“Okay.” “Suits.” “I hope he shoots first!”
“Any other ideas?”
“Just one,” Art answered. “Suppose our pal cut our power line. We’ve got everything on it—light, radio, even the squawk box. He could cut the line after we went to sleep and loot the whole place without us knowing it.”
Cargraves nodded. “I should have thought of that.” He considered it. “You and I will string a temporary line right now from the ship’s batteries to your squawk box. Tomorrow we’ll hook up an emergency lighting circuit.” He stood up. “Come on, Art. And you guys get busy. Study hour.”
“Study hour?” Ross protested. “Tonight? We can’t keep our minds on books—not tonight.”
“You can make a stab at it,” the doctor said firmly. “Guys have been known to write books while waiting to be hanged.”
The night passed quietly. Ross and Doc were down at the ship early the next morning, leaving Art and Morrie to work out an emergency lighting circuit from the battery of the car. Doc planned to have everything ready for the thorium when it arrived. He and Ross climbed into the rocket and got cheerfully to work. Cargraves started laying out tools, while Ross, whistling merrily off key, squeezed himself around the edge of the shield.
Cargraves looked up just in time to see a bright, bright flash, then to be hit in the face by a thunderous pressure which threw him back against the side of the ship.
“WE’LL GO IF WE HAVE TO WALK”
• 7 •
ART WAS SHAKING HIS SHOULDER. “Doc!” he was pleading. “Doc! Wake up—are you hurt bad?”
“Ross…” Cargraves said vaguely.
“It’s not Ross; it’s Art.”
“But Ross—how’s Ross? Did it, did it kill him?”
“I don’t know. Morrie’s with him.”
“Go find out.”
“But you’re—”
“Go find out, I said!” Whereupon he passed out again.
When he came to a second time, Art was bending over him. “Uncle,” he said, “the thorium has come. What do we do?”
Thorium. Thorium? His head ached, the word seemed to have no meaning. “Uh, I’ll be out in a…what about Ross? Is he dead?”
“No, he’s not dead.”
“How bad is he hurt?”
“It seems to be his eyes, mostly. He isn’t cut up any, but he can’t see. What’ll I tell them about the thorium, Uncle?”
“Oh, hang the thorium! Tell them to take it back.”
“What?”
He tried to get up, but he was too dizzy, too weak. He let his head fall back and tried to collect his spinning thoughts. “Don’t be a dope, Art,” he muttered peevishly. “We don’t need thorium. The trip is off, the whole thing was a mistake. Send it back—it’s poison.” His eyes were swimming; he closed them. “Ross…” he said.
He was again brought back to awareness by the touch of hands on his body. Morrie and Art were gently but firmly going over him. “Take it easy, Doc,” Morrie warned him.
“How’s Ross?”
“Well…” Morrie wrinkled his brow. “Ross seems all right, except for his eyes. He says he’s all right.”
“But he’s blind?”
“Well, he can’t see.”
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital.” Cargraves sat up and tried to stand up. “Ow!” He sat down suddenly.
“It’s his foot,” said Art.
“Let’s have a look at it. Hold still, Doc.” They took his left shoe off gently and peeled back the sock. Morrie felt it over. “What do you think, Art?”
Art examined it. “It’s either a sprain or a break. We’ll have to have an X-ray.”
“Where’s Ross?” Cargraves persisted. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”
“Sure, sure,” Morrie agreed. “We’ve got to get you to one, too. We moved Ross up to the cabin.”
“I want to see him.”
“Comin’ up! Half a sec, while I get the car.”
With Art’s help Cargraves managed to get up on his good foot and hobble to the door. Getting down from the ship’s door was painful, but he made it, and fell thankfully into the seat of the car.
“Who’s there?” Ross called out, as they came in with Cargraves leaning on the two boys.
“All of us,” Art told him.
Cargraves saw that Ross was lying in his bunk with his eyes covered with a handkerchief. Cargraves hobbled over to him. “How is it, kid?” he said huskily.
“Oh, it’s you, Doc. I’ll get by. It’ll take more than that to do me in. How are you?”
“I’m all right. How about your eyes?”
“Well,” Ross admitted, “to tell the truth, they don’t work too well. All I see is purple and green lights.” He kept his voice steady, almost cheerful, but the pulse in his neck was throbbing visibly. Cargraves started to remove the bandage. Morrie stopped him.
“Let the bandage alone, Doc,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing to see. Wait till we get him to a hospital.”
“But… Okay, okay. Let’s get on with it.”
“We were just waiting for you. Art will drive you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I,” said Morrie, “am going to climb up on the roof of this shack with a load of sandwiches and a gun. I’ll still be there when you get back.”
“But—” Cargraves shrugged and let the matter pass.
Morrie scrambled down when they got back and helped Cargraves hobble into the cabin. Ross was led in by Art; his eyes were bandaged professionally and a pair of dark glasses stuck out of his shirt pocket. “What’s the score?” Morrie demanded of all of them, but his eyes were fastened on Ross.
“It’s too early to tell,” Cargraves said heavily, as he eased into a chair. “No apparent damage, but the optic nerve seems paralyzed.”
Morrie clucked and said nothing. Ross groped at a chair and sat down. “Relax,” he advised Morrie. “I’ll be all right. The flash produced a shock in the eyes. The doctor told me all about it. Sometimes a case like this goes on for three months or so, then it’s all right.”
Cargraves bit his lip. The doctor had told him more than he had told Ross; sometimes it was not all right; sometimes it was permanent.
“How about you, Doc?”
“Sprain, and a wrenched back. They strapped me up.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. Anti-tetanus shots for both of us, but that was just to be on the safe side.”
“Well,” Morrie announced cheerfully, “it looks to me as if the firm would be back in production in short order.”
“No,” Cargraves denied. “No, it won’t be. I’ve been trying to tell these goons something ever since we left the hospital, but they wouldn’t listen. We’re through. The firm is busted.”
None of the boys said anything. He went on, raising his voice. “There won’t be any trip to the moon. Can’t you see that?”
Morrie looked at him impassively. “You said, ‘The firm is busted.’ You mean you’re out of money?”
“Well, not quite, but that’s a factor. What I meant—”
“I’ve got some E-bonds,” Ross announced, turning his bandaged head.
“That’s not the point,” Cargraves answered, with great gentleness. “I appreciate the offer; don’t think I don’t. And don’t think I want to give up. But I’ve had my eyes opened. It was foolish, foolish from the start, sheer folly. But I let my desires outweigh my judgment. I had no business getting you kids into this. Your father was right, Ross. Now I’ve got to do what I can to make amends.”
Ross shook his head. Morrie glanced at Art and said, “How about it, medical officer?”
Art looked embarrassed, started to speak, and changed his mind. Instead he went to the medicine cabinet, and took out a fever thermometer. He came back to Cargraves. “Open your mouth, Uncle.”
Cargraves started to speak. Art popped the tube in his mouth. “Don’t talk while I’m taking your temperature,” he warned, and
glanced at his wrist watch.
“Why, what the—”
“Keep your mouth closed!”
Cargraves subsided, fuming. Nobody said anything until Art reached again for the thermometer. “What does it say?” Morrie demanded.
“A tenth over a hundred.”
“Let me see that,” Cargraves demanded. Art held it away from him. The doctor stood up, absent-mindedly putting his weight on his injured foot. He then sat down quite suddenly. Art shook down the thermometer, cleaned it and put it away.
“It’s like this,” Morrie said firmly. “You aren’t boss; I’m boss.”
“Huh? What in the world has got into you, Morrie?”
Morrie said, “How about it, Art?”
Art looked embarrassed but said stubbornly, “That’s how it is, Uncle.”
“Ross?”
“I’m not sure of the pitch,” Ross said slowly, “but I see what they are driving at. I’m stringing along with Art and Morrie.”
Cargraves’ head was beginning to ache again. “I think you’ve all gone crazy. But it doesn’t make any difference; we’re washed up anyhow.”
“No,” Morrie said, “we’re not crazy, and it remains to be seen whether or not we’re washed up. The point is: you are on the sick list. That puts me in charge; you set it up that way yourself. You can’t give any orders or make any decisions for us until you are off the sick list.”
“But—” He stopped and then laughed, his first laugh in hours. “This is nuts. You’re hijacking me, with a technicality. You can’t put me on the sick list for a little over a degree of temperature.”
“You weren’t put on the sick list for that; you are being kept on the sick list for it. Art put you on the sick list while you were unconscious. You stay there until he takes you off—you made him medical officer.”
“Yes, but—Look here, Art—you put me on the sick list earlier? This isn’t just a gag you thought up to get around me?”
“No, Uncle,” Art assured him, “when I told Morrie that you said not to accept the thorium, he tried to check with you. But you were out like a light. We didn’t know what to do, until Morrie pointed out that I was medical officer and that I had to decide whether or not you were in shape to carry out your job. So—”
“But you don’t have… Anyway, all this is beside the point. I sent the thorium back; there isn’t going to be any trip; there isn’t any medical officer; there isn’t any second-in-command. The organization is done with.”
“But that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Uncle. We didn’t send the thorium back.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve signed for it,” Morrie explained, “as your agent.”
Cargraves rubbed his forehead. “You kids—you beat me! However, it doesn’t make any difference. I have made up my mind that the whole idea was a mistake. I am not going to the moon and that puts the kibosh on it. Wait a minute, Morrie! I’m not disputing that you are in charge, temporarily—but I can talk, can’t I?”
“Sure. You can talk. But nothing gets settled until your temperature is down and you’ve had a night’s sleep.”
“Okay. But you’ll see that things settle themselves. You have to have me to build the space drive. Right?”
“Mmmm…yes.”
“No maybes about it. You kids are learning a lot about atomics, fast. But you don’t know enough. I haven’t even told you, yet, how the drive is supposed to work.”
“We could get a license on your patent, even without your permission,” Ross put in. “We’re going to the moon.”
“Maybe you could—if you could get another nuclear physicist to throw in with you. But it wouldn’t be this enterprise. Listen to me, kids. Never mind any touch of fever I’ve got. I’m right in the head for the first time since I got banged on the head at your rocket test. And I want to explain some things. We’ve got to bust up, but I don’t want you sore at me.”
“What do you mean: ‘since you got banged in the head’?”
Cargraves spoke very soberly. “I knew at that time, after we looked over the grounds, that that ‘accident’ was no accident. Somebody put a slug on me, probably with a blackjack. I couldn’t see why then and I still don’t see why. I should have seen the light when we started having prowlers. But I couldn’t believe that it was really serious. Yesterday I knew it was. Nobody impersonates a federal inspector unless he’s playing for high stakes and willing to do almost anything. It had me worried sick. But I still didn’t see why anybody would want anything we’ve got and I certainly didn’t think they would try to kill us.”
“You think they meant to kill us?” asked Ross.
“Obviously. The phony inspector booby-trapped us. He planted some sort of a bomb.”
“Maybe he meant to wreck the ship rather than to kill us.”
“What for?”
“Well,” said Art, “maybe they’re after the senior prizes.”
“Wrecking our ship won’t win him any prize money.”
“No, but it could keep us from beating him.”
“Maybe. It’s far-fetched but it’s as good an answer as any. But the reason doesn’t matter. Somebody is out to get us and he’s willing to go to any lengths. This desert is a lonely place. If I could afford a squadron of guards around the place we might bull it through. But I can’t. And I can’t let you kids get shot or bombed. It’s not fair to you, nor to your parents.”
Art looked stubborn and unhappy. Morrie’s face was an impassive mask. Finally he said, “If that’s all you’ve got to say, Doc, I suggest we eat and adjourn until tomorrow.”
“All right.”
“Not just yet.” Ross had stood up. He groped for the back of his chair and tried to orient himself. “Where are you, Doc?”
“I’m here—to your left.”
“All right. Now I’ve got some things to say. I’m going to the moon. I’m going to the moon, somehow, whether you want to go or not. I’m going to the moon even if I never get back the use of my eyes. I’m going to the moon even if Morrie or Art has to lead me around. You can do as you please.
“But I’m surprised at you, Doc,” he went on. “You’re afraid to take the responsibility for us, aren’t you? That’s the size of it?”
“Yes, Ross, that’s the size of it.”
“Yet you were willing to take the responsibility of leading us on a trip to the moon. That’s more dangerous than anything that could happen here, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
Cargraves bit his lip. “It’s different.”
“I’ll tell you how it’s different. If we get killed trying to make the jump, ninety-nine chances out of a hundred we all get killed together. You don’t have to go back and explain anything to our parents. That’s how it’s different!”
“Now, Ross!”
“Don’t ‘Now, Ross’ me. Want the deuce, Doc?” he went on bitterly. “Suppose it had happened on the moon; would you be twittering around, your morale all shot? Doc, I’m surprised at you. If you are going to have an attack of nerves every time the going gets a little tough, I vote for Morrie for permanent captain.”
“That’s about enough, Ross,” Morrie put in quietly.
“Okay. I was through, anyway.” Ross sat down.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Morrie broke it by saying, “Art, let’s you and me throw together some food. Study hour will be late as it is.” Cargraves looked surprised. Morrie saw his expression and continued, “Sure. Why not? Art and I can take turns reading aloud.”
Cargraves pretended to be asleep that night long before he was. Thus he was able to note that Morrie and Art stood alternate watches all night, armed and ready. He refrained from offering any advice.
The boys both went to bed at sunrise. Cargraves got painfully but quietly out of bed and dressed. Leaning on a stick he hobbled down to the ship. He wanted to inspect the damage done by the bomb, but he noticed first the case containing the thorium, bulking large because of its anti-radiation shipping shield. He saw with re
lief that the seal of the atomics commission was intact. Then he hunched himself inside the ship and made his way slowly to the drive compartment.
The damage was remarkably light. A little welding, he thought, some swaging, and some work at the forge would fix it. Puzzled, he cautiously investigated further.
He found six small putty-like pieces of a plastic material concealed under the back part of the shield. Although there were no primers and no wiring attached to these innocent-appearing little objects he needed no blueprint to tell him what they were. It was evident that the saboteur had not had time to wire more than one of his deadly little toys in the few minutes he had been alone. His intentions had certainly been to wreck the drive compartment—and kill whoever was unlucky enough to set off the trap.
With great care, sweating as he did so, he removed the chunks of explosive, then searched carefully for more. Satisfied, he slipped them into his shirt pocket and went outside. The scramble, hampered by his game leg, out of the door of the rocket, made him shaky; he felt like a human bomb. Then he limped to the corral fence and threw them as far as he could out into the already contaminated fields. He took the precaution of removing them all from his person before throwing the first one, as he wanted to be ready to fall flat. But there was no explosion; apparently the stuff was relatively insensitive to shock. Finished, he turned away, content to let sun and rain disintegrate the stuff.
He found Ross outside the cabin, turning his bandaged face to the morning sun. “That you, Doc?” the young man called out.
“Yes. Good morning, Ross.”
“Good morning, Doc.” Ross moved toward the scientist, feeling the ground with his feet. “Say, doc—I said some harsh things last night. I’m sorry. I was upset, I guess.”
“Forget it. We were all upset.” He found the boy’s groping hand and pressed it. “How are your eyes?”
Ross’s face brightened. “Coming along fine. I slipped a peek under the bandage when I got up. I can see—”
“Good!”
“I can see, but everything’s fuzzy and I see double, or maybe triple. But the light hurt my eyes so I put the bandage back.”
“It sounds as if you were going to be all right,” Cargraves ventured. “But take it easy.”
Rocket Ship Galileo Page 7
