Jeff Benson knew that the one thing that could stop his gnawing anger at Lucille’s injustice would be hard work that showed promise. A bit of an introvert, Jeff could take solace in his own personal successes.
A few days after the deplorable incident in Lucille Roman’s apartment, Jeff Benson opened his laboratory door to admit Professor Lasson.
Jeff blinked cheerfully and drew his old professor inside.
“Doc! Am I glad to see you!”
“You’re looking well, Jeff. Keeping busy?”
“A bit here and a hunk there. Enough to keep me out of mischief, anyway.”
Lasson snorted cheerfully. “You must be busy,” he observed. “As long as I’ve known you you were never too busy to get into some sort of mischief.”
Jeff shrugged and nodded.
“Good looker?”
“Perfect thirty-six—including the I.Q. Great luminous blue eyes and small dark mind.”
“Keeps you busy?”
“She did. No more.”
“Good. Then you’ll have time to put your mind on another kind of problem ”
“For you? Gladly. What’s up? Is the sun getting out of hand?”
“You’ve noticed?” asked Professor Lasson, his eyes widening.
“Noticed? Noticed what?”
“That Sol seems unstable.”
“Sol unstable?” Jeff gulped.
“If you’ve noticed—that helps. We have a piece of very minor evidence that may indicate instability. We want confirmation, and if you’ve noticed it too—”
Jeff shook his head solemnly. “No,” he said quietly. “My remark was just a pleasantry.”
“It’s far from pleasant.”
“Well, what goes on, for heaven’s sake?”
Professor Lasson explained the observed irregularity in the solar energy output and then hastened to explain that their ideas were, of course, quite primitive at this point.
“Such a thing has never been observed before,” nodded Jeff.
“Perhaps because nobody looked for it before. It may be quite all right. On the other hand the first sign of instability might lead to a stellar blowup.”
“Nova!”
Lasson smiled tolerantly. “How quickly we all leap to the same conclusion. Not necessarily nova, Jeff. No one really knows what causes a nova. There are a lot of fine theories but all of them lack proof and all of them contain holes large enough to run a galaxy through.”
“But this is—”
Lasson smiled again. “How insecure we are in our hearts. At the first sign of an irregularity in something we have come to believe unchanging, we grow panicky. Our evidence is so slight that we shouldn’t postulate anything. That’s where you come in, Jeff. We want you to build us a few instruments to measure solar constants and record them.” “Okay. What will you need?”
“Can we devise an energy-collector to measure radiated energy to a square meter?”
“It will have to be coupled and correlated to the varying density factors that cause irregularities in the solar energy collected on any given square meter of area. That might be difficult.”
“Were atop a tall mountain,” said Lasson. “It would not be too much like city living, you know.”
“But even so, the atmospheric conditions change from day to day and hour to hour as temperature and humidity shift. The dust-count changes and—well, there’s one way we might be able to eliminate those atmospheric factors.
“Since terra’s atmosphere would be common to all kinds of received energy, we could balance the intake from some nearby bright star against that of Sol. Then if the local conditions cause a lowering on solar intake it would also lower the stellar intake by a like amount. The two should shift together if no irregularity exists in Sol.”
“Unfortunately, I doubt that we could correlate Sol observed at noon and a bright star observed at midnight.”
“Um—there’s that. But we re still on the right track. Suppose we set up a standardized searchlight on some mountain top a good distance from your observatory. Then we could observe the atmospheric light absorption in the passage of the beam and make allowances.”
“That wouldn’t be perfect but it would be better than nothing. Now we’ll want some sort of device that will measure the index of gravitational refraction of light due to mass.”
“Will Sol’s mass be shifting?”
“I doubt that. But the warpage of space due to stellar mass is accepted as a factor, you know. And the energy level of Sol might cause a shift in this index if the energy level changed.”
“I don’t follow that at all.”
“Well, one of the theories of the cause of a nova is the fact that space itself becomes warped, due to too much mass concentrated in one place, and buckles in upon itself,” said Lasson.
“Remember, Chandrasekhar points out that a cold mass
cannot be larger than the planet Jupiter. When it becomes more massive, it causes internal crushing of the atoms at the core and becomes smaller.”
Jeff nodded. “I recall Chandrasekhar’s curves,” he said. “A cold celestial body of half a million times the mass of the earth would have a theoretical diameter of zero. But Sol is not a cold celestial body. Sol is a mass of incandescent gas.”
“But of such a mass that the internal atoms are still crushed. This internal crushing increases as the diameter of Sol decreases and may come to a point where the spacial buckling causes a blow-up.”
Jeff nodded and then grew solemn.
“I have another theory about it,” he said seriously.
“You have? What is it?”
Jeff went to his desk and handed the professor a few sheets of paper. “These curves,” he explained, “show a general plan or pattern that indicates a flaw in the law of conservation of energy. I hope someday to show that every time energy is converted from one medium to another, a small percentage is lost.”
“I recall some small talk about your theory, but you’ve never been very thorough in your letters to me. What has this to do with stellar nova?”
Jeff shrugged. “If my theory is true, then the question is —where does this energy go? Is it stored in some sub-space awaiting its chance to break through and return?”
“Could be. But it sounds pretty much like a made-up theory to explain the moment. Can’t you refine your measurements somewhat?”
Jeff shook his head sadly. “I’ve been trying. I’ve done the best I could so far.”
“Maybe we can see the proof of your theory in Sol’s behavior.”
Jeff stood up. “We’ll get to work,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. At any rate a minute percentage of four million mass-tons of energy per second ought to be big enough to see.
The inconsistency found in converting a few thousand gallons of butane to heat is too small to be measured accurately.”
Lasson took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He would help Jeff finish the first of the measuring devices and take it back to California with him so that he could get back to his own work. Jeff could then finish the rest of the equipment and send it on as it was done.
Lucille Roman lounged in a metal easy chair bolted to the deck and smiled vivaciously at General Walters. “We could easily take this to the moon,“ she suggested.
“Not this trip,” objected General Walters. “I’m not prepared to do more than view its operation and make an estimate of its efficiency. I’m convinced. But well make no formal interplanetary voyages in this rocket. Not until we spend quite a bit of time in research.” Walters turned to Doctor Phelps. “Just what is the propelling medium?”
“It is a jet of atomic particles.”
“And how does it function?”
Phelps winced imperceptibly. This was the part that was so very weak in their arguments. Phelps, a physicist of ability, did not enjoy the idea of plunging forth and using something of which he had so little knowledge. Furthermore he felt that, as designer or discoverer of the atomic jet, he really sho
uld know more about it.
He swallowed hard and said, “About a year ago I was doing some research on the problem of devising a neutrino detector. Such has never been accomplished, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Well, my first attempt was to take a radioisotope known to emit neutrinos, positrons and electrons. Neutrinos have no electrical charge and so, to eliminate the positrons and electrons from the radiation, I set up counter-reacting electrostatic and electromagnetic fields. I’d hoped to make a trap for these particles while hoping equally to observe some sort of bombardment on a fluorescent screen . . .”
Doctor Phelps talked on, evading the general’s question and praying that, by holding the floor for some time, he could cause the general to forget that nothing had been said about the source of power.
“I believed that while the fluorescent screen favors electron or positron bombardment it would be sensitive enough to indicate a minute amount of scintillation from neutrino bombardment. Neutrinos have neither charge nor much mass but they do have energy, you know, and should cause some sort of observable reaction.
“Anyway,” continued Phelps, “I found that the counter-reacting electrostatic and electromagnetic fields did not do away with the positrons and electrons by trapping them and turning them aside. Instead a needle of energy that nearly blinded me shot from the delivery tube.
“It burned a hole through the fluorescent screen, melted the objective lens of a photomicrography setup and generally raised hob with the equipment. Further refinement gave us this atomic jet in which we’re now rocketing through space just above the superstratosphere.”
“Interesting,” nodded General Walters.
Phelps took a deep breath and Lucille Roman smiled enticingly at the general. The general forgot about the source of energy and accepted a cigarette from her. Her fingers were cool as they lingered against his.
Miles below them was earth and, as General Walters nodded agreement, it shifted position in their viewpoint as the ship changed course.
“I can see that making the moon would be easy,” observed General Walters. “This rocket handles very well.”
“That is because we have a reserve of power,” said Doctor Phelps. Lucille jabbed at his ankle with the sharp comer of a very high heel.
“You seem to have/’ said the general, whose attention had been diverted from the young woman’s charms.
“We have a total of eight jets on the spacecraft,” explained Phelps proudly. “I have checked them and found that four of them would take us off terra without much struggle. I believe that three of them would work but, unfortunately for any such test, we would have to rearrange the position of the jets. It would require a bit more tricky handling to drive straight with an asymmetrical pattern of force behind us.”
“That I can well believe. Also,” said General Walters, “we’d like to know some more about the source of your power.”
Lucille Roman laughed vivaciously but cast a cold glance at Phelps for not having enough sense to keep his mouth shut. “Frankly, General Walters, we’ve been so busy developing the Roman Jet to its present degree of power and efficiency that we have had too little time for pure research.” Phelps nodded. “I hold that this power is a fundamental principle of the universe in which we live. Like electricity, we who first discovered it know little about it. Time will bring forth full knowledge. But in the meantime we can handle it, use it, direct it and control it perfectly.”
“It sounds a little risky, but you seem to have it under control.”
Phelps nodded happily. Lucille took a softer breath as the sore spot was crossed without trouble.
Phelps then added, “I’ve had a pilot model running for more than a year without observing the slightest instability. The pilot model was recorded in every phase for that time and was periodically manipulated either by myself or by random-selecting synchromotors. This has all been recorded. These records, of course, are yours for the asking, General. They will show the Roman Jet entirely reliable.”
General Walters seemed impressed. “This is still a top-secret thing. As soon as I am able I shall work toward getting an appropriation for a research program to study this from a theoretical angle. Incidentally, it looks like a huge success, Miss Roman.”
‘Thank you.”
“I suggest that you double your guards. I’d not like this to get out at all.”
“Every man in my laboratory is cleared for top-secret work. And every man there is utterly loyal to me.”
“Good. Keep them so.”
Then the earth turned again far beneath the spaceport, and the craft streaked for the ground, three hundred miles below.
CHAPTER IX
Charles Horne came into Jeff Benson’s laboratory with a newspaper and a glum smile. Jeff was surrounded by a maze of equipment of all sorts, including a number of packing cases filled with spare parts.
“Quite a mess, Jeff.”
“Jeff nodded. “Rush job.”
“Golly! Do scientists have rush jobs?”
“Uh-huh,” grinned Jeff. “Sol can sit up there and bum for two thousand million years without anybody getting more than mildly interested in him. Then someone notices a trace of a bit of evidence to the effect that there might possibly be a change in the ionizing potential of the photosphere.”
“So?”
“Instantly every man who has ever heard of the photosphere must drop whatever he’d been doing and measure it to seventeen decimals within the next three weeks. Let’s see, three weeks is what percentage of two thousand million years?”
“Bad as that, huh?”
“Not quite.”
“Too busy to take a look at something?”
“Not quite. What have you got?”
Horne slapped the newspaper on the desk in a clean spot and spread open the front page.
ROMAN SPACECRAFT SUCCESSFUL
Today Roman Enterprises announced achievement of mans highest goal. One week ago the Roman Spacecraft took off from a secret laboratory in this general area and proceeded along a precalculated course to the moon, where the spacecraft landed first on the earthward side, then moved to the far side of the moon long enough to take a series of pictures of this spectacle never before seen by man.
Today, at five o’clock CST, the Roman Spacecraft returned to earth and made a successful landing.
Officers of the company and a high-ranking government official claim that the first interplanetary trip was made without incident.
The success of the Roman Spacecraft is due to the development of a new type of rocket jet, the details of which are a government top secret. Its power is possibly atomic in nature, though many specialists claim that fissionable materials are not suited for rocket-type engines. That is . . .
Jeff looked away from the article and flipped a page. There were pictures, a running account of the trip from the log of the ship, and a few comments by Lucille Roman, who had gone along on the trip and was hailed as the first person ever to achieve such a feat.
The fact that there were five others, all men, in the spacecraft with her seemed to have been ignored by the newsmen. Of course, the Roman figure made better picture material than those of the crew.
Jeff looked at Horne.
Horne shrugged. “That ship is made of aluminum from the holdings I once owned,” he said bitterly.
“So that’s what she wanted the Hotchkiss Lab for.”
“Sure.”
“Well, now we know a lot more than we did.”
“A bit,” nodded Horne with a laugh. He took a picture from his pocket. “Look.”
“Where did you get this?”
“I was there when the ship took off. This is a photograph of it in action.”
“How did you get it?”
“By keeping an eye to the ground. I’ve been doing a quiet bum ever since La Roman clipped me and you. Frankly I’d like to even the score.”
“Don’t blame you.” Jeff scowled, looking at
the photograph.
“Not too illuminating, is it?”
Jeff shook his head. “Couldn’t tell a thing about it. Not even the size. Nothing to compare it with.”
“That’s a shame. But I thought you’d like to see it. There’s no picture of the craft in the paper.”
“There’s one thing about it,” said Jeff after some thought. “You can calculate the size of jet necessary to drive a spacecraft of any given tonnage. Most of them come out with impossible figures, like one that came out with a jet throat almost four times the size of the base of the ship. I’ll make a shrewd guess and say that it is not a chemical rocket.” “That’s something. If it isn’t chemical, then what is it?” “I wouldn’t know.”
“Atomic?”
“I doubt it. People who postulate a nuclear pile don’t really know what they’re asking a spacecraft to carry in the way of shielding. This idea of fissionable materials used directly in a rocket is completely impossible as far as I know— at least as we know fissionable materials right now. They either lie inert, or they go bang with enough force to take half of the county with them.”
“How about something we don’t know in the way of fissionable materials?”
“That would come out of Oak Ridge instead of the Roman outfit”
‘‘Well, I intend to find out,” said Horne. “And since you re busy now I’ll go about my business. See you later.”
“Okay,” replied Jeff. Within a few minutes he was back at work on Lasson’s equipment.
As the days wore on Sol’s change became more evident. Lasson took to Jeff’s instruments eagerly and made reports —sketchy, of course—and suggested other ideas that Jeff accepted and went to work on.
The solar energy level was not changed much. It still took the finest of instruments to detect the degree of instability. Little squiggles on a curve and tiny burs on a spectrograph plate are hard things to base a theory upon, and Lasson wanted proof.
The summer wore on and September came with only one incident.
The Lake Bluff solar observatory sent Jeff a request for a device which would enable them to measure the polarity and intensity of the magnetic fields generated by sunspots. Jeff built them the instrument and sent it along with a suggestion that if they had noted anything rare about the solar behavior they might contact Professor Lasson.
Fire in the Heavens (1958) Page 7