Operation Interstellar (1950)

by George O. Smith

  “Listen to me,” snapped Haedaecker. “You were twenty four when you came to this department. Two years later you came to me with an idea. You hoped to link the stars by voice. An ideal. A magnificent hope and plan for mankind on earth and upon Neosol. For years everybody who has had a touch of space has been trying, testing, and experimenting towards that end.

  Men of learning, both abstract and concrete; men who have spent years studying that very idea.”

  “What has that idea got to do with my getting a lump on the head?” queried Paul.

  “Only this. As a member of this department, you were given a job to do. You have proceeded well and executed this job proficiently. Four years ago, Grayson, I told you that the experiments you suggested had been tried. I was patient. I explained that there was a certain appropriation set aside for communications research; that the appropriation intended for this galactic survey was under no circumstances to be used for communications.”

  “I remember that. I also claim that my experiments have never been tried.”

  “Nonsense. I accepted your theory and have had other scientists check your reasoning. They state that there is no relation such as you claim. Now, to get back to the correlation between that crack you got on the head and my presence here, it goes as follows:

  “Until last evening I let you alone. I knew that you continued to hold that mad theory despite arguments against it. But a man can have his dreams, and so I permitted you to dream. I assumed you to be honest. I believed that you would not defy orders and employ funds for Z-wave research. But when a man who has no great wealth, no vengeful enemies, no polygonal love affairs, and no power to dispute or usurp gets involved in a tangle as well-contrived as this, there is but one thing left: I am convinced that you-are planning to test the Z-wave!”

  Paul laughed, bitterly. “Just why do you assume that this is some sort of plot? Why not accept it as attempted theft as the police do?”

  “If I were a thief,” said Haedaecker softly, “And managed to break into the spaceport, I would not wait until the guards came after me, then to drop from my stolen spacecraft and run A thief does not need the spotter craft to lay his course. He takes off for anywhere so long as it is off and away. A man contrived to resemble you closely enough to pass superficial inspection follows you before the takeoff, clips you on the skull, and steals your wallet. You are the traditional technician, Grayson. You do not dress like Beau Brummel, nor do you show evidence of affluence. Any footpad would look for a more wealthy client, lie knew you, Grayson. He clipped you for your credentials!’’

  “So?’’

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can suggest a theory. Because he knew that you were going to try the Z-wave.”

  “Nonsense!”

  Haedaecker smiled with a wolfish serenity. “Can yon think of any reason why any man would want to put a monkey wrench into our plans to survey the galaxy?”

  “No—”

  “Then it must be your wild schemes.”

  “But just the same question, Doctor Haedaecker; if I were going against orders and attempting to test the Z-wave, why would a man attempt to stop me?”

  “You are an idealistic simpleton,” snapped Haedaecker. “You have a manner of convincing people of the worth of whatever idea you happen to hold dear. Despite the reams of evidence to the contrary, you have the enthusiasm necessary to convince people who have not the truth at their fingertips of the validity of your ideas.”

  “Piling supposition upon supposition,” smiled Paul, cynically, “if that has been done, I fail to see any reason why any man would not want to be linked to Neosol by voice.”

  “You have a lot to learn about human nature, Grayson. You’ll find as you grow older that whenever someone proposes a plan for the benefit of mankind, there are violent factions that will work hard to circumvent it. How many leagues of united nations have failed throughout history because of jealousy, aggrandization, melagomania. Both personal and national. In one instance after the Bomb convinced all men that uniting as one was the smart, safe, sensible thing to do, people hailed with joy the creation of a new sovereign state apart from its neighbors. Another nation blocked amity because of an ideology. A third nation presented a territorial possession with its freedom and at the same time contemplated the addition of two new states to its union. Grayson, once a man rises above his daily job and tries to set up something beneficial to mankind, he will find other men who see that plan as a threat to their own ambitions.”

  Paul leaned forward over the desk. “Why not let me try?” he asked eagerly.

  Haedaecker leaned back wearily^ *rWe’ve been all through that.”

  “But why?”

  “I will not have one of my own men involved in an experiment as ridiculous as yours!”

  Paul eyed Haedaecker quietly. “But—”

  Haedaecker shook his head. “You are not to attempt this.” He eyed Paul angrily.

  “Who says I am?” demanded Paul.

  “Reason and logic. And,” said Haedaecker coldly, “excepting for one thing, I’d go out and inspect that ship of yours for Z-wave gear. But Paul Grayson is smart enough to smuggle the Z-wave gear on earlier trips, not leaving his evidence for the last attempt, so I would find nothing at this time.”

  Paul felt his heart pound thrice and then settle down again. The one thing that he was trying to avoid was not going to come off.

  But Haedaecker glared at Paul once again. “I absolutely forbid you to do this.”

  Paul glared back. “What have we to lose?”

  “I’ll not have the ridicule attendant to such an abortive experiment pinned onto my department.”

  Paul laughed sarcastically. “It seems to me that a man in your position might like to have the name of being willing to have himself proven wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Haedaecker.

  “Can your own personal ambition be great enough to block and forestall the linking of Sol and Neosol by Z-wave?”

  “You young puppy—”

  “Your position is due to the proposal of Haedaecker’s Theory,” said Paul. “I am not attempting to insult you. Doctor Haedaecker. I want you to view this in another light. According to all of the evidence at hand, Haedaecker’s Theory is correct and we cannot communicate with the Z-wave across interstellar space. The proposition of that theory and its math have made you a famous man. Perhaps you fear that if Haedaecker’s Theory is shown to-be incorrect, you will lose your position. This is not so. Men have always been on the side of a great man who was humble enough to doubt his own theories occasionally, who was willing to see them attacked. It means a lot to mankind; show mankind that your personal ambition is not so great as to prevent them from having the benefits of—”

  “You’re talking as though you knew that your plan would be successful,” sneered Haedaecker.

  “I believe it will be if I am given the opportunity to try.”

  “I tell you that it will not, and I forbid you to try.” Haedaecker speared Paul with a glance from the icy eyes. “You understand, whether or not the experiment might be successful, if I hear of your trying it, you will be subjected to every bit of punitive action that the law permits.”

  Paul leaned back easily. “Now,” he said with cool candor, “you’re assuming that I have all intention of attempting it without official permission.”

  “I would not put it past you. In fact I believe you are.”

  “All predicated upon the fact that a footpad belted me and swiped my wallet?”

  “Yes. For what other reason?”

  “Theft is usually done for—”

  Haedaecker stood up angrily. “I’ve heard enough,” he snapped.

  Haedaecker strode to the door and hurled it open with one swing of a powerful arm.

  What happened next was not too remote a coincidence. It has happened to everybody, several times. Someone with the intention of entering a room will brace themselves, t
urn the doorknob, and thrust, only to have the door opened from the other side. The net result is that the muscular effort, tensed to strive against the mass and inertia of the door, will find its force expended against no resistance. Doors are pulled from one side and pushed from the other. If the shover pushes first, the would-be puller gets slapped in the hand with the doorknob, sometimes resulting in a broken finger or thumb. But if the puller pulls first, the shover finds himself catapulted forward by his own muscular effort. The results of this latter can be both comic or tragic.

  In this case the result was a flurry of splash-printed silk, a bare white arm, a fine length of well-filled nylon, and the frightened cry of a woman.

  Paul gulped.

  Haedaecker’s reflexes worked fast. He caught Nora Phillips before the girl went headlong to the floor and he stood her up, retaining a light grip on her waist until she got her bearings and her breath.

  “Young woman,” stormed Haedaecker angrily, “Are you used to bustling into closed conferences?”

  Nora looked at Haedaecker with eyes large, luminous, and fetching. “I didn’t know it was a closed conference,” she said in her cool contralto. “I’m most sorry.”

  “Miss Phillips, Doctor Haedaecker. She is the woman I met last night, Doctor Haedaecker.”

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Haedaecker.

  “I did not know this was any kind of conference,” she explained. “I came to see Mister Grayson, and the guard said he was in this room, talking.”

  “Why didn’t you wait?” stormed Haedaecker.

  Nora smiled, wanly. “I was excited,” she said. “It may have occurred to you, too, that the man who tried to steal Mister Grayson’s spacecraft last night was not playing a game. Everything seemed wrong. He was not smart. I got to wondering why he just didn’t get into the ship and take off.

  “Well, less than fifteen minutes ago a flash came over the air. Among the news was the statement that the criminal killed last night in attempted spacecraft theft was Joel Walsh. He was an escapee from penitentiary in Antarctica. That explained it.” “How?” demanded Haedaecker, “does that explain anything?” “Of course it does,” said Nora. “He was in jail for ten years. He must have been sent away when he was about twenty. How many men are competent space pilots at that age?”

  “Not many,” agreed Paul.

  “And being in jail for the last ten years, it’s natural that he did not know how to run the ship.”

  “Um,” grumbled Haedaecker.

  “He probably wanted to stow away,” said Nora. “Once he did that, he could hold a gun at the pilot’s head and make the pilot do his bidding until he learned how to run the ship.” There was one very fine flaw in Nora’s reasoning, but Paul did not want to belabor this point at this moment. He had not intended to push Haedaecker to the point of firing him for impertinence, insubordination, or rank carelessness. For on the “BurAst 33.P.G.1” was the Z-wave gear that Haedaecker’s vindictive nature accused him of stowing away.

  Paul laughed. “So much for your intrigue,” he said. Haedaecker glared at Paul angrily. “Your intrigue,” he said with heavy emphasis on the first word. “Just let me find you trying it!”

  Paul smiled crookedly and looked Haedaecker in the eye coldly. “Doctor Haedaecker,” he said in a level voice, “if I ever try it and fail, no one will know of my failure. If I try and succeed, I assure you that you will be able to do nothing to me.” Haedaecker nodded, his manner as cold as Paul’s voice had been. The gage had been hurled, the swords measured and weighed. So far it was stalemate. But only until Paul Grayson really did something against the rules, large enough to let Haedaecker really clip him deep, lasting, and legally justifiable.

  Haedaecker left and Paul turned to Nora Phillips. She smiled at him and asked: “What is this intrigue business, or is it a top secret?”

  Paul shook his head. “I’d prefer to tell you after I return.” “Do that,” she said. “I’d like to hear about it.”

  Paul pondered briefly. The obvious thing was to offer her a chance to look over his ship. He could do that, now that he had all of his credentials and papers back. But the Z-wave gear was evidence against him, and even though it was parked in a convenient locker, certain hunks of cable-endings and associated bits of equipment were a dead giveaway; the same sort of evidence in the shape of capped pipes will tell the observer that plumbing once existed in a certain room. Paul had no intention of trusting anybody at this moment.

  Mayhap Nora’s timely information about the deceased thief were true. Still, there was a hole in her tale. If the thief wanted only to stow away until takeoff time, he would pick another spacecraft than the BurAst P.G.33-1. The registry number glowed in luminescent paint a yard high, and matched the numbers on his identification card. Certainly no half-idiot would try to stow away in an official ship that was almost certain to be investigated as soon as the hue-and-cry was heard;

  He suspected Haedaecker’s hand in this; anything to keep Haedaecker’s Theory in high gear, to keep Haedaecker top man in his field. He might as well suspect Nora, too. At least until motive or innocence could be shown.

  He decided to lie glibly. “Normally I could take you aboard and show you the crate,” he said. “But this is an experimental run and subject to security, though I’ll not be able to explain why they think it so.”

  Nora laughed and shook her head. “Space ships are cold, powerful, and dangerous things to me,” she said. “I’d feel uncomfortable on one of them.”

  “Then let me show you the elecalc.”

  “What?”

  “Elecalc. Short word for electronic calculator. I’m here to get an aiming point for my trip tonight.”

  “Now that I would like to see,” said Nora, hooking an arm in Paul’s.

  CHAPTER 5

  “I’m pointing for Alpha Centauri,” said Paul. “And so that’s what we calculate for.”

  Nora looked at the bays of neat equipment and shook her head. “Why not aim at it and run?” she asked. “Surely you do not need this billion dollars worth of stuff to point out your destination.”

  “We do,” objected Paul. “You see, if I took off with my telescope pointed along the axis of drive with the cross-hairs pointing at Alpha Centauri, I’d be heading for the star where it was four years ago. I intend to be on the way for nine days. So I’ll want to point the nose of the ship at the spot where Alpha will be nine days in the future instead of four years in the past. Since Sol and Alpha drift in space, the motion and velocities of both systems must be taken into account, a correction-angle found, and then used to aim my ship. My telescope will angle away from the ship’s axis by that correction-angle. Add to that the fact that I am taking off from earth, which will give me some angular velocity and some rotational velocity differing from an hypothetical take-off from Sol itself. Furthermore, I want Proxima Centauri instead of Alpha, and that must be taken into consideration too.

  “Then there is the question of velocity and time. We cannot see when we are exceeding the velocity of light. We must run at so many light-velocities for so many seconds. A minor error in timing or velocity will create a rather gross error in position at the end of the run.”

  “Oh,” said Nora, but her tone indicated a lack of comprehension.

  Paul smiled. “One second of error at one light-velocity equals a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles of error. One second of error at a hundred times the velocity of light equals eighteen millions of miles error. Not much as cosmic distance goes, but a long way to walk.”

  Nora understood that, and said so.

  Grayson’s data had been handed to him by Haedaecker. But apparently the long-range calculations that had been temporarily halted were still halted, for the operator was taking this opportunity of feeding some future flight-constant information to the big machine.

  It was not a complex calculation as some computations may go, but there were a myriad of factors. Terran latitude and longitude, the instant of take-off as app
lied to the day and the year, an averaging of previous dispersion-factors noted from previous trips, velocities, vector angles, momentum, and others, all obtained from tables and entered in the machine before the start lever was pulled. The machine mulled the information over, tossed electrons back and. forth, chewed and digested a ream of binary digits, and handed forth a strip of paper printed with an entire set of coordinates in decimal angles.

  Paul showed Nora his folder of data. “The rest,” he said, “is up to me.”

  He led Nora from the computation room, intending to hit the dining room for coffee. Halfway across the lobby of the administration building he was hailed by the autocall. He went to the telephone.

  It was Stacey.

  “I’ve a couple of things to let you think over,” said Stacey.

  “So?”

  “I’ve been on the job. I haven’t much, but there are a few items you might mull over.”

  “Shoot.”

  “One. Your deceased thief was an ex-convict, escaped from the penal colony on Antarctica.”

  “This I’ve heard.”

  “Then I suppose you know that the guy was cashiered from the Neoterra run for smuggling.”

  “Huh?” blurted Paul.

  “An ex-pilot, tossed out on his right ear for conduct hardly becoming a safecracker and a thief, let alone an officer and a gentleman.”

  “That I didn’t know. How long ago?”

  “Five years, almost.”

  It was not quite the ten that Nora had claimed.

  “Well, that makes it—”

  “That ain’t all,” came Stacey’s voice. “The weapons carried by the Spaceport guards are regulation Police Positives. Our* erstwhile felon was shot once, right between the eyes, with a forty-five, which according to all of the expert opinion, came from an automatic at a distance of three feet, plus or minus six inches. Know what that means?”

  “I’m just digesting the information now. You tell me.”

  “It means that the ex-crook was killed by a party or parties unknown, someone other than one of the guards. Furthermore, he was facing his executioner, not taking it on the lam. How do you make that?”