Rocket Jumper

by John Blaine

  They seemed pretty serious.”

  When the boys walked into the cabin, the scientists were seated at the round table, while Mrs. Winston poured cold drinks. Gordon looked up as the boys entered.

  “I went over to Jackass Flats this morning to watch the run with Parnell. I wish now I hadn’t.”

  “Why?” Rick demanded.

  Winston shrugged wearily. “So he wouldn’t have had to watch a failure. I’m afraid you two will have to wait a while longer before tracking Ramshorn, unless we can get a new bug ironed out within a day or so.”

  “What was it?” Scotty asked.

  “It’s a little complicated to explain, but we didn’t develop enough power. There was combustion instability that we can’t figure out. I have an idea, or the start of one, thanks to some observations John made on the way home.”

  “It has to be the Rankine cycle operation,” Gordon said. “You can clear that up in pretty short order.

  I’m reasonably sure, because you eliminated just about everything else at the test site, and in your analysis on the way home. You know the fuel injection is smooth. You know the compressor runs like a greased pig, because you made a strobe check. So that leaves the reactor and the heat exchanger.”

  “And reactors don’t fluctuate, at least at that speed,” Winston finished. “You’re probably right, John.

  We’ll start at the heat-exchange cycle in the morning.”

  Rick had understood only a part of the conversation. His immediate concern was with his own operation. “Any idea when mating the power plant to the vehicle can start, if you find the bug?”

  “No firm idea,” Winston answered.“Depends on the seriousness of the problem. If it’s a simple one, another test run will be enough. If it’s serious, we may need several runs and even some redesigning. I’d say we couldn’t start for three or four days at the earliest, even if we get straightened out tomorrow.”

  “How does combustion instability act?” Rick asked.

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  “It results in power fluctuation. Instead of getting constant thrust, we get a random variation. If it wasn’t random, we could spot it pretty easily, but since we can’t tell when it’s coming or what the intensity will be, it’s hard to track down.”

  Gordon added, “It’s something like an occasional skip in a car motor. A regular skip is a cinch to identify. But when it only happens now and then, you have the devil’s own time figuring out what causes it.”

  To Rick, it added up to trouble.A faulty power plant, an information leak, and an attack on a counterintelligence corps officer “by persons unknown.” Ramshorn was having real problems.

  CHAPTER X

  ComplaintFrom JANIG

  A part of the endless dry runs Rick and Scotty had gone through included loading and unloading their gear into and out of a wooden mock-up of a helicopter cargo door and chamber, so when Jimmy Taylor made a dusty landing on the runway just outside the Building Ten fence on Monday morning, the boys were prepared.

  The first step was to go over the area map with the helicopter pilot. Rick’s estimate of Jimmy as a careful flier was reaffirmed when the lieutenant showed them in detail what would be involved in reaching the peak from which they were to operate. Their station was just below the top ofWheelbarrowPeak in the center of the Las Vegas Bombing andGunneryRange . The peak was about 8,800 feet above sea level, and their location was on a slope about a thousand feet below the top.

  Jimmy Taylor described the topography and how it affected the air currents, then went into a detailed description of the effect of various wind headings and velocities, and what they would mean to helicopter operations. Rick was not too familiar with helicopters, and the explanations told him clearly that flying one of the ungainly birds was a lot more complicated than it seemed, especially when trying to land under certain wind conditions without room to maneuver. Like most people, he had taken helicopter operations for granted.

  Finally, Jimmy was satisfied that they understood what it was all about. “Okay,” he said. “We will now pay a visit to the great metal bird where I will further your education by elucidating certain verities concerning communications.”

  “This means you’re taking us to the chopper to give us the word about communications,” Scotty translated.

  “Verily, verily,” Rick said.

  Jimmy looked pained. “Sometime I must give you my ten-cent lecture on the English language as a subtle, flexible, and colorful instrument of communication. I will indeed give you the word, Scotty. In fact, I will give you the ungarbled and pellucid word. Roger?”

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  “Roger dodger,” Scotty replied with a grin.

  Jimmy’s lecture began, “I confess that this marvel of aerodynamic science and modern technology is also a producer of noise. Sometimes, when I go on leave, I visit a boiler factory in full operation, just to enjoy the relative peace and quiet. But you will observe this for yourselves when I start the engine and the fans atop the beast begin churning.”

  “First, however,” he continued, “let us examine the ingenious devices invented to circumvent the noise of this mechanical marvel.”

  The devices were helmets, heavily padded earphones, and throat microphones. The pilot showed them the various switches to be thrown for talking to him, to the base, and to each other. Then he showed them the operation of various safety devices, and ended with a brief lecture on how to survive a crash in a helicopter.

  Jimmy ended with an invitation to strapthemselves in. He checked to be sure they had performed properly, saw their helmets, earphones, and throat mikes in place, then climbed upward into the “front office.” In a moment the engine started and the great blades of the rotor began to whirl.

  Rick lifted his earphones. Jimmy hadn’t exaggerated. The helicopter was so noisy he couldn’t hear himself shout. He knew, because he tried.

  The hiss of an active circuit sounded in his earphones and Jimmy came on. “Note that we have no door.

  This means you shouldn’t try to open it. Stay in your seats. We will take off and fly to station. If I succeed in landing, I will tell you when you can get out. Roger?”

  Both Rick and Scotty acknowledged.

  Rick watched out the door as the spinning rotor blades stirred up a dust storm. The helicopter shuddered like a wet dog in winter, then lifted into the air. The dust storm followed briefly, then fell behind. BuildingTen appeared below as the copter banked, straightened out, and continued its rising flight.

  For a while the ground continued to fall away below. They passed over endless wastes of rock, sand, and thin patches of Joshua trees, yucca, and grease-wood. Now and then a dirt track wound through the wasteland, and once Rick saw the buildings of Mercury, base for the Nevada Test Site, but the helicopter banked onto a new course and only desert and mountain were visible once more.

  The ground began to get closer, and at first Rick thought they were losing altitude. Then he realized Jimmy was on the slope of the mountain, still climbing as the terrain climbed below. The pilot reached the peak and flew entirely around it, finally coming to a hover above a broad, flat shelf. Slowly, like a man reaching for something fragile, he let the helicopter down, and Rick sensed that he was holding position against the wind. In a few moments a dust cloud rose from below and the chopper settled into it, then bumped gently. They were down.

  Jimmy cut the engine and spoke into the intercom. “Keep your seats until the dust settles. Then we can get out and look the place over.”

  The boys waited patiently until he finally gave the word. “Unbuckle and climb out. It’s a good idea to disconnect earphones and throat mikes to keep from jerking the cords out by the roots. Once jerked, they won’t grow back, no matter how much you water them.”

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  Rick grinned. Apparently Jimmy was incapable of saying things simply, unless he was very serious.

  The three climbed out to face a vista of complete barrenness. Not a shrub broke the endless expanses of
rock. Beyond the shelf, facing out,Nevada stretched to the horizon. Somewhere within sight, Rick knew, there must be trees and green, growing things, but they were not visible in the distorted heat waves rising from the desert. Turning around, he saw the peak rising a thousand feet into the cloudless sky.

  Jimmy broke the silence. “See any cool, shady spots where you’d like to set up?”

  Among the many desirable things not available on the mountain, shade was high on the list.

  “We ought to bring a tent,” Scotty observed.“Or at least a tarpaulin and a couple of poles. Well fry in this sun.”

  “Too true,” Rick agreed. “I’m glad we didn’t bring the equipment this time. We won’t have to stay too long.”

  Jimmy Taylor had an idea. “I happen to know a parachute rigger at Nellis Air Force Base. If I could promise him a try at that rocket belt, it might just be possible to persuade him to part with some parachute cloth. By using the rotor blades and a bit of cord, we could make a lovely canopy to shield us from old Sol. What say?”

  “Promise away,” Rick agreed. “A trip on the belt is a small thing in exchange for shade up here.”

  They made a rapid inspection of the area, decided that Jimmy had selected the best spot for landing and setting up the equipment, then buckled in once more and took off for home.

  As the helicopter came in for a landing Rick saw the Jones Boys truck, already serving the early eaters.

  He wondered if Jones had passed the waiting time by working on his fishing rod.

  As Jimmy took off again to refuel his bird, Rick and Scotty headed for Aster’s office to report. The office was empty, the phone ringing.

  Rick picked it up.“Captain Aster’s office.”

  “Is this Aster?” It was a man’s voice.

  “No. He’s not here at the moment.”

  A pause.“Who is speaking, please?”

  “Rick Brant. I’m one of Captain Aster’s crew.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Rick waited. Presently a new voice came on the line, one that he recognized.

  “Rick?”

  “Hello, Steve.”

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  Scotty looked up quickly, and Rick nodded an answer to his pal’s unspoken question. The caller was Steve Ames of JANIG.

  “Rick, where’s Aster?”

  “I don’t know. We just got in from a flight and the phone was ringing, so I answered.”

  “All right.Find him and relay this. We have intercepted a transmission with a full report on the Jackass Flats run of yesterday. And I mean a full report, including details of combustion instability, possible trouble with the Rankine cycle operation, and estimates of how long it may be before the trouble is ironed out.”

  Rick gasped.“A transmission?”

  “Yes. Aster will fill you in. We’ve known about the transmitter and who is operating it for a long time, but haven’t closed in because it wouldn’t help us locate the source within the project. Obviously, it’s someone close to the project. Tell Aster.”

  “Okay, Steve.” Rick hesitated. “Should we talk this way on an open line?”

  “It isn’t open,” Steve replied. “It’s a secure line. What’s on your mind, Rick?”

  “Just that Ramshorn wasn’t operating yesterday. The operation was all at Jackass Flats. So the leak must be there.”

  “Reasonable, but not necessarily accurate.The leak must have come from someone on the power end, but that doesn’t mean it came out of Jackass Flats. Aster will track down the movements of everyone who knew about the test. It will take time, and it may produce nothing. But it’s the only way to proceed.

  So long.”

  Rick told Scotty about the conversation quickly, and the boys hurried to find Aster. It wasn’t difficult; the captain was in the front office talking to Murphy. At Rick’s signal, he broke off the conversation and joined them. Together, the three walked back to the captain’s office, where Rick reported the conversation fully and accurately.

  “Pretty fast,” Aster observed.“Almost an instantaneous leak. Someone must have rushed to hand out the dope to the transmitter operator.”

  “So you know about the operator?” Rick asked.

  “Yes. We’ve known for some time. He uses a high-speed compression technique. Records the message on tape, then plays the tape in one short burst by transmitting it at about a thousand times normal speed.

  At the other end, they record it and play it back at slow speed.Simple but effective. It’s usually hard to track down a transmitter that operates in such a fashion, but we were lucky. The operator is a blackjack dealer inLas Vegas . The actual transmitter is in a house trailer at the edge of a trailer park on the outskirts of the Strip.”

  “Any idea how the dealer gets the information?”Scotty asked.

  “How, Yes.From whom, No. Ever watch blackjack?”

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  Both boys had.

  “When someone wins and they want to tip the dealer, how do they do it?”

  “By dropping a chip into his shirt pocket,” Rick replied.

  “Yes. That’s so the casino guards won’t think the dealer is holding out on the house. Well, a chip can be hollowed out to contain a message, and we think that’s how the dealer gets the word.But from which player and when? We’ve had the dealer watched since we discovered him. He’s collected tips from maybe five hundred people. He has about fifty regulars who come and go.”

  “Including the Jones Boys?” Rick demanded.

  “Not so far. But that means nothing. They could use runners and never put in an appearance themselves-if they have anything to do with it, which is pure speculation on your part up to now.”

  “True,” Rick agreed, but he wasn’t convinced that the speculation was unwarranted. The Jones Boys might be innocent as woolly little lambs, but he just didn’t feel right about them. Something had struck a wrong note, but try as he would, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  CHAPTER XI

  Instructions for the Girls

  Captain Aster moved fast. He called number after number and issued instructions, and by lunchtime Project Ramshorn was under a security blanket so tight that even one of the tiny desert pocket mice would have had trouble getting in.

  All personnel with less than top-secret clearances were assigned to jobs far from the project buildings at both Indian Springs and Jackass Flats. Among them were the Jones Boys, who were told to remove their vehicles to the main gates.

  Rick had just finished purchasing two sandwiches and a container of milk when the Jones at Building Ten got the word. The man looked at the guard and shrugged. “I might as well go home. No one will walk to the main gate to buy, and those who want to go that far will eat at the restaurant. How long does this last?”

  “Sorry. I don’t know. My instructions were only to tell you not to come inside the main gate.”

  “Okay. Orders are orders. I just hope it doesn’t last long, or I’ll go out of business.”

  Rick watched the man’s face carefully during the brief exchange, but Jones seemed no more than ordinarily upset. Anyone who lost his principal sales stand would be disturbed.

  Scotty made a quick purchase, and Jones finished serving those who were waiting in line, then closed up Page 45

  and drove off. The boys took their purchases back to the Building Ten compound to have lunch in the building’s shadow.

  John Gordon joined them. “I was too late to buy the Jones businessman’s lunch. How about bringing your sandwiches over to the restaurant? I’ll buy you a sundae for dessert.”

  The restaurant was outside the Indian Springs base, connected with a gas station, bar, and pint-sized gambling casino with slot machines of various kinds.

  The boys agreed, and Scotty asked, “Suppose Aster can come with us?”

  “I doubt it. He’s running around like a sheared sheep. We’d better go without him.”

  They got into Gordon’s jeep and drove around the perimeter of the airfield to the main g
ate, through it, and onto the parking lot near the restaurant. There was no sign of the Jones truck. Rick guessed he had meant it about going home.

  A waitress led them to a table in the corner and looked askance at the lunch the boys carried. “Don’t you trust our food?” she demanded.

  “They’re on special diets,” Gordon explained.

  “Good food gives them the collywobbles. I’ll have two cheeseburgers, and coffee. We’ll all finish up with a sundae.”

  As soon as they were alone, Scotty started questioning the scientist. “What does Aster hope to gain by blocking off the project?”

  “By getting rid of everyone who hasn’t a top-secret clearance, he’s hoping to stop the leaks. This is a critical moment. Winston went to Jackass Flats with a pretty good idea of what went wrong, and they’re checking it out. We don’t want anyone to know whether he’s right or wrong.”

  “But everyone knew about the combustion instability,” Rick objected. “At least I got that impression.”

  Gordon shook his head. “Wrong. Only the professional staff knew it, and no one knew right away what might have caused it. We shut down yesterday, and packed up and went home. Winston did his thinking aloud while we drove, using me to bounce his ideas back at him. By the time he went to the Flats this morning, he had his ideas in line, and briefed the staff. That’s why Aster is so upset. The leak must have been almost instantaneous.”

  “There must be only a limited number of people who had access to the information,” Scotty observed.

  “They could all be checked out.”

  “That’s being done,” Gordon told him. “At first look, no one on the professionalstaff left the Flats this morning, and no one used the phone except the Operations Director and Safety Officer, both old hands who are fully cleared. The question now is, who did have access to the staff? It has to be someone who left Jackass Flats early. Only a phone call could have gotten the information out fast enough.”

  “Where’s the nearest phone outside of the project?” Rick inquired.