Bowles called out, “Doc — hurry up!" His voice cut off; presently he added, “Too late."
“Sorry." Corley moved over to Bowles. “Criminy, you’re a mess!"
“Gimme that pill and no comments."
Traub was saying in a steadier voice, “Spaceship Luna, calling White Sands. Come in White Sands."
At last an answer came back, “White Sands to Spaceship — go ahead."
“Give us a series of radar checks, time, distance, and bearing."
A new voice cut in, “White Sands to Spaceship — we have been tracking you, but the figures are not reasonable. What is your destination?"
Traub glanced at Barnes, then answered, “Lun
a, to White Sands — destination: Moon."
“Repeat? Repeat?"
“Our destination is the Moon!"
There was a silence. The same voice replied, “Destination: Moon — Good luck, SpaceshipLuna!"
Bowles spoke up suddenly. “Hey! Come look!" He had unstrapped and was floating by the sunward port.
“Later," Barnes answered. “I need this tracking report first."
“Well, come look until they call back. This is once in a lifetime."
Corley joined Bowles. Barnes hesitated; he wanted very badly to see, but he was ashamed to leave Traub working. “Wait," he called out. “I’ll turn ship and we can all see."
Mounted at the centerline of the ship was a flywheel. Barnes studied his orientation readings, then clutched the ship to the flywheel. Slowly the ship turned, without affecting its motion along its course. “How’s that?"
“Wrong way!"
“Sorry." Barnes tried again; the stars marched past in the opposite direction; Earth swung into view. He caught sight of it and almost forgot to check the swing.
Power had cut off a trifle more than eight hundred miles up. The Luna had gone free at seven miles per second; in the last few minutes they had been steadily coasting upwards and were now three thousand miles above Southern California. Below — opposite them, from their viewpoint — was darkness. The seaboard cities stretched across the port like Christmas lights. East of them, sunrise cut across the Grand Canyon and shone on Lake Mead. Further east the prairies were in daylight, dun and green broken by blinding cloud. The plains dropped away into curved skyline.
So fast were they rising that the picture was moving, shrinking, and the globe drew into itself as a ball. Barnes watched from across the compartment. “Can you see all right, Mannie?" he asked.
“Yeah,", answered Traub. “Yeah," he repeated softly. “Say, that’s real, isn’t it?"
Barnes said, “Hey, Red, Doc — heads down. You’re not transparent."
Traub looked at Barnes. “Go ahead, skipper."
“No, I’ll stick with you."
“Don’t be a chump. I’ll look later."
“Well —" Barnes grinned suddenly. “Thanks, Mannie." He gave a shove and moved across to the port.
Mannie continued to stare. Later the radio claimed his attention. “White Sands, calling Spaceship — ready with radar report."
Off The Main Sequence Page 75
