Miles was more than agreeable to help. "Get your brother to come on board, and I'll take off in half an hour after he's here. I haven't posted my departure yet. And Blaine, don't try to meet me at halfway; I'm too slow. Figure out the best meeting place, and I'll go there, even if it is out of my way. I've been waiting for almost thirty years to see an Earth ship give Mars a good run for its money, and I don't care how much trouble it is."
Jerry went back to his calculator. It turned out that Miles would help most if he set a course almost exactly between Earth and Venus. That way, they could rendezvous in approximately forty-eight hours, and Jerry should be able to go on to Earth in another thirty-two hours or so, for a total time of eighty hours. It wasn't all he could have wanted, but it would have to do.
Captain Miles got off the channel, and Jerry began trying to reach Dick. There was some difficulty, since he was supposed to be out in the recreation section, but they finally brought him to the radio.
"Hi, Jerry," he called. "I hear you've been having bad luck. Forget it. We can't cry over spilled milk. And I'm feeling fine. How much is this costing you, anyhow?"
Jerry grinned at his brother's voice. "Don't ask foolish questions, Dick. Get out of that hospital and check in on the Chicago Queen as fast as you can. I've got to pick you up if all the rules are to be met. And if you have any trouble, they tell me the local office of the Commission will see that you get help. Get going!"
He hung up, without wasting more time, and turned back to thank the man who had made even this slim chance possible. But the agent shrugged it off.
"As I told you, I would do the same for Mars—it's my duty. Unofficially, however, I wish you a great deal of luck. I don't think you can make it, but I'll hope that you do. Now you'd better get back to your ship."
He was still going to lose more than a day, of course —but somehow he felt better about it. As long as there was even a slim chance, he had something to fight for.
He didn't even stop to buckle on his helmet as he ran out toward the official car that was waiting for him.
Needle in a Spacestack
I
hey were still refueling the ship and loading supplies when Jerry reached the field. This time, the work was being done by efficient machines, instead of by manual labor—with the result that it was actually going slower on such a small ship as the Last Hope. Tod was checking off the lists, while men were busy painting the ship and getting rid of the debris and damage caused by the heat of the sun.
The story of the solar crisping had apparently been spread, and people were drifting quietly toward the field. Tod talked too much!
Jerry took the manifests and read down the lists of what was already on board. He estimated quickly, and signaled the official in charge of the loading.
"Call your men off as soon as you've got these items on board. I'm taking off as soon as it's done!"
The official looked surprised and doubtful, but he bent forward slightly, smiling courteously. "As you wish, Captain Blaine."
Tod grabbed the lists back, but Jerry shook his head and headed across the field toward the ship, where workmen were collecting their tools and paint, and beginning to stream down the ladder.
"We've got to get off at once, Tod," he told his engineer. "The provisions and fuel I checked off will carry us with a few drops to spare, and we can't wait here forever. I've already spent too much time. Five hours here, when we could have had the whole job done on Io in four!"
He watched the last of the workmen leave, and went up the ladder, with Tod at his heels. Inside, he gave a quick summation of what had happened.
"How come you never showed me the rule book?" he asked, finally.
Tod brought his eyebrows together. "Dick took it with him to the Commission meeting on the Moon. I haven't seen it since. Thought you had it."
"I didn't even know there was one—I've been going on what the newspapers printed. And I've been butting my head against stone walls all along, because I didn't have sense enough to ask for some of the help I could have had." He wasn't too surprised that the book had disappeared. Dick had always had a habit of memorizing nearly everything he read, and paying little attention to books.
Finally, the last of their scanty supplies were on board, and the all-clear signal sounded. Jerry checked the clock—now indicating noon—and cut the blast on. They were lifting through the atmosphere, going cautiously in order to avoid too much friction, until they reached the roiling layer of the thin clouds. The ship was buffeted about in the gales that swept the planet for a moment more, and then Jerry cut on full power, until the needle registered two gees.
It seemed more normal now than the gravity of Venus, which was seven-eighths that of Earth.
This time there was no planet waiting for them, but only a spot in space, listed under X, Y, and Z numbers that had come into use to divide space into small divisions. It was a lot different from heading for a planet, where it was always possible to correct any error as you came into its range.
This time he was meeting a tiny mote in space—a space ship that couldn't weigh more than a few hundred tons, and which the radar screen could locate at no more than a few thousand miles. In addition, he had to make sure that he zero'd his speed at that spot, or there would be hours wasted in juggling back and forth.
He had to worry about the skill of Captain Miles, too, who was probably long out of navigation school, and had gotten used to setting his course by the sight of the planets. Some of the older pilots were capable of stopping dead still on a dime anywhere between Mercury and Jupiter. Others couldn't have found Mars without being able to spot it in their screens.
It was something with which he'd had no personal experience. Just how do you know when you've completely neutralized your speed, out millions of miles from nowhere?
It seemed simple enough, after cutting through Jupiter's gases and shaving the sun. But it was a better test of his real ability than all those stunts had been.
He tried to remember everything that had been in the books about it, and finally gave up. The books hadn't helped him too much, so far. They were part of his knowledge and valuable enough, but they were useful only when coupled in with practical experience. His calculations had been learned in school, but the feeling of the ship had come with practice.
He figured things as carefully as he could, and let it go at that. If he had to jockey back and forth—well, the papers would call him a hot-rocket jockey, and he'd have to live up to it.
He reached turnover point and swept the Last Hope around with a single long blast from one of the side tubes, correcting for his swing immediately afterward. She held steady in her decelerating position. Tod grunted.
"What they teach you in school, Tod," he commented. "It saves time and fuel. Only it took a long time for me to find out that it really could be done that way."
Forty-nine hours out from Venus, Jerry cut the blast and went dead. He checked his position carefully, and could detect no sign of drift, and no error. He was at least correct to within a few thousands of a per cent— which was still too big an error, if it existed.
There was no sign of the Chicago Queen. He stretched out the range of his screen to the limit and waited. He couldn't have missed that far!
He began sending out a call on the radio. An answer came back almost at once. The Queen had had a little trouble getting fast clearance on Mars until the Commission had stepped in. She'd rendezvous in ten minutes.
Jerry waited, leaving his radio on to give them a homing signal. The screen suddenly lighted up and began beeping at him. The Queen was crawling up, going just a trifle too fast, and a bit offside.
Probably they were both slightly in error, but it was close. They would pass within half a mile, and with less than five miles an hour error in matching speeds.
But it wasn't good enough. Jerry began a fast flip-over and prepared to try to match course with the Queen. It was hard to maneuver at such close quarters, and he couldn't use more tha
n a touch on the big tube without overshooting. He held it down to low power, and flipped it on quickly, letting go at once. The Queen was now drawing near, but more slowly. He began to juggle with the steering tubes, edging toward the spot where they should meet. As she came up almost directly behind, he hit the power again, with a mere flick of his finger that produced a slight jerk.
"Jerry!" It was Dick's voice in the phones. "Hold it there. You're close enough. Captain Miles was worried all the way here that he'd have to go chasing you all over space, like a needle in a haystack. You're a hot pilot, kid—but don't try a perfect match. Most of them are pure fiction out here. I can bridge across. Right, Tod?"
"I reckon so, if you want to be a fool again," the old man said. "I'll have to catch, I suppose."
Jerry stood up, but Dick must have sensed his reaction. "You stay put, Jerry. If something goes wrong, I'll want you at the helm to do your best. Be with you in a second."
He cut off. A few seconds later, the two ships were drifting side by side, a couple hundred feet apart. The difference in their speed was almost unnoticeable.
The air lock of the Queen opened, just as an indicator on the control panel told Jerry that Tod must have gone outside. A big figure in a space suit was in the lock.
Dick took a good look across at the Last Hope, doubled his legs under him, and jumped. He wasn't even wearing a rope to pull him back! And he hadn't made allowances for the fact that even a big ship will roll a few fractions of an inch when a man jumps from her in space, where nothing holds her anchored firmly.
He was going to miss by several feet, Jerry saw. He came sailing across the space between the ships, a grin on his face. Just as he seemed about to pass over the Last Hope, a rope with a weight tied to it sailed up.
Dick caught it easily, and began moving down and out of sight. Tod's toss had been true.
The transshipping was complete. The indicator showed the lock was closing. Jerry heaved a sigh of relief, and acknowledged the call from the Queen.
"Glad I could help, Captain Blaine," Miles said. "Too bad you don't have much chance. But give them all you've got."
Jerry thanked him again. But he was getting tired of the universal feeling that he didn't have a chance. He'd never had a chance on this trip, but he was still jockeying the Last Hope, and no one had come in for the final landing, according to his knowledge.
He had begun swinging the ship toward Earth the moment Dick was aboard. Now he opened the big rocket tube, and they were on their way home.
A new pip showed up on the screen, traveling at a furious clip! It crossed the screen in seconds and was gone.
Dick was standing in the door of the control room, with one hand outstretched. Now he dropped it and jumped for the screen. "That was a ship—and a racer. No regular liner hits up to that speed!"
"Mars!" Tod muttered from the doorway, behind Dick.
It didn't seem possible. It was an odd route. But there was no question about it.
Jerry reached for the main tube control and then shook his head. He was using all the acceleration he could afford; they'd taken off from Venus with a short supply of fuel. If he pushed it any higher, they'd be stranded somewhere on the way, unable to slow for a landing.
He shook it off, and stood up, sticking out a hand.
"Hi, Dick. You're looking swell."
It was the truth. Dick had never looked better, except for the worried frown over his eyes. It disappeared as he took his brother's hand in a hard grasp. Then a puzzled light came into his eyes.
"You look a lot better than I expected, kid. But I don't know that I like the look on your face. It looks like I'm vacating the position of older brother and fatherly adviser. You're about to tell me to shove over and meet a man my own size, or I miss my guess. How about it, Tod?"
Tod shook his head. "Nope. He's a long ways from your size—and I'm not talking about beef, either. You two go ahead and fight out your own ruckus. I got work to do."
He stuffed a fresh wad of gum into his mouth, and headed down the shaft, leaving them alone. Dick began telling about his stay on Mars, while trying to get all the facts on the race.
Jerry supplied it mechanically. He'd never thought he was as good a man as Dick, but Tod's words had hurt. He'd thought the old man was pleased with the way he'd run the Last Hope. It wasn't exactly pleasant to be reminded that he was only a second-rater, even if it was the truth.
It was the first chance he'd really had to talk to Dick, though, since he'd gone to Earth to enter Space Institute, and he tried to make the most of it.
Finally he stood up again, and motioned Dick toward the control panel. "I guess you'll want to get the feel of her?"
Dick sat down, and stood up again quickly. "Nope, I don't, after all. I'm quitting space. Even though we don't win, and Sun Fuels won't back Dad's stuff, I can still get me a job as a fuel engineer there. The representative on Mars told me so."
"But they'll want the fuel, anyhow, won't they?" Jerry hadn't thought of it for days, but it seemed that he'd at least proved that the fuel was all it was supposed to be.
"They're doubtful about it. They think that it's been fuel trouble that's held you up a lot of the time. Even suggested that maybe you had to put back to Mars because of that, and that my eye trouble was a fake. You can't blame them, Jerry. With no real publicity,, who'd buy the fuel if they did make it?"
"Then why go back to Earth and take the job?"
Dick shrugged. "Because I've always wanted to be an ordinary engineer—like Dad. Space gets too rich for my blood."
Jerry lay awake for hours, thinking about that. He knew a lot of things he'd never known before. Space was what he wanted, and it wouldn't matter whether he was third assistant wiper on a freighter or captain on the biggest liner out of Earth. He couldn't understand Dick's quitting. One of the things that had been driving him on had been his desire to do what Dick would have done.
Now it seemed that Dick wouldn't have done them. His interest in the race dealt only with the fuel. It made good sense, he supposed, since they would be broke, otherwise; and probably Dick felt that Earth should win as strongly as anyone else.
But that wasn't enough for Jerry, any more. He felt let down in Dick, and hurt at Tod's lack of respect for him. It was almost as bad as the time Commodore Tenn had called him in to sack him from Space Institute.
He'd just gotten to sleep when Tod came pounding on his shoulder. "Jerry. Hey, Captain!"
"Okay, okay." He rolled out of the hammock, realizing he'd been sleeping in his clothes again. The old man would give him the dickens for that.
But Tod didn't notice. He held out a gummy hand toward the boy. "Fuel! Jerry, the middle tank is leaking—that heat must have weakened an old weld. There isn't a drop left in it, and I can't scrape up more than a gallon that we can salvagel"
Jerry looked at the fuel, and down toward the tracks where more fuel had rubbed off Tod's shoes.
"How much do we have, closest estimate you can make?"
"About three hundred gallons, maybe a little less. I measured it at two ninety-six. Dick's down mopping it up, but we can't squeeze anything much out of the mess—it got mixed with everything."
"No tin?"
"Nope. Checked on that. Everything's off the floor."
Jerry leaped up the rail toward the control room and dropped his hands onto the keys of the calculator that had become almost an extension of himself. His eyes checked off the time, and he rechecked position while the calculator digested his figures.
When he finished, Dick and Tod were in the doorway, wiping themselves dry. He threw the figures down on the table, and reached for the main tube control, cutting the acceleration down a notch. Then he swung back.
"We re short. We can't make Earth, unless we want to slow down too far. Our best bet is to set down on Luna Center port and pick up more fuel. We're in luck —the Moon will be right between us and Earth. We haven't got enough left to fight down through an atmosphere, taking it easy all th
e way, but we can land at Luna Center, I think, without much loss of time."
He handed the paper to them. "I figure we lose about two hours this way, but if I slow down enough, or drift part way, to coddle the fuel, we'll lose more time. Okay, Dick?"
"You're the captain," the other told him. "Seems more sensible to drift a little, but I guess atmospheric landing would eat up a lot of fuel. Okay, kid."
He didn't wait for more, but went on down to his bunk. Tod came over.
"Quit kidding," he told Jerry, and his fingers were making a paper ball out of the calculations. "You mean if we can't make it to Luna, you can correct enough to shoot on by and yell for a tug. And if we get messed up with any more atmospheres and then find we can't, we go down! And we don't walk away."
Jerry nodded. It wouldn't take much to recover if
the fuel ran short at Luna Center—the steering tubes held enough reserve for that.
"Yeah," Tod grumbled. "Sure. But I wonder what you'd of done if Dick wasn't here?"
He left it at that, and Jerry couldn't make any sense of it.
"After all," the boy pointed out, "this is Dick's ship. And he won't make much good as an engineer if he winds up in pieces. As captain, I'm responsible for the crew, Tod."
Tod nodded glumly. "Yep. We've got to consider a lot of things now. Well, you're the captain."
Chapter 77 Lunar Landing
t was going to be ticklish, Jerry knew. He had Tod over the main fuel tank where all the remaining amount was, ready to yell the moment he saw bottom. That would leave about four gallons in the pipe, and should be enough to sheer off and go into a long elliptical orbit around the Moon.
He came down cautiously, trying not to waste a drop of the precious stuff. There was no opportunity to dance about while making sure the ground under him was just where it should be.
Waiting for the cry from Tod became a nerve-wracking thing. Then it was too late, and he knew he had to land. He eased down steadily, seeing the landing dome open under him in the tele-screen. He'd radioed
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