Rocket Jockey

by Philip St John

  ahead, and they'd agreed to have their fuel ready, with plenty of men to load it in. But now he didn't have any real hope of winning. That had all washed out, somewhere hours ago.

  The blast struck ground, and he cut it down. A sudden yell from Tod came up, just as they touched, without a sign of roughness. The fuel had lasted better than he had expected.

  "Whole bottom's clean," Tod reported. "Didn't want to worry you till I felt us down. Just made it. Dad-burned pretty landing, kid."

  Dick echoed it. "The best landing I've seen in the Last Hope since I've owned her."

  Jerry grinned at them, but it was purely mechanical. He was too sick at the almost certain defeat they were facing. They might have passed the other rocket on the way in—at the end of a long run, the racers frequently had to hold down their acceleration because the tubes were heating too much. And there was no way of judging speed accurately on a screen, without a longer study than he had made of it.

  But by the time they could load and get to Earth, the other ship could practically coast in.

  He saw men coming onto the field, and knew that there was air in the landing dome again. He slipped from his seat and started to leave, just as an erratic buzz sounded from the radio. It wasn't a call for him, obviously; it must be a side-band effect from some other radio not properly tuned.

  But he picked up the phones and listened in. He could barely make it out, even when he adjusted the tuning. ". . . Coming in, approximately three hours. Clear landing field, Earth . . .!"

  "The winning ship," Tod guessed, and Jerry nodded. They really were working a sloppy signal, since their beam to Earth was spilling over, instead of being tight.

  Then he saw the men below looking up, and raised his head. Barely over the surface of the Moon, but heading on to Earth, a streak shot by, leaving a trail of flame dying in the sky. It was the greenish-blue of Io, though, and not that of Mars.

  Jerry tried to grin. At least Mars wouldn't win— unless they had already landed! But it didn't really matter any more. He had thought he'd already given up hope, but now he knew what losing really felt like.

  "I guess we might as well go down and concede. No use rushing to get to Earth now," Dick said. "Too bad, Jerry. You pretty near did the impossible, anyhow."

  Jerry faced him, conscious that his lips seemed too stiff to move, and that his voice was all wrong. But it had to be said. "I'm still captain, Dick. We won't quit until we reach Earth—and we'll make the best time we can, too. I don't care if we are the last ones in, now— but we're not quitting."

  He turned on his heel and headed out through the top air lock. The little ladder seemed to sway in his hands, though he knew it couldn't. He saw the drums of fuel waiting on the ground, and jumped the final ten feet to land easily under the one sixth pull of the Moon.

  "We won't need all of that," he told the port official. "Just get me ten of those drums into the tanks, and do it as fast as you can. I'm a little overdue."

  He tried to smile at that, but it was probably a sorry attempt. The official didn't seem to notice, though. He pointed to ten of the drums, and men sprang to lift them up the ramp that was being pushed up against the fueling ports of the ship.

  "One at a time," the official warned them. "Make it fast, but make it smooth for Captain Blaine."

  There was more enthusiasm in the answering cries than Jerry had expected. He watched the men moving along efficiently, glad that there were none of the Venus mechanical gadgets around to slow things up. Earth used machines, but they worked!

  The official stood beside Jerry. "A great race, Captain. Too bad you ran short of fuel."

  "Too bad a lot of things, I suppose," Jerry admitted. "But she's a great ship, even if she's only an old mining hot-rocket job, instead of a racer. And the fuel's a miracle. A shame to let them go to waste, isn't it?"

  The other frowned. "I don't see them going to waste yet. We're all pretty proud of the way you've handled yourself in this, Captain Blaine. It's been pretty dirty, but I haven't seen even a Martian paper that has anything against you."

  Jerry shrugged, and dropped it. Earth was a nice sportsmanlike loser. Mars was the big businessman type that got things done. They'd praise him—but they'd go right on taking the business away from Earth, and their success would simply make the next race dirtier. It didn't have to be—the race could have been one of the finest things in the Solar System. "Mars got in when?" he asked. Huh? She hasn't landed yet—we're expecting her signal any minute, but she's still cutting space from Mercury!"

  That was some help. Io probably hadn't hesitated to pull a few tricks, if Jerry knew the miners, but they'd have been a lot cleaner than Mars in their methods.

  "Io won't get much business out of winning around the inner planets," he said. "But the miners and freighters there treated me to their best. I'm glad they've got the Classic."

  For a second, the official's mouth seemed about to snap off at the jaw socket, from the way his lower jaw fell. Then he caught Jerry's shoulder. "Are you serious? Yeah, you are. Blaine, that rocket from Io isn't even in the match any more! They got into trouble with a tiny meteorite on the way to Venus, and now they're hobbling into Earth's repair docks. You're the first one to get in! The first! Why do you think we got this fuel out to you in such a short time, and without any real notice?"

  Jerry's own jaw was dropping, and he saw Tod stopped halfway down the ladder, with his Venus gum cud sticking out of his cheek, motionless.

  A messenger came screaming up on a scooter before Jerry could find anything to say. He tossed the official a slip of paper and roared back.

  The official took one look at it, and handed it to Jerry.

  "Mars just called Earth. They're coming in, expect to land at 11:15 p.m."

  "Get that stuff loaded, and put some snap into it!" the official yelled at the men doing the loading. "Mars is coming in—set to land in about two hours. We gotta get this man out of here!"

  But the last drum was already being emptied.

  The official caught Jerry in two husky arms and tossed him toward the ladder. Jerry's hands came out automatically, and he was scrambling up the little rungs toward the control room. Below him, the ramp was being hastily run back, and men were charging across the field to have it cleared for evacuation of the air.

  The all-clear signal came down just as the last man reached safety. They weren't even waiting for evacuation. The dome popped open, and the air went exploding outward, carrying dust from the field with it. Air was precious here, but this was an occasion when air didn't count!

  Jerry was in the seat before Tod could swing the air lock shut, and his hands were ready when the indicator showed they were sealed. The Last Hope came up from the Moon with a rush, lifting with everything he could cram into her. Right now was no time to worry about the tube, or heat. He was out to beat a time he didn't think could be beat—but it was no longer a matter of a hundred hours. It would be settled in split minutes at the end, where it was up to his skill and the fuel that was driving them on.

  He set up his figures quickly, while kicking them into a true course with the foot controls of the steering tubes. There was no time to plan first, and then aim. He had to get there, or as near as he could. And it was hard to miss Earth from here.

  Mars was already slowing, but she'd pass him on the way in. He had to get up speed first, and then begin slowing down for the landing. He'd made it in two and a half hours coming out. It was now 9:00 p.m. on the clock—Friday the twenty-seventh, by Earth time. Mars might get there sooner, once she found that he was rocketing home. He had to make it in two hours this time, and it would be a night landing in a full atmosphere, which was always tricky.

  He set his course to bring them in before the two hours were up. It was no time for anything but speed, and the ship could really put out the gees when she was pressedl

  Dick came in and started to say something. He was hunched from the weight of the rocket thrust, and he stared at Jerry as if the boy were
a madman.

  He dropped into the other seat, sighing as the gravity crush was eased from his legs. "You'll make it, kid. You're the sort who does—crazy, maybe, but you get things done. I guess I know what Tod meant, and he was right. We're built to a different size, all around. I've got another job, Jerry."

  "You told me about it," Jerry cut in. "Yeah, we're different. I'll probably wind up as some third assistant navigator, and you'll be top engineer in a few years. But just between us, I like it this way."

  Dick pulled out a cigarette and began puffing at it. "So do I, kid, now that I'm used to the idea. I've never really been cut out for space—not this end of it. I want to see men go on out. There's Pluto out there, the greatest super-cold laboratory in the world —only a couple of degrees above absolute zero. And with the right fuels, we can get there. I want to help make those fuels. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll live to see a ship take off for the stars."

  The radar screen emitted a pip of light, and something streaked by overhead. Mars was now in front, her great wash of flame shooting out a bright red toward the Earth below. Jerry watched it, and he swallowed slowly.

  "I guess I misunderstood, Dick," he said at last.

  Some of the coldness melted. Dick wasn't letting anyone down, after all. He'd be doing something that really counted. And maybe Jerry could get a job on that first trip to Pluto—maybe Dick would put in a good word to have him in that group.

  He grinned to himself. He'd been a fool again, thinking Dick was interested only in money and easy living. He should have known better.

  "Scram, Dick," he ordered. "I can't talk now, and if you stick around, I will talk. But I'm tickled pink about your job."

  He felt the big man's hand on his shoulder as he bent over his calculator, estimating the Martian ship's progress. At this distance, they must be making a speed of . . . um-m . . .

  It worked out well enough for their 11:15 deadline. The glance he'd had on the screen and the time it had taken for their flare to disappear, mixed with a dozen other factors that he could only guess were there, without knowing why, all added up to the fact that they'd make it before then.

  They'd know about him, by now. They must have heard from their group on Earth, who'd send them a message through the Commission, telling all about his leaving the Moon. And it was too close for Mars not to gamble a bit on their tubes holding now.

  Unless he had guessed their minds wrong, they would be down on the field by eleven. He'd have to make better time than that.

  He no longer questioned the fact that he was going to win. Dick might work his way up in time, even if they lost. They'd prove the value of his father's fuel somehow, though it might take longer, and they'd use that as a basis for even better fuels. It was only the beginning of the low-heat, high-energy breakdown liquids. But if he lost, they'd never believe that it was a leak in the tanks plus inadequate emergency fueling on Venus that had made him drop to the Moon before coming down. And that might slow Dick down for years.

  If he won, they'd begin with this fuel at once. With that as a bargaining wedge, Dick could practically control Sun Fuels in five years—and Sun Fuels would have the edge throughout the system.

  He grinned to himself. When Dick made his second million, the first thing he would have to buy was a bigger model of the Last Hope for his younger brother and Tod. There'd be another Classic in ten years, and he meant to be ready for it, to show them a real pair of heels.

  They reached turnover point, according to Jerry's calculations. He stared at the big control that was jammed all the way down, and then at the clock.

  Tod was bringing coffee, but he refused it. "Turnover time, Tod," he said.

  Tod nodded. "Yep."

  "Aren't you going to call me a blamed fool? We can't brake any faster than we're accelerating, and this is the halfway mark."

  "Nope—I'm tired of calling you a fool," Tod told him. "I figure I know what you're going to try."

  Jerry sat watching the clock for a few minutes more. Then, reluctantly, he hit the steering rockets, and began a flip-over. For the second time, he made an exact counterblast with the first try, to bring the Last Hope into blasting position against Earth.

  Mars wasn't going to win, even if he had to drive the Last Hope through America and halfway to China!

  He made sure that the blast was at its maximum again, and watched the clouds and the dim outlines of the continents creep up.

  "You're a fool, Tod," he said at last. "A dadblamed fool. If you know what I'm doing, why aren't you telling me off?"

  The old man chuckled. "I found out I was a fool a long time ago, boy. But lately, I ain't so sure about it. Lately I'm beginning to think I'm getting my senses. And you don't need to go trying to rile me up by calling me my own names back. Used to be able to when you were a kid, but you're growing up now— and maybe I'm doing the same. We gonna win?" "We're gonna win!"

  "That's what I thought." The engineer lifted his coffee and studied the tele-panel. "And if we don't, well, I was born down there, though I don't remember much except growing up in deep space. But I guess the place where I came into the world's as good a place to go out as any."

  He sat in silence for a while longer. Then he stood up slowly. "Like I told Dick, you're a bigger man right now than he ever was. He ain't in your size, kid. Because you're too big a blamed fool to know that you can't beat Mars now, no matter what you do. That's why I ain't worried. I only worry when there are sensible men running these contraptions."

  For the second time that night, Jerry felt a hand catch his shoulder and then heard steps moving away. He swallowed softly, and began planning his landing for the fiftieth time.

  Chapter 18

  The Checkered Flag

  E

  arth telescopes must have picked up his flare, and that of the Mars ship. They had good plotters down there, machines and men who could tell to the fraction of a second when and where a ship would touch the atmosphere.

  The radio began buzzing almost as soon as Tod left, and Jerry answered it automatically.

  "Blaine! You're coming down too fast, and you're going to wind up in the ocean! Put on more power and straighten out."

  "Can't," Jerry answered truthfully. "I'm using full power now!"

  "Then sheer off and go on. We'll send a tug up to

  haul you in or refuel you, if you need help. There's no sense in getting yourself killed."

  "Just make sure the field is clear for me," Jerry told them, and cut off. The radio went on buzzing, but he refused to answer it. Their hysteria was strong enough that it might affect him, and he had to keep his head clear.

  He watched the atmosphere spread out as he drew nearer, and this time when the pip showed on the radar screen, he was passing the Mars ship.

  He waited until the last minute, and then hit the steering controls with his feet, while his hands found the little levers that would work the big vanes along the rocket tube.

  The Last Hope began to come into proper position, and he cut down the thrust of the tube. This time, he yelled a warning to Tod and Dick, and buckled on his safety harness carefully. He was learning finally that it is all the little things that go together to make the big thing that counts. He could keep part of his mind on his job, and send the other thoughts searching for any overlooked details. But none seemed to be overlooked, so far as he could tell.

  The first faint whisper of a sound struck his ears from the hull, and there was a touch of resistance to the vane levers. He heard the vane control motors grumbling, and nodded in satisfaction.

  He was better prepared in some ways than before, but his choice of angle wasn't as good as it had been on Jupiter; it couldn't be, if he were to reach the port. He began to ease the ship into a glide, using both vanes and steering tubes. When he could, he cut on the big rocket for a moment.

  The air outside was whining shrilly now. It wasn't going to be easy. There would be no chance to pull out and go on, as there had been on the big planet. One way or an
other, his course was downward, but in as flat a glide as he could manage without overshooting the landing field.

  His eyes watched the hull pyrometers for signs of overheating, but he wasn't too worried about that. He'd seen what real heat could be, and the ship had taken it.

  The ship was fighting the air now, and the heat was piling up. The vanes threatened to pull off under the force he was using, but he could feel the big ship beginning to flatten. The force of the change hit him with more gees than he had felt before, but the harness cushioned some of that.

  He was flattening out, though he was already deeper in the atmosphere than was entirely safe. The temperature kept rising, and he could barely avoid blacking out under the pressure. He managed to hold his level, somehow; the resistance of the air was slowing him rapidly, so that he could risk the denser atmosphere. He let the ship drop another few degrees.

  Then suddenly it was all over—the screaming sounds went on, but at a lower pitch, and the pyrometer needles stayed where they were, showing that he had nothing to fear from heat. Now it was only a matter of holding the long, steep glide that would let him drop just fast enough so that the denser air matched his lower speed.

  Such landings would never be easy—they could never be anything but a dire emergency measure. But he guessed that handling a braking orbit would eventually be part of the training of every young pilot. He could almost feel sorry for those students—except that it would be worth it all, to know how to handle such emergencies.

  The Earth-formations were slipping by under him now, but he was dropping more steadily. He waited until he knew the field was below him, then flipped the ship carefully up on its tail and began coming down on the rockets.

  The field was blazing with lights, of course. He'd expected that, since he'd seen pictures of one of the old winners who'd come down at night. But for a moment it was blinding.