Rocket Jockey

by Philip St John

  Dick grunted as he held the valve while Tod ground it away. In a properly equipped pit, there would have been power tools for this, but apparently there had been no time to install such things. "We've got twenty times better, kid. I'm using Dad's fuel!"

  Jerry dropped the wrench, staring at him blankly. "You can'tl"

  That was what had killed his parents. He'd been only seven when they took off in a rented ship to test his father's new fuel, but he could still remember the flash of the explosion that had lighted space millions of miles back to Ceres where he and Dick had waited. There hadn't been even a trace of the ship left. It had been powerful enough—too powerful. He remembered now that Dick had sworn it wasn't the fault of the fuel, but nobody had agreed.

  "I found the trouble," Dick said, as Tod finished. "I located the man who'd repaired the ship Dad used— and made him admit he'd soldered the tanks, instead of welding them. Solder contains tin—and Dad's fuel used tin as a catalyst to set it off! It didn't blow up coming here from the coast."

  "But that's only half an hour. What makes you think it will be safe for days in space?"

  Dick shrugged. "It will be. It has to be. I made a deal with Sun Fuels, because they agreed that it must have been the tin before. Now, once I win the Classic, they'll go into all-out production. But right now, they've faith enough to back me up, rebuild the ship, and pay the entry."

  Jerry saw it was useless to argue. They'd been trying to convince him that Earth had to win this Classic. The prestige of the whole Earth-based shipping had been falling since Mars began to win, and Earth couldn't feed five billion people without her shipping. Now she was losing contracts to Mars—and only a victory could give her hope again.

  He could see some sense in it. But when he looked around this hastily rebuilt mining ship and remembered the sleek ships outside, he shook his head. Now, with Dick counting on an unproved and dangerous fuel...

  He shivered, just as Tod nodded. "Looks like we got it, that time. Want me to turn her on, Dick?"

  Dick nodded, while Jerry pondered. He'd meant to help here until it was finished, and then refuse to go with them. Maybe he was out at the Institute, but he could get a job as midshipman on a freighter, and maybe work his way up to navigator the hard way ... But now—could he back out? Could he let his brother go off when it might mean death, and stay here ...

  Dick screamed.

  A thin stream of black fuel was spurting out of the valve, to stop as Tod's writhing muscles jerked the big spanner wrench savagely around. But the damage was done. Dick was moaning, his hands over his eyes, staggering backward. Jerry jumped forward, easing his big brother toward a chest, while Tod made a convulsive leap up the railing toward the medical chest.

  "I'm okay. Just got a touch," Dick was muttering, but his eyes were still closed. Jerry stared at him in horror, daring nothing until a proper sterile swab could be used. Then Tod was back, and he began working on Dick's eyes, while the man moaned softly.

  Jerry moaned, too, when he saw the final result. The fuel came away, but it showed a reddened patch where it had hit, and Dick's eyes seemed filmed with a thin white coating. The medicine kit yielded a pain-killer that helped, but they could do nothing else.

  "Get a doctor," Jerry told Tod.

  Dick shook his head. "No time. I've got to take off." Then he stopped, and his face seemed to grow old. "Jerry, I'm blind! I can just see light, no more."

  Above them, soft steps sounded, and a body began sliding down the railing. A pale-skinned man, dressed in the gaudy nylons of Venus, dropped beside them.

  "Take-off whistle sounded, ten minutes more for you, Blaine," he said softly. "Thought maybe you wouldn't hear, being busy down here, so I—Blaine, are you sick?"

  Dick stood up suddenly, grinning. "Thanks, friend. I'm all right—just got blinded for a minute by some fuel. Better get back to your own ship."

  The Venusan nodded softly, a trace of worry in his friendly brown eyes. Then he turned. "Then good luck to one of us, and may we beat the Martians!"

  He slipped up the rail again, like a cat, with the lithe grace of the men who had developed new ways on

  Venus. Dick grinned confidently and moved after him —to strike the rail with his head.

  Jerry jumped after him, but Dick could see something by now. He caught the boy, and swung him around.

  "No doctors, Jerry. We're taking off. I'll be all right until we reach the Moon. You can get me a doctor then."

  "Yeah," Tod said brusquely. "You young fool, who's gonna get us on the Moon?"

  Jerry straightened his shoulders and moved toward the rail.

  "I've got a junior-navigator's permit, Tod," he answered. "It's good for private ships in space. Help Dick into a gravity hammock, and then come on up."

  He felt sweat on his palms as he began climbing the pole, but he didn't look back until he reached the little control room and threw himself down into the navigator's seat, before the big panel of instruments. He could hear Tod strapping his brother in, and he heard the engineer squeeze in beside him, but he didn't look around.

  Outside, the big sirens began singing shrilly, while the clock on the dial moved second by second toward five-thirty. A flash of bright light flared outside, signaling rockets away.

  Jerry hit the controls, and the Last Hope shuddered, lifted, and began screaming outward toward the Moon.

  Chapter 2 Red Tape on Luna

  orty-eight ships blasted savagely upward toward qualifying position at Luna Center. The first ship from each world would automatically be the one to represent its planet in the rest of the race, unless disqualified for some violation of the rules. That meant Jerry was competing only against the other ships from Earth, but eleven others against him was a serious enough threat.

  He tried to spot the other Earth ships. Each ship had substances added to the fuel to color the exhaust-yellow for Mercury, white for Venus, blue for Earth, red for Mars, and shades of green for the four moons of Jupiter. He scanned the sky for blue streaks, and began pouring on power to break out ahead of the leader.

  His body took on more apparent weight, sagging back into the seat, and his breathing became harder. The Last Hope seemed to groan faintly as the picture of Earth in the rear tele-panel shrank.

  Tod shook his head in sour disapproval. "Let 'em go —they'll only try to fool you. We figure the best can do almost two gravities to the Moon, so you'd better beat it!"

  Jerry blinked. A gravity was still based on the Earth's pull, which could accelerate a falling body thirty-two feet per second faster each second than the one before. Two gees meant reaching a speed of 157,000 miles per hour at the end of the first hour!

  In the old days, ships had taken off at five gees or better—but they'd held it for only a few minutes, and then coasted. Now the rockets blasted all the way, accelerating and decelerating. At two gees, fuels produced more heat than thrust, and the tubes couldn't stand it.

  "They're your tubes," he said finally, and reached for the knob, lifting the acceleration until the needle registered a full two gravities, and his body seemed to weigh twice what it should.

  "Tubes are okay," Tod said. "Darn fuel breaks up funny—not much heat, all scat. I'm going down to see Dick."

  He moved away, bent down under the thrust of the ship. Jerry tried to remember something about his father's fuel. It was supposed to come apart so that the forces inside the nuclei of the atoms built up a mutual repulsion, or something. There had to be some heat—otherwise, the turbines around the tube wouldn't have steam to drive the power for the rest of the ship, But Tod and Dick knew more than he could.

  Now he could see no other ships. They were outside Earth's atmosphere, with the sky black and the stars tiny dots of searing light. He checked his course, and made sure on the little calculating machine that he was headed straight for where the Moon would be. Then he relaxed, with little to do until they reached midway, if he had figured correctly.

  Something splashed against the quartz windows ah
ead of him—a fury of red light that almost blinded him before automatic shields snapped down. Another ship was ahead of him, driving its blast straight into the Last Hope.

  He hit the buttons for the side rockets—tiny things buried near the base. The ship jerked sharply, and the tele-panels suddenly showed the bulk of a Martian ship slightly to the side.

  It was no time for caution. He poured power into the big tube, and the Last Hope leaped forward on full five gees, driving, the air out of his lungs and bringing red spots in front of his eyes. The Martian ship seemed to leap backward as his ship danced ahead. Then he cut power back to normal, and swung the ship in front of the Martian. Again, full power lashed out under his fingers for a second.

  When he looked again, the Martian ship was swinging sideways and getting away as quickly as it could. They didn't want any more of the wild energy that had struck them from the rocket tube of the Last Hope!

  Dick's big figure suddenly settled into the seat beside Jerry. "What happened? My sight's getting better, but I can't make out too much yet."

  Jerry told him, while he began to set up corrections on the calculator to make up for the slight change in course and speed. Dick nodded.

  "That's Mars. They must have used one ship deliberately, figuring it would sacrifice itself to take out the fastest Earth ship! Were the cameras on?"

  Jerry looked, and groaned. No record had been made of it. They wouldn't be able to protest to the Classic Commission at Luna Center. "I forgot!"

  "No matter." Dick's hand pressed his shoulder firmly, and there was approval in his voice. "You can't think of everything, kid. At least, you got us out of it—and we know we've got power behind us! Good work!"

  There were no other mishaps. Jerry finished his calculations and corrected the course. An hour later, they were at midway point, and he swung the Last Hope around, using the steering tubes, and pointed the tail toward the Moon, to begin cutting down the speed for their eventual landing. He was beginning to get used to the heavy pressure of a constant two gees of acceleration, rapidly hardening back into the shape that years among the asteroids had given him.

  Dick's eyes were improving. The redness around them had gone down, and the milky film over them was almost gone. The two of them watched the pockmarked face of the Moon fill the viewing panels, while Tod was down in the engine room, checking his precious machinery.

  "Looks okay," he reported finally." 'Course, we don't know how she'll stand up day after day, but she's purring like a kitten. D'ya hear from Center yet?"

  Dick reached for the little radar-frequency radio and began calling the Moon, which was now close enough for their power to reach it. A minute later, he threw down the headphones and frowned.

  "We're almost tied with Cap Amos and his ship! The fool must be burning out his tubes, figuring on replacing them at the Center shops. Look!"

  He pointed, and Jerry swung his head. A few miles off, a glaring blue streak of flame showed against the black of space. Dick reached for the calculator, and Jerry cut off power, to let them go on at their present speed a bit farther. It would require a heavier braking thrust later, but they had to be first!

  The tiny blue streak imitated their action, disappearing as Amos must have cut off his blast. They coasted on for ten minutes more, before Dick nodded reluc-: tantly, and Jerry threw on power, raising the braking thrust to over two gees.

  The streak came back on, seconds later.

  Then flame blossomed suddenly! There was no sound in the airless space, but a great globe of searing white seemed to spring up where Amos' ship had been. The tubes had been crowded too hard and too long. Cap Amos and his ship were now only broken dust and heat!

  Jerry felt sick. It wasn't worth it. Every ten years, good men and ships went out on this crazy Classic— and many of them never came back. Now, in trying to beat the other ship, he'd helped to kill men against whom he had no ill will at all!

  "He knew what he was risking," Dick said, in a voice that held some of Jerry's own sickness. "Watch your landing."

  The Last Hope was over Tycho Crater now, and Luna Center showed up in the tele-panels. It was a great dome of clear plastic, filled with tightly jammed buildings. Most of the Moon colony was underground, but even the surface construction looked imposing.

  Dick was on the radio, taking instructions and passing them on to Jerry. It was the most ticklish part of the business, but years of dropping the ship onto wild asteroids had given him sureness which no junior-navigator should have. As the smaller dome beside the big one seemed to split into two sections, he dropped through it, cushioned the ship on the blast, and eased it down to the ground. There was only a faint jar as the clock hands reached the hour of eight, and the Last Hope finished the qualifying run, to win the right to represent Earth in the Classic.

  Jerry dropped his sweating hands from the controls, and turned to Dick. "Now we're getting you to a doctor."

  Dick pointed to the mob pouring out of the big dome into the section around them, where the landing dome was again sealed and pumped full of air. "One's coming, kid. They automatically test us and publish the results after this run. And I don't mind admitting, I can use a little sedative."

  Jerry stood up, and then gasped. Even in the weak gravity of the Moon, his legs were trembling with reaction until he could hardly stand. He slumped back to the seat as Tod came bustling through and went out to haggle the ground crews into refueling the Last Hope in less time than possible. The gray-haired little engineer seemed to be completely nerveless, but Jerry knew he wasn't. Praise be, he wouldn't have to make the full run as navigator-pilot!

  In two hours, the Last Hope was refueled and ready to take off for Mars. Dick had been examined and pronounced fit, and Jerry was back to normal. They came out of the ship together to sign the papers for official scoring, and headed toward the Commission building in the main dome.

  Jerry had been to the Moon before, but it had been years ago. He saw the Observatory dome, where the big 300-inch telescope still dominated the whole Center, and stared over the city. It hadn't changed—Luna Center was a fixed colony, serving the few mines and the laboratories, but completely dependent on Earth for its food, as it had always been. There were miners in their space suits, just in from outside the dome, scientists, and administrators. But there was none of the normal bustle and life of a real colony. It was still just a little artifically maintained bubble of life in a world that could never be of any great use, now that men had reached the planets.

  They broke into the Commission office to find a milling mob around the three Commissioners. Earth representatives were shouting wildly, and Martians were standing in a cluster, with stern faces, grimly insistent.

  The sounds quieted as Dick approached the big desk, "All ready for take-off clearance when we get official status," he reported.

  The big man who was the Commissioner from Earth shook his head slowly. "Mars has protested, Blaine! They maintain that you could not have piloted the Last Hope, since a medical report indicates your eyesight was temporarily destroyed by an accident prior to Earth take-off. I've seen the report, and I'm forced to admit they have a point."

  The babble of voices struck up again, the Martians glaring at all the Earthmen, with thin smiles of satisfaction on their faces.

  "My brother piloted," Dick admitted. "He's qualified for the Moon run, and he's listed as a crew member, if you'll check the lists."

  "But he isn't qualified for full interplanet runs. And the rules state that the pilot making the qualifying run must at all times throughout the course of the race be in command, both in authority and in ship control, through the entire event! We can't certify you for the Classic, Richard Blaine!" The Martian commissioner showed no emotions, but his decision was voiced with complete finality.

  "Why, you dirty bunch of canal flowers!" Tod MacLane's agonized cry rang from the back of the room, and the little man came boiling forward.

  Jerry reached for him, but it was Dick's big arm that stoppe
d the engineer.

  Dick faced the Commissioners. "Then I'm demanding emergency owner qualifying tests," he stated, and his voice showed that he was forcing the calmness his words held. In spite of the rules, it had been customary for any crew member to pilot during illness or other emergency, and Mars was simply trying to make trouble again, as the planet always did.

  The Earth Commissioner lifted the rules, and found the passage. "In the absence of a qualified pilot, the owner of a ship shall have the right to request any substitute he shall deem fit to apply for emergency qualifying tests, and the Commission shall then supervise such tests. In the event of satisfactory performance in such tests, the Commission shall grant to such emergency substitute full status as pilot for the course of the race." He lifted his eyebrows. "But that applies only to the start of the race."

  "And you'll find that another rule states that 'after the qualifying event, the ships shall start from their Moon bases,'" Dick said. "That means the start of the race is from here, not from Earth. We've only qualified —we haven't started."

  The Martian Commissioner started to protest, but the Venusan Commissioner smiled suddenly, and conferred briefly with his colleague from earth. "Permission for emergency pilot tests granted," he said softly. The Martian frowned, but nodded reluctantly. "Name your substitute."

  Dick pointed to Jerry silently. Then, he grinned. "Give me a minute with my brother, gentlemen."

  In the little room that had been pointed out to them, Jerry stared from Tod to Dick and back, shaking his head. "Even if I could pass, Dick, it isn't worth it. You'd never have a chance. No, I won't do it. Let someone else run for Earth. You've got your work, and I can do a lot better getting an honest job, instead of wasting time and risking our lives on a forlorn hope. No!"

  Dick started to answer, then shrugged. But Tod hopped from his chair and bounced in front of Jerry, shaking a small, hairy fist under the boy's nose.