The base of one tower, softened by heat-lick, settled and the tower leaned slowly toward the north, not gathering speed in the fall, just slowly bending over to lie gently against the ground. The steel of the elevator frame was puddled at the base, but stood miraculously erect. A tiny figure toppled from the elevator platform, crisping to blackness before it neared the ground.
The white gouting stern of the Beatty One was now thrice as high as the towers still standing. The thunder was lifting up through octave after octave as the speed of the Beatty One increased. A great flap of burning fabric fluttered down. The rest of the fabric slid off and the silvery length of the ship, a mirror in the sun, was revealed. Even with the despair that filled his heart, the horror and the great shock of failure, Bard Lane felt and recognized the strong sense of awe at the sheer beauty of the ship.
A tiny figure toppled from the high open port. The ship had moved just enough off the perpendicular so that the toy figure came down, not spinning, motionless in the sun-hot air, toward the street of the village. It hit in the dust, bursting work clothes, rebounding eighteen inches before lying still, a jellied, grotesque thing. The hard roar changed to shrillness and the Beatty One winked high in the sun. High and higher. Vapor trail. And higher. Then slowly canting over, as he knew it would do without the 20 Mohs stability plates which had not yet been installed in the A-six jet flow. It made a bright white line against the impossible blue of the sky, an arc, a parabola, as neat as any inscribed on graph paper. A line up to a peak and a line down. The shrillness was a scream that tore at the inner ear. A line down to the earth. He saw the flare and guessed the distance at fifteen to twenty miles, due south. The scream still continued after the explosion flare had filled half the sky, then stopped abruptly. The air pushed hard against them, then the earth shook as though a truck were going by. At last came the gutteral crack-boom of the explosion. And silence. Brown cloud lifting in mushroom shape toward the blue sky. A bit of the vapor trail was still high in the sky, wavering off in the prevailing wind.
Bard Lane took two steps to the curbing, sat down and held his face in his hands. Nearby, a wooden building crackled as the flames bit into it. The project fire engines screamed to a stop, sirens ridiculous in comparison to the memory of the scream of the dying Beatty One—a mosquito trying to outshout an eagle. Somebody rested a steady hand on Bard Lane’s shoulder. He looked up and saw the stolid, seamed face of Adamson. Tears had cut channels in the dust on his cheeks.
“Nick, I … I …”
Adamson’s voice was gruff. “I’ll take an emergency crew down and see what she did when she hit. If we’re lucky, she’ll be five miles from the village. Better go get on the radio, Bard, and give the word. Then I think you ought to make an announcement over the PA.” Adamson walked solidly away.
He walked to his office. The guard had voluntarily given up his assignment. The project personnel stood in the street. Not large groups. Two or three or four. Low voices. Long silences. They glanced quickly at him and then away. He went through the outer office. Bess Reilly sat at her desk. She sat with her forehead against the top of her typewriter. Her bony shoulders shook but she made no sound.
After he advised Sachson and Washington by coded radio, he obtained a clear circuit over the PA for every amplifier in the area.
He spoke slowly. “This is Lane. We don’t know what happened. We may never know who or what was responsible. You will be wondering about your jobs. I doubt very much whether we will be given a second chance. By the day after tomorrow we’ll have the checks ready for termination pay for most of you. Certain clerical, stock record, and lab employees will be retained for a time. A list of those who will be needed will be posted on the bulletin board tomorrow afternoon. One thing. Don’t ever feel that because of what just happened, all of what we have done is wasted. We learned things. If we’re not given a chance to use them, someone else will, sooner or later. They will learn from the mistakes we made. All employees will please proceed immediately to the time clocks and remove their time cards. Turn them in to Mr. Nolan. Mr. Nolan, after there has been time for all cards to be picked up, send someone to gather up the unclaimed ones. That’s the only way, I’m afraid, that we’ll ever learn who made the … first and last trip on the Beatty One. Dr. Inly, please report to my office. Benton, rope off the takeoff area, and advise me when the count is down to a one hour safety period. Those of you who lost personal possessions in the barracks fire, prepare the standard claim form. You can get forms and instructions from Miss Mees in the Accounting Office. Brainard, start your labor crews to work torch-cutting, for scrap, the tower that fell outside the radiation area. The club will be closed tonight. And … I don’t know how to say this properly, but I want to thank every single individual for … devotion and loyalty beyond anything I ever experienced before. Thank you.”
He released the switch and looked up. Sharan Inly was standing in the doorway. She walked to his desk. “You wanted to see me.”
He grinned in a very tired way. “Thanks, Sharan.”
“For what?”
“For being bright enough not to start commiserating with me, telling me how sorry you are and how it wasn’t my fault and all that.”
She sat down, hung one denimed leg over the arm of the chair. “There isn’t anything to say. Our good pal who calls himself Raul got to one of the group and fixed us. On the other side of the world somebody feels very, very good, I imagine.”
“What are you going to do, Sharan?”
“They’ll find another slot to put me in. Maybe I’ll be back in the Pentagon, testing the Oedipus complexes of quartermaster second lieutenants. Something frightfully thrilling along that line. But now I have a hobby.”
“Hobby?”
“Finding out how they worked that long-range hypnosis. There are a few people I can trust not to think I’ve lost my mind when I give them the story.”
“But you won’t be taking off immediately, I’m afraid. There’ll be an investigation. We’ll have the star parts. You and I and Adamson and Leeber and Kornal and a few of the others. Stick around, Dr. Inly. See the big three-ring circus. Hear the tigers howl for meat. Pay your money and see the seven wonders of the world.”
A storm front was moving in from the north. The day was unexpectedly and unusually muggy. Extra chairs had been brought into General Sachson’s conference room. Two bored girls sat at a small table near the windows, supplementing the recording devices with the aid of two stenotype machines. They had covered several yards of the white tape with the staggered letters. The door was closed against the reporters and photographers who waited in the corridor.
Bard Lane sat at the witness table. His armpits were sodden and he had a dry, stained taste in his mouth.
Senator Leedry was a dry wisp of a man, tiny and withered, but with a plump and arrogant little paunch. He smiled as he spoke. His baritone voice was alternately scalpel, cutting torch, and caress.
“I appreciate, Dr. Lane, your attempts to explain technical data in a manner that we poor laymen can understand. Believe me, we appreciate it. But I guess we’re not as bright as you imagine. At least, I’m not. Now, if it isn’t too much trouble, would you explain once again to us, your theory about the accident.”
“The A-six uses what they call, in Army slang, ‘soft’ radiation. The shielding also acts as an inhibitor. When actuated, the pellets are fed down to the CM chamber for combustion. The CM chamber utilizes the principles of the old shaped charge to achieve thrust. The controls had not been installed for the A-six drive. There is no possibility of an accidental transfer of pellets to the drive chamber.”
The Secretary of War, Logan Brightling, cleared his throat to interrupt. Cartoons depicted him perfectly as a hairless Kodiak bear wearing a wing collar. “Why was the Beatty One equipped with the hot stuff for the A-six drive before the controls were installed?”
“In spite of the inhibitors, the pellets generate appreciable heat. The Beatty One had an efficient method of
utilizing this heat for self-contained power. To use that power for the necessary welding and structural work was more efficient than attempting to bring outside power to the ship. You could say that once we had the internal power source working, the Beatty One was helping to build herself. To continue, I have explained that I do not feel that it could have been an accident. The wall chart shows a schematic cross section.” Bard Lane walked over to the chart. “A man could enter here. It is the normal inspection procedure to check the shielding at regular intervals and take a careful count of all escaping radiation to determine whether or not it is well within safety limits. From this passage a man can work his way completely around the shielding and the drive chamber. At this point is a port that can only be used when the storage section contains no pellets. Beyond the port the radiation will kill a man in approximately twelve minutes. Once through that port it would take a person not more than three minutes to manually dislodge the pellets from their niches in the conveyor and drop them down onto the plate above the drive chamber. In a few minutes more the person could clamber down there, activate the motor on the plate and let the pellets drop into the drive chamber itself. Without the required inhibition, the CM would be instantaneously achieved and the ship would take off. Inspection of the area where the Beatty One stood has shown us that there is more residual radiation than would normally be expected. Thus we assume that the drive chamber was fed with more pellets than would normally have been carried there at one time by the conveyor, and thus we can assume that it was not an accidental actuation of the conveyor itself.”
Leedry pursed his dry lips. “Then, Dr. Lane, you would have us believe that someone went into that … that searing hell of radiation and sabotaged the ship?”
Bard returned to his chair. “I can see no other answer. After five seconds by the open port to the storage section, there would be not the slightest hope of living more than twenty minutes no matter what medical attention was given. The person sacrificed his life. There were twelve technicians on the ship at the time, along with twelve guards watching them under a new security bulletin I issued four days before the accident. Evidently the saboteur overpowered his guard. The elevator operator and two laborers too close to the ship perished, bringing the total death toll in the takeoff to twenty-seven. A large section of the burning camouflage cover fell on a typist from the accounting office. She died yesterday of her burns. So the total is twenty-eight.”
General Sachson went over to Leedry, bent down and whispered in his ear. Leedry did not change expression. He said, “Dr. Lane, would you please move over to the other table for a few minutes. Dr. Inly, will you please come forward.”
Leedry let the seconds mount up. Sharan concealed the thud of her pulse, the sick nervousness that gave her mouth a metallic taste.
“Dr. Inly, you have previously testified as to your duties and the operating regulations which have covered those duties. As I understand your regulations, once you have committed any project employee for detailed observation, the minimum length of time in hospital is seven days. Yet, according to your records, we find that Dr. Lane was sent in for observation and released after only three days. I trust you have some explanation of this deviation from your stated regulations.”
There was a buzz of conversation in the room. The chairman of the investigating committee rapped for order.
Sharan bit her lip.
“Come, Dr. Inly. Surely you know why you ordered Dr. Lane’s release!”
“I discovered that … the evidence on which I had committed Dr. Lane was not what … I had first thought.”
“Is it true that you have been very friendly with Dr. Lane? Is it not true that you have often been alone together? Is it not true that there was a very strong rumor among the project employees that your relationship was—shall we say—a bit closer than a normal professional relationship would indicate?” Leedry leaned forward in his chair, as intent as a questing hawk.
“I resent your implication, Senator.”
“Merely answer the questions, Dr. Inly.”
“Dr. Lane is my very good friend. Nothing more. We were often together and we often discussed what courses of action would be best for the project.”
“Indeed?” Leedry asked.
Bard stood up. “Senator, I consider this line of investigation as wholesome as scribbling on a lavatory wall.”
“You’re out of order!” the chairman snapped. “Sit down, please.”
“Take the stand again, Dr. Lane,” Leedry said. “We will need you again in a few moments, Dr. Inly.”
Bard took the stand. Leedry again waited for his fellow committee members to stop their whispers. “Dr. Inly is quite attractive, don’t you think?” he asked Bard in a jovial manner.
“She is a competent psycholgist,” Bard said.
“Ah, undoubtedly. Now then, Dr. Lane. Yesterday we took testimony from one of the hospital supervisors. Can you explain how it was that you were seen in the hospital making love to a young nurse named Anderson?”
“May I ask what you are trying to prove?” Bard asked. His voice was low.
“I’ll be glad to tell you, Dr. Lane. I can best tell you by asking you one more question. Dr. Lane, you are quite a famous man, you know. You are quite young for the enormous responsibilities which were given you. You have spent a trifle more than one billion dollars of the taxpayers’ money. Money that came from a great number of little people who work hard for a living. Surely you felt the weight of that responsibility. Now answer me this question, Dr. Lane. During the period of time since you permitted one William Kornal to return to his duties after having smashed key control equipment, have you at any time sincerely felt that you are and have been unsuited for the responsibilities which were given you?”
Bard Lane doubled his big brown fists. He glanced at Sharan Inly and saw that her eyes were misty. “Yes, I have.”
“And yet you did not ask to be relieved?”
“No, sir.”
“Dismissed. Wait in the anteroom. Please take the stand, Major Leeber. I understand that you have been in the position of an observer ever since the Kornal incident.”
“That is correct.” Major Leeber sat very straight in his chair. Each bit of brass on his uniform was a tiny golden mirror. His voice had lost the lazy tone. It was crisp. His mouth was a firm line.
“Will you give us your opinion of the quality of Dr. Lane’s management?”
“I can best do that by giving the committee a verbatim quote from a report I sent to General Sachson, my commanding officer, three days before the ‘accident’ occurred. I am quoting paragraph three of my report. ‘It appears that Dr. Lane is best suited to perform supervised technical work in the research field and that he has neither the temperament nor the training for administrative work that is required of the head of a project such as this one. The informality here is indicative of a lack of discipline. Dr. Lane goes to ridiculous lengths in his new security regulations, detailed above, yet permits fraternization between high-level personnel and CAF-two typists on the clerical staff. The undersigned officer strongly recommends that every attempt be made to bring this situation to the attention of those persons in Washington who are in a position to direct a full scale investigation of the project.’ ”
Leedry turned to Sachson. “General, don’t bother taking the stand. Just tell us what you did with the major’s report.”
“I endorsed it, stating my approval of Leeber’s conclusions and sent it by courier officer through the Chief of Ordnance to the Commanding General, Armed Forces. I assumed that it would be taken up with the Secretary of Defense.”
The Secretary of Defense rumbled, “It was on my desk for my personal attention when the flash came that the Beatty One had taken off prematurely. I compliment the General and Major Leeber on their handling of this matter. I shall see that it is made a matter of record for their two-oh-one files.”
Sharan Inly laughed. The sound was out of place in the room. The laugh was as chil
l as the tinkling of crystal. “Gentlemen, you amuse me. The Army has resented Project Tempo from the beginning. The Army feels that space travel attempts are absurd unless carried on in an atmosphere of company formations, service ribbons and seventh endorsements. Dr. Lane is caught in the middle and he’ll be disgraced. The sad truth is that he has more integrity in his little finger than Major Leeber is even capable of visualizing.” She turned to Leeber and said mildly, “You really are a rather despicable little man, you know. Gentlemen, this whole affair makes me sick at heart and rather close to being ill in quite another manner. I am leaving and you can cite me for contempt or restrain me physically. I imagine the latter will be more your style. So nice to have known you.”
She brushed by the sergeant at arms at the door. It closed gently behind her.
“Let her go,” Leedry said. “I rather imagine that she’ll have a long, long wait before Civil Service is able to place her in another government position. And she just told us all we need to know. Her infatuation with Lane, and the effect of that infatuation on her judgment is now a matter of record. I suggest that we consider arriving at a conclusion. My personal opinion is that Project Tempo failed due to the gross negligence and mental instability of Dr. Bard Lane. We should clear out the witnesses and poll the committee.”
General Sachson, as he stood up, said, “If I could have the privilege of making one comment, Senator.”
“Of course, General,” Leedry said warmly.
“You will find in my record that two years ago when Project Tempo was being considered, I read the survey reports and filed a negative opinion. That girl—I should say Dr. Inly—inferred that the military has attempted to block Project Tempo. I wish to deny that allegation. I am a soldier. I follow orders. Once Project Tempo was approved, I gave it my wholehearted cooperation. The minutes of my staff meetings in connection with Tempo are available as proof of this cooperation.
Wine of the Dreamers: A Novel Page 13
