“No, son,” the old man replied, “I can’t do that. You know the conditions under which the U.N. granted the Company a monopoly on lunar exploitation—no one to enter space who was not physically qualified to stand up under it. Company to take full responsibility for the safety and health of all citizens beyond the stratosphere. The official reason for granting the franchise was to avoid unnecessary loss of life during the first few years of space travel.”
“And you can’t pass the physical exam?”
Harriman shook his head.
“Well—if you can afford to hire us, why don’t you just bribe yourself a brace of Company docs? It’s been done before.”
Harriman smiled ruefully. “I know it has, Charlie, but it won’t work for me. You see, I’m a little too prominent. My full name is Delos D. Harriman.”
“What? You are old D.D.? But you own a big slice of the Company yourself—you practically are the Company; you ought to be able to do anything you like, rules or no rules.”
“That is a not unusual opinion, son, but it is incorrect. Rich men aren’t more free than other men; they are less free, a good deal less free. I tried to do what you suggest, but the other directors would not permit me. They are afraid of losing their franchise. It costs them a good deal in—uh—political contact expenses to retain it, as it is.”
“Well, I’ll be a—Can you tie that, Mac? A guy with lots of dough, and he can’t spend it the way he wants to.”
McIntyre did not answer, but waited for Harriman to continue.
“Captain McIntyre, if you had a ship, would you take me?”
McIntyre rubbed his chin. “It’s against the law.”
“I’d make it worth your while.”
“Sure he would, Mr. Harriman. Of course you would, Mac. Luna City! Oh, baby!”
“Why do you want to go to the Moon so badly, Mr. Harriman?”
“Captain, it’s the one thing I’ve really wanted to do all my life—ever since I was a young boy. I don’t know whether I can explain it to you, or not. You young fellows have grown up to rocket travel the way I grew up to aviation. I’m a great deal older than you are, at least fifty years older. When I was a kid practically nobody believed that men would ever reach the Moon. You’ve seen rockets all your lives, and the first to reach the Moon got there before you were a young boy. When I was a boy they laughed at the idea.
“But I believed—I believed. I read Verne, and Wells, and Smith, and I believed that we could do it—that we would do it. I set my heart on being one of the men to walk on the surface of the Moon, to see her other side, and to look back on the face of the Earth, hanging in the sky.
“I used to go without my lunches to pay my dues in the American Rocket Society, because I wanted to believe that I was helping to bring the day nearer when we would reach the Moon. I was already an old man when that day arrived. I’ve lived longer than I should, but I would not let myself die . . . I will not!—until I have set foot on the Moon.”
McIntyre stood up and put out his hand. “You find a ship, Mr. Harriman. I’ll drive ’er.”
“ ’Atta boy, Mac! I told you he would, Mr. Harriman.”
Harriman mused and dozed during the half-hour run to the north into Kansas City, dozed in the light, troubled sleep of old age. Incidents out of a long life ran through his mind in vagrant dreams. There was that time . . . oh, yes, 1910 . . . A little boy on a warm spring night:
“What’s that, Daddy?”
“That’s Halley’s comet, Sonny.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know, Son. From way out in the sky somewhere.”
“It’s beyooootiful, Daddy. I want to touch it.”
“ ’Fraid not, Son.”
“Delos, do you mean to stand there and tell me you put the money we had saved for the house into that crazy rocket company?”
“Now, Charlotte, please! It’s not crazy; it’s a sound business investment. Someday soon rockets will fill the sky. Ships and trains will be obsolete. Look what happened to the men that had the foresight to invest in Henry Ford.”
“We’ve been all over this before.”
“Charlotte, the day will come when men will rise up off the Earth and visit the Moon, even the planets. This is the beginning—”
“Must you shout?”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“I feel a headache coming on. Please try to be a little quiet when you come to bed.”
He hadn’t gone to bed. He had sat out on the veranda all night long, watching the full Moon move across the sky. There would be the devil to pay in the morning, the devil and a thin-lipped silence. But he’d stick by his guns. He’d given in on most things, but not on this. But the night was his. Tonight he’d be alone with his old friend. He searched her face. Where was Mare Crisium? Funny, he couldn’t make it out. He used to be able to see it plainly when he was a boy. Probably needed new glasses—this constant office work wasn’t good for his eyes.
But he didn’t need to see, he knew where they all were; Crisium, Mare Fecunditatis, Mare Tranquilitatis—that one had a satisfying roll!—the Apennines, the Carpathians, old Tycho with its mysterious rays.
Two hundred and forty thousand miles—ten times around the Earth. Surely men could bridge a little gap like that. Why, he could almost reach out and touch it, nodding there behind the elm trees.
Not that he could help. He hadn’t the education.
“Son, I want to have a little serious talk with you.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I know you had hoped to go to college next year—” (Hoped! He had lived for it. The University of Chicago to study under Moulton, then on to the Yerkes Observatory to work under the eye of Dr. Frost himself)—”and I had hoped so too. But with your father gone, and the girls growing up, it’s harder to make ends meet. You’ve been a good boy, and worked hard to help out. I know you’ll understand.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Extra! Extra! STRATOSPHERE ROCKET REACHES PARIS. Read aaaaallllll about ’t.” The thin little man in the bifocals snatched at the paper and hurried back to the office.
“Look at this, George.”
“Huh? Hmm, interesting, but what of it?”
“Can’t you see? The next stage is to the Moon!”
“God, but you’re a sucker, Delos. The trouble with you is you read too many of those trashy magazines. Now I caught my boy reading one of ’em just last week, Stunning Stories, or some such title, and dressed him down proper. Your folks should have done you the same favor.”
Harriman squared his narrow, middle-aged shoulders. “They will so reach the Moon!”
His partner laughed. “Have it your own way. If baby wants the Moon, papa bring it for him. But you stick to your discounts and commissions; that’s where the money is.”
The big car droned down the Paseo, and turned off on Armour Boulevard. Old Harriman stirred uneasily in his sleep and muttered to himself.
“But Mr. Harriman—” The young man with the notebook was plainly perturbed. The old man grunted.
“You heard me. Sell ’em. I want every share I own realized in cash as rapidly as possible; Spaceways, Spaceways Provisioning Company, Artemis Mines, Luna City Recreations, the whole lot of them.”
“It will depress the market. You won’t realize the full value of your holdings.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I can afford it.”
“What about the shares you had earmarked for Richardson Observatory, and for the Harriman Scholarships?”
“Oh, yes. Don’t sell those. Set up a trust. Should have done it long ago. Tell young Kamens to draw up the papers. He knows what I want.”
The interoffice visor flashed into life. “The gentlemen are here, Mr. Harriman.”
“Send ’em in. That’s all, Ashley. Get busy.” Ashley went out as McIntyre and Charlie entered. Harriman got up and trotted forward to greet them.
“Come in, boys, come in. I’m so glad to see you. Sit do
wn. Sit down. Have a cigar.”
“Mighty pleased to see you, Mr. Harriman,” acknowledged Charlie. “In fact, you might say we need to see you.”
“Some trouble, gentlemen?” Harriman glanced from face to face. McIntyre answered him.
“You still mean that about a job for us, Mr. Harriman?”
“Mean it? Certainly, I do. You’re not backing out on me?”
“Not at all. We need that job now. You see the Care Free is lying in the middle of the Osage River, with her jet split clear back to the injector.”
“Dear me! You weren’t hurt?”
“No, aside from sprains and bruises. We jumped.”
Charlie chortled. “I caught a catfish with my bare teeth.”
In short order they got down to business. “You two will have to buy a ship for me. I can’t do it openly; my colleagues would figure out what I mean to do and stop me. I’ll supply you with all the cash you need. You go out and locate some sort of a ship that can be refitted for the trip. Work up some good story about how you are buying it for some playboy as a stratosphere yacht, or that you plan to establish an arctic-antarctic tourist route. Anything, as long as no one suspects that she is being outfitted for space flight.
“Then, after the Department of Transport licenses her for strato flight, you move out to a piece of desert out west—I’ll find a likely parcel of land and buy it—and then I’ll join you. Then we’ll install the escape-fuel tanks, change the injectors, and timers, and so forth, to fit her for the hop. How about it?”
McIntyre looked dubious. “It’ll take a lot of doing. Charlie, do you think you can accomplish that changeover without a dockyard and shops?”
“Me? Sure I can—with your thick-fingered help. Just give me the tools and materials I want, and don’t hurry me too much. Of course, it won’t be fancy—”
“Nobody wants it to be fancy. I just want a ship that won’t blow when I start slapping the keys. Isotope fuel is no joke.”
“It won’t blow, Mac.”
“That’s what you thought about the Care Free.”
“That ain’t fair, Mac. I ask you, Mr. Harriman—That heap was junk, and we knew it. This’ll be different. We’re going to spend some dough and do it right. Ain’t we, Mr. Harriman?”
Harriman patted him on the shoulder. “Certainly we are, Charlie. You can have all the money you want. That’s the least of our worries. Now do the salaries and bonuses I mentioned suit you? I don’t want you to be short.”
“—as you know, my clients are his nearest relatives and have his interests at heart. We contend that Mr. Harriman’s conduct for the past several weeks, as shown by the evidence here adduced, gives clear indication that a mind, once brilliant in the world of finance, has become senile. It is, therefore, with the deepest regret that we pray this honorable court, if it pleases, to declare Mr. Harriman incompetent and to assign a conservator to protect his financial interests and those of his future heirs and assigns.” The attorney sat down, pleased with himself.
Mr. Kamens took the floor. “May it please the court, if my esteemed friend is quite through, may I suggest that in his last few words he gave away his entire thesis. ‘—financial interests of future heirs and assigns.’ It is evident that the petitioners believe that my client should conduct his affairs in such a fashion as to insure that his nieces and nephews, and their issue, will be supported in unearned luxury for the rest of their lives. My client’s wife has passed on, he has no children. It is admitted that he has provided generously for his sisters and their children in times past, and that he has established annuities for such near kin as are without means of support.
“But now like vultures, worse than vultures, for they are not content to let him die in peace, they would prevent my client from enjoying his wealth in whatever manner best suits him for the few remaining years of his life. It is true that he has sold his holdings; is it strange that an elderly man should wish to retire? It is true that he suffered some paper losses in liquidation. ‘The value of a thing is what that thing will bring.’ He was retiring and demanded cash. Is there anything strange about that?
“It is admitted that he refused to discuss his actions with his so-loving kinfolk. What law, or principle, requires a man to consult with his nephews on anything?
“Therefore, we pray that this court will confirm my client in his right to do what he likes with his own, deny this petition, and send these meddlers about their business.”
The judge took off his spectacles and polished them thoughtfully.
“Mr. Kamens, this court has as high a regard for individual liberty as you have, and you may rest assured that any action taken will be solely in the interests of your client. Nevertheless, men do grow old, men do become senile, and in such cases must be protected.
“I shall take this matter under advisement until tomorrow. Court is adjourned.”
From the Kansas City Star:
“ECCENTRIC MILLIONAIRE DISAPPEARS”
“—failed to appear for the adjourned hearing. The bailiffs returned from a search of places usually frequented by Harriman with the report that he had not been seen since the previous day. A bench warrant under contempt proceedings has been issued and—”
A desert sunset is a better stimulant for the appetite than a hot dance orchestra. Charlie testified to this by polishing the last of the ham gravy with a piece of bread. Harriman handed each of the younger men cigars and took one himself.
“My doctor claims that these weeds are bad for my heart condition,” he remarked as he lighted it, “but I’ve felt so much better since I joined you boys here on the ranch that I am inclined to doubt him.” He exhaled a cloud of blue-grey smoke and resumed. “I don’t think a man’s health depends so much on what he does as on whether he wants to do it. I’m doing what I want to do.”
“That’s all a man can ask of life,” agreed McIntyre.
“How does the work look now, boys?”
“My end’s in pretty good shape,” Charlie answered. “We finished the second pressure tests on the new tanks and the fuel lines today. The ground tests are all done, except the calibration runs. Those won’t take long—just the four hours to make the runs if I don’t run into some bugs. How about you, Mac?”
McIntyre ticked them off on his fingers. “Food supplies and water on board. Three vacuum suits, a spare, and service kits. Medical supplies. The buggy already had all the standard equipment for strato flight. The late lunar ephemerides haven’t arrived yet.”
“When do you expect them?”
“Any time—they should be here now. Not that it matters. This guff about how hard it is to navigate from here to the Moon is hokum to impress the public. After all you can see your destination—it’s not like ocean navigation. Gimme a sextant and a good radar and I’ll set you down anyplace on the Moon you like, without cracking an almanac or a star table, just from a general knowledge of the relative speeds involved.”
“Never mind the personal buildup, Columbus,” Charlie told him, “we’ll admit you can hit the floor with your hat. The general idea is, you’re ready to go now. Is that right?”
“That’s it.”
“That being the case, I could run those tests tonight. I’m getting jumpy—things have been going too smoothly. If you’ll give me a hand, we ought to be in bed by midnight.”
“O.K., when I finish this cigar.”
They smoked in silence for a while, each thinking about the coming trip and what it meant to him. Old Harriman tried to repress the excitement that possessed him at the prospect of immediate realization of his life-long dream.
“Mr. Harriman—”
“Eh? What is it, Charlie?”
“How does a guy go about getting rich, like you did?”
“Getting rich? I can’t say; I never tried to get rich. I never wanted to be rich, or well known, or anything like that.”
“Huh?”
“No, I just wanted to live a long time and see it all happen. I wasn’t
unusual; there were lots of boys like me—radio hams, they were, and telescope builders, and airplane amateurs. We had science clubs, and basement laboratories, and science-fiction leagues—the kind of boys who thought there was more romance in one issue of the Electrical Experimenter than in all the books Dumas ever wrote. We didn’t want to be one of Horatio Alger’s Get-Rich heroes either, we wanted to build spaceships. Well, some of us did.”
“Jeez, Pop, you make it sound exciting.”
“It was exciting, Charlie. This has been a wonderful, romantic century, for all of its bad points. And it’s grown more wonderful and more exciting every year. No, I didn’t want to be rich; I just wanted to live long enough to see men rise up to the stars, and, if God was good to me, to go as far as the Moon myself.” He carefully deposited an inch of white ash in a saucer. “It has been a good life. I haven’t any complaints.”
McIntyre pushed back his chair. “Come on, Charlie, if you’re ready.”
“O.K.”
They all got up. Harriman started to speak, then grabbed at his chest, his face a dead grey-white.
“Catch him, Mac!”
“Where’s his medicine?”
“In his vest pocket.”
They eased him over to a couch, broke a small glass capsule in a handkerchief, and held it under his nose. The volatile released by the capsule seemed to bring a little color into his face. They did what little they could for him, then waited for him to regain consciousness.
Charlie broke the uneasy silence. “Mac, we ain’t going through with this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s murder. He’ll never stand up under the initial acceleration.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what he wants to do. You heard him.”
“But we oughtn’t to let him.”
“Why not? It’s neither your business, nor the business of this blasted paternalistic government, to tell a man not to risk his life doing what he really wants to do.”
Man Who Sold the Moon / Orphans of the Sky Page 28
