by Ray C. Noll
both psychological and mechanical--"
Grant yelled, "LIEUTENANT ASHLEY!!"
"Yes, sir, major."
"Would you please wait in the outer office for just a moment?"
"But--"
"For just a moment, lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
Grant waited until the door closed before he tried communication withthe general. The officer still teetered in his chair, his eyes bulgingfrom his reddened face.
"They sent me a shape," he sputtered. "That I could take. Shapes I don'tmind, even with authority. But this one-- You know where she's from,Grant?"
Grant sighed hopelessly.
"She's from syk," the general was beginning to roar, "with a blankcheck of authority from Washington. She stood there and called thelosses pilot-error. My pilots, Grant, the ones I trained!"
"Just a possibility, she meant," soothed Grant.
"Possibility, hell! With that attitude around Mojave we'll never getanywhere in this investigation." He untilted with a crash. "I want herkept away from me, do you hear? Give her anything she wants--butappointments with me. I've got United Nuclear here for stress tests,coolant analyses, radiation metering in the morning just as a start, andI'm not going to have that shape around fusing up the works."
"I'll see what I can do, sir."
"You're right you will. I'm putting Colonel Sorenson in as G-2, andyou're going to be the new Syk Cooerdinator for the duration of thisinvestigation!"
"The what?"
"You heard me."
"It couldn't be that bad, general," Grant grumbled.
"It is."
"Baby-sitting."
The general stood up from his desk. "No, you'll relay any data she mayturn up to me, and you'll see she gets what supplies and personnel shemay need. Look, Washington thinks we need her, so I take orders. And sodo you, Grant. I'll have a special order out this afternoon."
"Yes, sir," Grant saluted and wheeled, grinding his molars.
* * * * *
With dubious explanations, Grant managed to steer Lieutenant Ashleytoward the Officers' Club. What excuses he gave her evidently had someeffect; after the first fifty yards across the drill ground she steeredeasily, though still under vocal protest.
A drink, and Grant felt he could face the future. They sat in aplastiweave booth, one against the far wall that overlooked through acurved window the blasting circle.
So wrapped up with his own feelings, Grant had been unaware of hiscompanion's. Her face had paled, and she stirred her drink absently. Thereflections in her eyes were over-bright with moisture.
Offered Grant: "The general has a lot on his mind."
"Yeah," she choked.
"The losses have upset him pretty bad."
"I notice. Me, too."
"Take a drink."
She sipped one CC and said, "And syk upsets him."
Grant smiled, "And shapes."
"And I suppose the rank of first lieutenant makes him nervous."
"No," Grant chuckled, "he can take or leave that. It's majors that gethim."
She smiled vaguely, so Grant followed up with: "What's your background?"
"Psychometrics. Got a doctorate in it. I thought it might be valuable tothe Air Force--at one time." She sipped two CCs.
"I've a little syk background," Grant said. She looked up in suddeninterest. "Started to major in it until I ran up against some of theprofs. If this is what syk produces, I decided, it's not for me. Changedto engineering then. Unfortunately, the general knows about my record."
"How did he take it out on you, parade duty?"
"Worse. He made me an aide."
The girl leaned on an elbow and regarded him with her chin in her hand."You bring his slippers?"
"As G-2, I did up until quarter of an hour ago. I've been promoted. Meetthe Base Mojave Syk Cooerdinator."
Putting her nose in her drink, she giggled softly. "What is it he wantscooerdinated, the syk or me?"
"You're on bearing," he laughed. "My name's Grant."
His hand went across the table, opened, and waited.
"Bridget," she said, and her hand fell into his in a handshake whichlingered slightly.
* * * * *
At Grant's insistence they jeep-toured the base. To his surprise Bridgettook interest in the installations, but asked most of her questionsaround the atomjet hangars.
"I've never seen one close," she hinted.
Grant flashed his Security card at the guards and they went in. Shestrolled about the tapering, snub-winged craft, apparently inspecting itclosely. Grant's thought was that she felt she had to dramatizeunderstanding something about Air Force rocketry.
After a short silence Bridget asked, "What is the compensating factorfor the reactor's being placed off the center of stability?"
Grant blinked. "What's that again?"
She swung a pointed finger at the ship. "Naturally," she interrupted,"the nose will float downward in the canal, hoisting the hot tubes outof the liquid at the end of the glide-ins. But you've got pilot, powerplant, and wings frontside. How can you affect glide-ins at surface airdensity without nosing in?"
The major decided she must have been reading the latest confidentialfiles. High-viscosity liquid landing canals constituted a subject recentenough to be Security and important enough not to be bandied aboutoutside engineering and Base Mojave.
"Well, you see," Grant cleared his throat, "there're the fuel tanksalong the back of the blast chamber, partly lead--"
"The tanks usually are nearly empty for glide-ins," she reminded.
Grant frowned. "Yes, usually empty, but still a weight factor. Thenthere's the automatic wing stabilizer that adjusts to the air speed anddensity and acts to pull up the nose--"
"O.K.," she interrupted. "Now, would you lift me through the canopy,please? I'd like to sit inside a minute."
"That's out," he said. "Only pilots and technicians."
"All right, if you won't, I'll get up myself." She marched over to thehangar wall and pulled over boarding steps, which were braced on threepivotal tires.
"Bridget, Security says pilots and mechanics."
"And you're forgetting why I'm here, and besides that you're supposed tocooerdinate. Right now you're uncooerdinating."
* * * * *
Before Grant's eyes flashed the memory of her orders with the signaturesat the bottom. She was already climbing the steps.
"Just don't touch anything, that's all," he conciliated, following herup. Her seams were straight, he noted.
Bridget thudded into the narrow pilot's seat and wiggled herself into acomfortable position.
"Awful crowded," she smiled up at Grant.
"I hope you tore your nylons," he groused.
"Now, if you'll just explain these gadgets," she said, moving her handover the panel embedded with digit-rimmed dials.
"Hands off, please."
"By your reaction, I would say you don't know what some of them are,"she counter-fired, and tossed her protruding bunch of curls.
Grant took the bait. He leaned into the canopy and with anover-stiffened index finger pointed forcefully at each gauge. For morethan a quarter-hour this went on, with Bridget pitching questions--mostof which he juggled.
She seemed to show more interest in the radar screen, the navigationalequipment, and the communications system. About these, she milkedGrant's available knowledge until he felt like reaching down andthrowing open the reactor valve and fuel switch.
"Lieutenant, if you don't mind, my back is paralyzed. Let's go back tothe club and I'll answer anything you want."
"Just one more," she coaxed. "This crosshair sight with the little blackcircle in the middle. How does that work again?"
Grant straightened up and carefully massaged the small of his back."It's for precise manual navigation if you need it. You sit up straightand sight through it."
"And what do you sight at?"
<
br /> "A star, of course."
"Put it in the little black circle?"
"An A for you. Then you snap in Automatic Navigational and you're inbusiness. Or you can navigate manually by using Gyroscopic Navigationalif you want."
"I'm ready to get out now." Bridget lifted her hands where Grant stoodon the platform of the boarding device.
Back or no back, Grant couldn't resist the opportunity.