“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 be gave away his entire thesis. ‘—the 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 as 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 any place 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 space ships. 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.”
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 handkerchisf, 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 damn paternalistic government, to tell a man not to risk his life doing what he really wants to do.”
“Then what d’yuh want to do with him — send him back to Kansas City so those old harpies can shut him up in a laughing academy till he dies of a broken heart?”
“N-no-o-o — not that.”
“Get out there, and make your set-up for those test runs. I’ll be along.”
A wide-tired desert runabout rolled in the ranch yard gate the next morning and stopped in front of the house. A heavy-set man with a firm, but kindly, face climbed out and spoke to McIntyre, who approached to meet him.
“You James Mcintyre?”
“What about it?”
“I’m the deputy federal marshal hereabouts. I got a warrant for your arrest.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Conspiracy to violate the Space Precautionary Act.”
Charlie joined the pair. “What’s up, Mac?”
The deputy answered. “You’d be Charles Cummings, I guess. Warrant here for you. Got one for a man named Harriman, too, and a court order to put seals on your space ship.”
“We’ve no space ship.”
“What d’yuh keep in that big shed?”
“Strato yacht.”
“So? Well, I’ll put seals on her until a space ship comes along. Where’s Harriman?”
“Right in there.” Charlie obliged by pointing, ignoring McIntyre’s scowl.
The deputy turned his head. Charlie couldn’t have missed the button by a fraction of an inch for the deputy collapsed quietly to the ground. Charlie stood over him, rubbing his knuckles and mourning.
“Damn it to hell — that’s the finger I broke playing shortstop. I’m always hurting that finger.”
“Get Pop into the cabin,” Mac cut him short, “and strap him into his hammock.”
“Aye aye, Skipper.”
They dragged the ship by tractor out of the hangar, turned, and went out the desert plain to find elbow room for the takeoff. They climbed in. McIntyre saw the deputy from his starboard conning port. He was staring disconsolately after them.
Mcintyre fastened his safety belt, settled his corset, and spoke into the engineroom speaking tube. “All set, Charlie?”
“All set, Skipper. But you can’t raise ship yet, Mac — She ain’t named! “
“No time for your superstitions!”
Harriman’s thin voice reached them. “Call her the Lunatic— It’s the only appropriate name!”
McIntyre settled his head into the pads, punched two keys, then three more in rapid succession, and the Lunatic raised ground.
“How are you, Pop?”
Charlie searched the old man’s face anxiously. Harriman licked his lips and managed to speak. “Doing fine, son. Couldn’t be better.”
“The acceleration is over; it won’t be so bad from here on. I’ll unstrap you so you can wiggle around a little. But I think you’d better stay in the hammock.” He tugged at buckles. Harriman partially repressed a groan.
“What is it, Pop?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just go easy on that side.”
Charlie ran his fingers over the old man’s side with the sure, delicate touch of a mechanic. “You ain’t foolin’ me none, Pop. But there isn’t much I can do until we ground.”
“Charlie—”
“Yes, Pop?”
“Can’t I move to a port? I want to watch the Earth.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to see yet; the ship hides it. As soon as we turn ship, I’ll move you. Tell you what; I’ll give you a sleepy pill, and then wake you when we do.”
“No!”
“Huh?”
“I’ll stay awake.”
“Just as you say, Pop.”
Charlie clambered monkey fashion to the nose of the ship, and anchored to the gymbals of the pilot’s chair. McIntyre questioned him with his eyes.
“Yeah, he’s alive all right,” Charlie told him, “but he’s in bad shape.”
“How bad?”
“Couple of cracked ribs anyhow. I don’t know what else. I don’t know whether he’ll last out the trip, Mac. His heart was pounding something awful.”
“He’ll last, Charlie. He’s tough.”
“Tough? He’s delicate as a canary.”
“I don’t mean that. He’s tough way down inside where it counts.”
“Just the same you’d better set her down awful easy if you want to ground with a full complement aboard.”
“I will. I’ll make one full swing around the Moon and ease her in on an involute approach curve. We’ve got enough fuel, I think.”
They were now in a free orbit; after McIntyre turned ship, Charlie went back, unslung the hammock, and moved Harriman, hammock and all, to a side port. Mcliityre steadied the ship about a transverse axis so that the tail pointed toward the sun, then gave a short blast on two tangential jets opposed in couple to cause the ship to spin slowly about her longitudinal axis, and thereby create a slight artificial gravity. The initial weightlessness when coasting commenced had knotted the old man with the characteristic nausea of free flight, and the pilot wished to save his passenger as much discomfort as possible.
But Harriman was not concerned with the condition of his stomach. There it was, all as he had imagined it so many times.
The Moon swung majestically past the view port, wider than he had ever seen it before, all of her familiar features cameo clear. She gave way to the Earth as the ship continued its slow swing, the Earth itself as he had envisioned her, appearing like a noble moon, many times as wide as the Moon appears to the Earthbound, and more luscious, more sensuously beautiful than the silver Moon could be. It was sunset near the Atlantic seaboard — the line of shadow cut down the coast line of North America, slashed through Cuba, and obscured all but the west coast of South America. He savored the mellow blue of the Pacific Ocean, felt the texture of the soft green and brown of the continents, admired the blue-white cold of the polar caps. Canada and the northern states were obscured by cloud, a vast low pressure area that spread across the continent. It shone with an even more satisfactory dazzling white than the polar caps.
As the ship swung slowly, around, Earth would pass from view, and the stars would march across the port the same stars he had always known, but steady, brighter, and unwinking against a screen of perfect, live black. Then the Moon would swim into view again to claim his thoughts.
He was serenely happy in a fashion not given to most men, even in a long lifetime. He felt as if he were every man who has ever lived, looked up at the stars, and longed.
As the long hours came and went he watched and dozed and dreamed. At least once he must have fallen into deep sleep, or possibly delirium, for he came to with a start, thinking that his wife, Charlotte, was calling to him. “Delos!” the voice had said. “Delos! Come in from there! You’ll catch your death of cold in that night air.”
Poor Charlotte! She had been a good wife to him, a good wife. He was quite sure that her only regret in dying had been her fear that he could not take proper care of himself. It had not been her fault that she had not shared his dream, and his need.
Charlie rigged the hammock in such a fashion that Harriman could watch from the starboard port when they swung around the far face of the Moon. He picked out the landmarks made familiar to him by a thousand photographs with nostalgic pleasure, as if he were returning to his own country. Mcintyre brought her slowly down as they came back around to the Earthward face, and prepared to land east of Mare Fecunditatis, about ten miles from Luna City.
It was not a bad landing, all things considered. He had to land without coaching from the ground, and he had no second pilot to watch the radar for him. In his anxiety to make it gentle he missed his destination by some thirty miles, but he did his cold-sober best. But at that it was bumpy. As they grounded and the pumice dust settled around them, Charlie came up to the control station.
“How’s our passenger?” Mac demande
d.
“I’ll see, but I wouldn’t make any bets. That landing stunk, Mac.”
“Damn it, I did my best.”
“I know you did, Skipper. Forget it.”
But the passenger was alive and conscious although bleeding from the nose and with a pink foam on his lips. He was feebly trying to get himself out of his cocoon. They helped him, working together.
“Where are the vacuum suits?” was his first remark.
“Steady, Mr. Harriman. You can’t go out there yet. We’ve got to give you some first aid.”
“Get me that suit! First aid can wait.”
Silently they did as he ordered. His left leg was practically useless, and they had to help him through the lock, one on each side. But with his inconsiderable mass having a lunar weight of only twenty pounds, he was no burden.. They found a place some fifty yards from the ship where they could prop him up and let him look, a chunk of scoria supporting his head.
Mcintyre put his helmet against the old man’s and spoke. “We’ll leave you here to enjoy the view while we get ready for the trek into town. It’s a forty-miler, pretty near, and we’ll have to break out spare air bottles and rations and stuff. We’ll be back soon.”
Harriman nodded without answering, and squeezed their gauntlets with a grip that was surprisingly strong.
He sat very quietly, rubbing his hands against the soil of the Moon and sensing the curiously light pressure of his body against the ground. At long last there was peace in his heart. His hurts had ceased to pain him. He was where he had longed to be — he had followed his need.
Over the western horizon hung the Earth at last quarter, a green-blue giant moon. Overhead the Sun shone down from a black and starry sky. And underneath the Moon, the soil of the Moon itself. He was on the Moon!
He lay back still while a bath of content flowed over him like a tide at flood, and soaked to his very marrow.
His attention strayed momentarily, and he thought once again that his name was called. Silly, he thought, I’m getting old — my mind wanders.
Adventures in Time and Space Page 3