Rocket Jockey

by Philip St John

  The smile faded from Jerry's face as he picked up the calculator. The disk of Jupiter was already growing in the tele-plates and through the ports. With a diameter of 86,000 miles, its flattening at the poles and its bands of yellow and red showed up distinctly, even at a distance of many million miles. By straining his eyes, Jerry thought he could just make out the great red spot that had once been considered a boiling sea, but was now known to be only a peculiar atmospheric disturbance.

  His fingers settled over the calculator as he began figuring their course more carefully. This time he double checked as he went along. The results were only slightly different. They had more speed than they could kill in the time left, and to go past Jupiter would put them into a distribution of the moons around the planet, which would make touching all four inhabited ones a long-drawn-out affair. They'd lose still more precious hours.

  The vague idea he'd had before came back to him, and he suddenly realized where he'd seen it. It had been in an old account of early days, in which a not too accurate reporter had described a dip into the atmosphere of Jupiter.

  It had probably been pure fiction, but the idea had its merits. With that, they could use the quarter million miles to Jupiter, inside the orbit of Io. Then, by careful steering, they could dip into the upper layers of that vast atmosphere, cutting their speed until it was just enough to break free of Jupiter's pull and carry them up to Io. And by good luck, for a change, Io would be in a good position.

  He figured the time carefully, and again began working on the location of the moons. It came out much better that way. They might even make up a few hours that had been lost in the cleaning of the big tube!

  He corrected the course to bring them straight to Jupiter, instead of skirting outside along Io's orbit, and fed the proper figures into the automatic pilot.

  It wasn't until that was done that he realized it had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd eaten. He went down into the little galley and began rummaging through the supplies near the front. A can of steak caught his eye. He'd been saving it, but this seemed to be as good a time to have it as any other. He pulled it down, together with a can of corn and another of mashed potatoes. Sun Fuels hadn't kicked at the cost of supplies, and Dick had picked out the best, it seemed.

  He left half of it in the tray for Tod and carried the heated plastic cans up to the control room. It was too much trouble to bother with plates, and this way saved washing. Tod would have bawled him out, since the engineer was fussy about such things, but Tod was asleep.

  He was working on the orbits that led back from Jupiter to Venus or Mercury when he finally heard the old engineer stirring. He heard a snort as the man found the food, and Tod's head appeared in the central shaft.

  "Jerry, next time you eat, I want to find a cleaned plate on the rack. This business of eating out of cans is no good—no good at all. Want the Last Hope to get cockroaches?"

  Jerry grunted a reply, but he knew it wasn't a good time to argue. Tod was always crotchety when he woke up. Anyhow, the boy knew that a ship could get roaches. He'd been on mining ships that were infested, and it hadn't been pleasant. Some of the ships even had rats.

  Man usually managed to take his pests along with him. Now Earth had finally gotten rid of most of its vermin, but rats, mice, roaches, and other unpleasant things could be found in the domes of Ganymede and the ships that plied between the worlds.

  With his decision made, the hours began to drag. He checked his position regularly, but it seemed to be as it should. He had to be careful with this maneuver, since here even a few miles of error could prove fatal, but there was nothing further for him to do now. Final checkings would have to be made.

  He was glad when Tod relieved him again, bringing him his supper on a plate. The old man made no reference to the previous meal, but he managed to create an unusual amount of noise as he set the plate on the control board.

  Jerry ate his supper dutifully, making sure he'd picked up all the crumbs, and carried the plate back to the galley. Tod's voice drifted down the shaft. "Make sure that plate is clean, youngster!"

  "Who's captain here, anyhow?" Jerry yelled back. But he had already learned that the galley was one place where he wasn't boss, and never would be. Remembering back to other ships he had visited, he realized it wasn't unusual.

  He was worried a little about the stunt he planned, but he forced his mind off it. The other sleep hadn't been long enough, he knew, and his eyes seemed to close by themselves.

  Tod got him up eight hours later. "Figured we'd have to cut down a bit, lad. I'll take eight myself, and that oughta give us a couple hours to work together on the landing. Right?"

  "Fine," Jerry agreed.

  Jupiter was a great ball now, he saw. From the control room, it seemed like something hot and molten, as the early astronomers had thought it was. But exploration near it had proved what had been decided early in the twentieth century. It was as cold as the frozen worlds around it had been, with the color coming from the sunlight reflected from its roiling gases.

  This time his checkup of his position took longer, and he made a few tiny alterations in the course. He didn't want to go down into that tremendous atmospheric sea, but only to skirt the outermost edge, where his speed would be slowed, but where the friction wouldn't burn up the ship, nor the pressure crush it.

  Tod awakened by himself at the end of eight hours. He fussed about quickly and came up with coffee. Then he gasped.

  Jupiter was less than two hours away now, and it seemed to fill half the sky. They were heading straight toward its edge.

  "Sheer off, lad!" he said sharply. "Don't play with the big fellow."

  Jerry shook his head. "Can't help it, Tod. We can't kill enough speed odierwise. I'm going into a braking orbit to save time."

  The older man put the coffee down slowly, staring at Jerry. "Are you serious? You're crazy! Now I know all Blaines are loco. Do you know what a braking orbit is? You hit the air, just kissing it. You slow down, but you go on out. Then the planet pulls you back, and you hit the air again. Each time you go around and dip back, you get closer. You're swinging like a kid on a rope around a pole. You don't just touch it and go off."

  "You do if you need to lose part of your speed. Anyhow, I remember other men doing it. Going from Ganymede to Io, wasn't it?"

  Tod shook his head. "It's been tried, lad. Jupiter has a mighty pretty ship somewhere down there, with three of the best pilots and a crew—because Jim Thorpe tried it back in the early days when he was drunk. We got his radio messages for a while. And a lot of these fool writers claim it has been done. Maybe so—I never heard of the guy who did it."

  "But-"

  "But nothing. That's why they call it Dead Man's Orbit, after poor old Jim. And he was drunk at the time, or he wouldn't have tried it. Sheer off!"

  Jerry looked down at the planet, frowning. The fear in Tod's voice was genuine. And now that he thought of it, he didn't remember it mentioned as having been done in the books on navigation, though they'd covered the theory of it. He felt his face tighten as horror began to creep through him.

  "I can't sheer off, Tod. We're too close. We're only about an hour away, and I've already turned over to hit it head on, in case I have to feed extra thrust to break free!"

  Tod stood there, staring at the planet for a few seconds more, while he slowly stuffed Venus gum into his mouth and began chewing. His shoulders seemed to sag under what he saw, and he shook his head. Jerry watched him, and the ball of fear in his stomach grew larger and threatened to explode.

  "I guess I made a complete idiot of myself this time, Tod," he said miserably.

  The old man shook himself, and turned back. "Maybe. Maybe not. Jim Thorpe never had fuel like ours, either—and he didn't have a ship that was built to work the asteroids, even if they did weaken her. And maybe I'm getting old, like Dick says, and fussy. Just an old hen clucking over her chicks. Don't let me bother you, boy!"

  He picked up the orbit Jerry had
drawn and dropped into the seat beside the boy, studying it. Tod had never learned navigation, but he'd had to do a lot of piloting around the asteroid belt, and he could read an orbit.

  He nodded at last.

  "Well?" Jerry asked, as the engineer continued to stare at the orbit.

  "Maybe. But you'll have to hit it just right. You're still going too fast. The Last Hope is a sweet ship, boy, but she can melt down, if the friction's too much. If she goes up to a few hundred degrees, she can take it. She can't take a thousand. And the vanes for steering —well, we tested 'em out at seven gees, and they hardly bent. But all the same, they can be ripped smack off."

  "But you think we can make it?" Jerry insisted.

  "Nope. If we do, I'll cook every meal and wash every dish from here back to Earth. I think we're done for. But I ain't sure. I'm going to get myself down there in the engine room and I'm going to start praying like I never prayed in my life. Only don't you do it—you stick to your piloting!"

  He patted Jerry on the back, and reached for the rail. Jerry watched him, looking for some sign. The engineer halted, and shrugged. "I guess I don't feel

  like I'm set for dying yet, at that," he said, and began sliding down.

  It was doubtful comfort to Jerry. He wiped the sweat off his hands.

  Jupiter was growing larger by the minute now, and its atmosphere suddenly looked like a sea of death and poison. He stared at it, half-hypnotized by its menace. Then he jerked his eyes away. When he looked back, it seemed normal again.

  Armstrong had been a crazy fool to try to land on the Moon, and the first man on Mars had expected to die there before they could send a second ship—but they'd both lived. Jerry didn't feel ready to die yet, either.

  Chapter 7 Jupiter Calling

  M

  inute by minute, they were drawing down into the frightful maw of the planet. The atmosphere no longer looked like a solid crust, but began to show disturbances and evidences of local winds. Clouds of methane and ammonia bigger than all of Earth whipped by in its hydrogen layers.

  It seemed to be wracked by storms of every kind. Even without them, it would have been frightening. For all its huge size, it rotated on its axis once every ten hours, so rapidly that it had flattened at the poles and bulged out at the equator.

  As they drew nearer, the familiar trick of vision turned it from a ball under them to a big bowl over them. It seemed to be opening a mouth and calling to them, hungrily.

  Jerry had made the last possible correction before they touched the atmosphere. Now he sat, his hands on the steering-vane controls, and his feet poised delicately over the pedals that controlled the steering rockets and the thrust of the big tube; the hand controls were more familiar, but he couldn't use them while controlling the vanes.

  The faintest whisper of a sound reached him, like a high shriek, and for a moment he thought that the planet was actually calling. Then he knew they had touched the first thin wisps of atmosphere.

  He moved the controls and felt a faint resistance from the ship. They were plunging deeper now, and he began to try to flatten out.

  His eyes stuck to the hull pyrometers that would show when the skin of the ship was too hot—he hoped. There still wasn't enough air out there to be measured by anything but the most delicate instrument. But at high enough a speed, that was still too thick; the faster he was going, the more molecules of the gas he would hit per second—and the more heat would be created from the friction.

  Time seemed to slow to nothing. He was still sinking, and the whisde became a full shriek in his ears. He forced the vanes back a bit more, and felt the controlling motors groan as they took the strain. Now they seemed to be in a level position, skimming through the atmosphere without moving up or down-but he knew they were still sinking. The heat on the skin was going up.

  He began to try to pull out. The coldness of the atmosphere—cold enough to liquefy Earth's air—helped somewhat to keep the ship's temperature down, but it wasn't enough.

  He didn't dare use the vanes any harder. The steering rockets went on as his foot hit them, and the ship swung faintly.

  Jupiter was pulling now, trying to suck him down. The call of the planet was stronger. At the surface, its gravity was nearly three times that of Earth—greater than the maximum thrust of the rocket, for more than a few minutes. If he lost too much speed, he'd be pulled down hopelessly. If he lost too little, the whole maneuver would be wasted.

  But he was no longer worried about that. He wanted to get outl

  He held the vanes back as far as he dared—barely out of position. He kicked the big tube on to full blast. And bit by bit, they seemed to be coming out of it.

  Even through the insulated walls of the ship, heat was pouring in. The skin must be getting dangerously close to the overheated stage, but he didn't have time to look. His strain indicators were more important now.

  "Hull's hot, but still standing," Tod's whisper sounded beside him. He hadn't seen the engineer crawl into the control room, and he didn't look now. But the presence of the other gave him some measure of confidence again.

  The shriek was lower now. They were beginning to come out of the atmosphere. But it was still a struggle to keep the ship lifting.

  Then it was only a whisper. And suddenly, it was gone, and the vane motors cut off before they could overrun. There was no atmosphere outside, and they were heading out into space again.

  Now the pull of Jupiter would help to slow them.

  Jerry gulped once, and began checking position furiously. He was amazed to find that they had come out almost exactly where his orbit had indicated. By sheer luck, without any thanks to his ability to follow that crazy orbit, they had swung around and emerged just where he'd wanted.

  His hands were stiff from strain, but he threw on the steering rockets and began a savage reversal to bring the big tube out where it could slow them toward Io. And again luck played on his side, letting him correct his swing with a single, even blast from the side rockets.

  Then he dropped his hands to his side, sighed once, and fainted!

  It was only a few seconds later when he came to, and he was grateful that Tod apparently hadn't noticed his blackout. The old man sat with his eyes on the tele-panels. His mouth was slightly open. Then he closed it, shook himself, and turned slowly to Jerry.

  "Good to see the stars," he said, as he lifted himself from the seat. "Well, I guess I'm gonna be doing the cooking and dishes for the rest of this blamed trip. Thought sure you'd save me the trouble, though."

  Jerry tried to answer, but the words were stuck somewhere down in his stomach. The old man chuckled and reached out a leathery hand. He shook Jerry's trembling fingers once, firmly, and then dropped back down toward the engines.

  Jerry tried to get up, but something held him back. He looked down curiously. He had no memory of ever buckling on the straps that were designed to protect a pilot from sudden violent acceleration or deceleration, but they were laced up firmly. He must have done it out of habit, just before entering the atmosphere of Jupiter, and it had probably saved his life.

  Probably Tod had been buckled in, too. Or perhaps he had doubled himself into the ball that the school taught for emergencies, so that his body braced itself from every direction. How he'd ever reached the control room, Jerry couldn't guess. But Tod had grown up when they were still using high-acceleration ships, and he'd have known how to care for himself.

  Jerry wasn't worried about the answers to his questions as he unfastened himself. He was too busy enjoying the feeling of being alive, and of knowing that somehow he'd brought them both through.

  His fingers were still shaky as he reached for his navigating instruments and began locating lo and plotting his course. It was similar to the one he had already drawn, and that helped.

  They were halfway to the moon when the alarm suddenly sounded. Jerry's eyes jerked to the tele-panel, and then to the radar screen. Something was coming toward the ship at an orbit which threatened collision.
He threw in higher magnification and saw that it was a large body, probably a hundred miles in diameter.

  Jupiter's closest moon! It lacked a name, and was simply known as V, since it was the fifth to be discovered. He checked the screen again, and jerked out the chart of the moons. A quick estimate showed him that they would come close to it, but that there would be no collision, and he punched the overlook button on the radar. The alarms went off, though the pip that indicated the planetoid stayed on the screen.

  For a moment, he wondered whether it would alter the course by its gravity pull, but a little checking reassured him. He'd pass it by a distance of fifty miles or so, and it was too small and weak to bother him in his course toward Io.

  He'd forgotten about it, since the original course didn't include so near an approach to Jupiter. Moons VI, VII and X seven million miles out, and the three at fourteen million miles—VIII, IX and XI—were all tiny things, but he'd checked their position when passing near their orbits. None had proved of any importance, though the fact that the outer three rotated around Jupiter in the opposite direction from the others was still a matter of curiosity to him and to the astronomers.

  He watched the little fifth moon slide by, too far for any sharp details to show. It was sometimes used as an observation post for scientists studying Jupiter, and he'd seen pictures of it. But he could see only a small ball, with none of the rocky roughness he had expected.

  Io was now visible in his tele-panel. It was about the size of Earth's moon, and he was less than half the distance from Earth to Luna Center, which made some of the surface markings plain to his eyes. Originally, Io had been only a place for mines, but the mines had proved richer than suspected at first, and a true colony had gradually grown up there.

  Jerry watched Io come toward him, while the rocket tube went on cutting his speed. He was braking faster than he needed, and he reduced the thrust a trifle, until he was sure that the zero speed would be reached just as he touched the little planet.