The 13th Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by Lester Del Rey

  “I didn’t think it was.” For himself, the price mattered little, but here was a chance to pay back some of the money the others had invested with him. He made his decision instantly. “Send over your contracts, and I’ll sign them.”

  “Good. Now, with all threats gone, how about that berth on my ship I offered you? She’ll be finished in a week, with a dependable fuel, and there’s room for one more.”

  Erin smiled broadly now at Stewart’s old skepticism of his methods. “Thanks, but the Santa Maria is practically done, too, using a dependable power source. Why not come with me?”

  It was Stewart’s turn to smile. And as he cut connections, it seemed to him that even the face in the picture was smiling for the first time in almost forty years.

  Erin rubbed his wounded arm tenderly and wondered what it would feel like to go ahead without a constant, lurking fear. At the moment, the change was too radical for his comprehension. Things looked too easy.

  IX

  The Santa Maria was off the skids, and the ground swell on the ocean bobbed her up and down gently, like a horse champing at the bit. Not clipper built, Erin thought, but something they could be proud of. Now that she was finished, all the past trouble seemed unreal, like some disordered nightmare.

  “Jack and I are making a test run at once,” he announced. “It’ll be dark in a few minutes, so you can follow our jets and keep account of our success or failure. No, just the two of us, this first time. We’re going up four thousand miles and coming back down.”

  “How many of us go on the regular trip?” Jimmy wanted to know. “Dutch says he’ll stay on the ground and design them. Since Doug’s turned into a married man, he’ll stay with his wife, I suppose, but how about the rest?”

  They nodded in unison; though there had been no decision, it had always been understood that all were to go. Doug wrapped his arm possessively around Helen and faced Erin. “I’m staying with my wife, all light,” he stated, “but she’s coming along. Why should men hog all the glory?”

  Erin glanced at the girl hastily. This had not been in the plans. “I’m going,” she said simply, and he nodded. This thing was too great for distinction of sex—or race. He motioned to Robert Wah who stood in the background, looking on wistfully, and the tall Chinese bowed deeply.

  “I should be honored, sir, by the privilege.” Pleasure lighted his face quickly, and he moved forward unobtrusively, adding himself to their company. That made eight, the number the ship was designed for.

  Jack was already climbing into the port, and Erin turned to follow him, motioning the others back. There was no need risking additional lives on this first test, though he felt confident of this gleaming monster he had dreamed and fought for.

  “Ready?” he asked, strapping himself in. Jack nodded silently, and Erin’s fingers reached for the firing keys. They were trembling a little. Here under them lay the work of a lifetime. Suppose Stewart was right, after all? He shook the sudden doubt from himself, and the keys came down under his fingers.

  The great ship spun around in the water, pointing straight out toward Europe. The ground swell made the first few seconds rough tiding, but she gathered speed under her heels and began skimming the crests until her motion was perfectly even. All the years Erin had spent in training, in planning, and in imagining a hundred times every emergency and its answers rose in his mind, and the metal around him became almost an extension of his body.

  Now she was barely touching the water, though there was a great wake behind her that seethed and boiled. Then the wake came to an end, and she rose in the air around her, the stubby fins supporting her at the speed she was making. Erin opened up the motors, tilting the stick delicately in his hand, and she leaped through the air like a soul torn free. He watched the hull pyrometers, but the tough alloy could stand an amazing amount of atmospheric friction.

  “Climb!” he announced at last, and the nose began tilting up smoothly. The rear-viewer on the instrument board showed the waves running together and the ocean seemed to drop away from them and shrink. At half power she was rising rapidly in a vertical climb.

  “Look!” Jack’s voice cut through the heady intoxication Erin felt, and he took his eyes from the panel. Off to the side, and at some distance, a long streak of light climbed into the sky, reached their height, and went on. Even through the insulated hull, a faint booming sound reached them. “Stewart’s ship! He’s beat us to the start!”

  “The fool!” The cry was impulsive, and he saw the boy wince under it slightly. “There might be some small chance, though. I hope he makes it. He’ll follow an orbit that takes the least amount of fuel, and we’ll be cutting through with at least a quarter gravity all the way for comfort. He can’t beat us.”

  The course of the other ship, he could see, held true and steady. Stewart knew how to pilot; holding that top-heavy mass of metal on its tail was no small job.

  Jack gripped the straps that held him to his seat, but said nothing, his eyes glued on the blast that mushroomed down from the other ship, until it passed out of sight. Behind the Santa Maria, the pale-blue jet looked insignificant after seeing the other. Something prickled oddly at Erin’s skin, and he wondered whether it was the Heaviside layer, but it passed and there was only the press of acceleration.

  He opened up again as the air dropped behind, and the smooth hum of the atomics answered sweetly. Jack released himself and hitched his way toward the rear observation room, then fought the acceleration back to Erin’s side. “Jets are perfect,” he reported. “Not a waver, and they’re holding in line perfectly. No danger to the tubes. How high?”

  “Two hundred miles, and we’re making about twenty-five miles a minute now. Get back to your seat, son, I’m holding her up.” He tapped the keys for more power, and grunted as the pull struck them. By the time they were a few thousand miles out, most of Earth’s gravity would be behind them, and they wouldn’t have that added pressure to contend with. Acceleration alone was bad enough.

  At the two-thousand-mile limit, Morse twisted the wheel of the control stick and began spinning her over on her tail. Steering without the leverage of atmosphere was tricky, though part of his training had taken that into account, to the best of his ability. He completed the reversal finally, and set the keys for a deceleration that would stop them at the four-thousand-mile limit.

  Jack was staring out at the brilliant points made by the stars against the black of space, but he gasped as Erin cut the motors. “How far?” he asked again. “There seems to be almost no gravity.”

  “Earth is still pulling us, but only a quarter strength. We’ve reached the four-thousand mark we planned—and proved again that Gravity obeys the laws of inverse squares.” The novelty of the sensation appealed to him, but the relief from the crushing weight was his real reason for cutting power. Now his heart labored from weight and excitement, and he caught his breath, waiting for it to steady before turning back.

  “Ready?” he asked finally, and power came on. They were already moving slowly back, drawn by the planet’s pull. “Hold tight; I’m going to test my steering.” Under his hands the stick moved this way and that, and the ship struggled to answer, sliding into great slow curves that would have been sudden twists and turns in the air. All his ingenuity in schooling himself hadn’t fully compensated for the difficulties, but practice soon straightened out the few kinks left.

  His breath was coming in short gasps as he finished; the varying stress of gravity and acceleration had hit hard at him, and there was a dull thumping in his chest. “Take over, Jack,” he ordered, holding his words steady. “Do you good to learn. Half acceleration.”

  But the thumping went on, seeming to grow worse. Each breath came out with an effort. Jack was intent on the controls, though there was little to do for the moment, and did not notice; for that, Erin was grateful. He really had to see a doctor; only fear of the diagnosis had made him put it
off this long.

  “Reversal,” Jack called. He began twisting the control, relying on pure mathematics and quick reactions to do the trick. They began to come around, but Erin could feel it was wrong. The turn went too far, was inaccurately balanced, and the ship picked up a lateral spin that would give rise to other difficulties. Here was one place where youth and youth’s quick reflexes were useless. It took the steady hand of calculating judgment, and the head that had imagined this so often it all seemed old.

  He fought his way forward, pressing back the heart that seemed to burst through his chest. Jack was doing his best, but he was not the ship’s master. He welcomed Erin’s hand that reached down for the stick. Experience had corrected the few mistakes of the previous reversal, and the ship began to come around in one long, accurate blast. When it stopped, her tail was steadily blasting against Earth.

  “I’ll carry on.” Erin knew he had to, since descent, even in an atmosphere, was far trickier than it might seem. To balance the speed so that the air-fins supported her, without tearing them off under too much pressure required no small skill. He buckled himself back in, and let her fall rapidly. Time was more important, something told him, than the ease of a slower descent. He waited till the last moment before tapping on more power, heard the motors thrum solidly, and waited for the first signs of air. The pyrometer needles rose quickly, but not to their danger point. The tingling feeling lashed through him again, and was gone, and he began maneuvering her into a spiral that would set her down in the water where she could coast to the island.

  He glanced back at the boy, whose face expressed complete trust, and bit at his lips, but his main concern was for the ship. Once destroyed, that might never be duplicated. Time, he prayed, only time enough. The ocean was coming into view through thin clouds below, but it still seemed too far.

  “God!” Jack’s cry cut into his worries. “To the left—it’s the other ship.”

  Erin stole a quick glance at the window, and saw a ragged streak of fire in the distance. Stewart’s ship must have failed. But there was no time for that. The ocean was near, now.

  He cut into a long flat glide, striving for the delicate balance of speed and angle that would set her down without a rebound, and held her there. A drag from the friction of the water told him finally that she was down. More by luck than design, his landing was near the takeoff point, and the island began poking up dimly through the darkness. He threw on the weak forward jets, guessing at the distance, and juggled the controls.

  There was a red knot of pain in his chest and a mist in front of his eyes that made seeing difficult, but he let her creep in until the wood limbers of the dock stood out clearly. Then the mist turned black, and he had only time to cut all controls. He couldn’t feel the light crunch as she touched the shore.

  Erin was in bed in the bunkhouse when consciousness returned, and his only desire was to rest and relax. The strange man bending over him seemed about to interfere, and he shoved him away weakly. Tom Shaw bent over him, putting his hands back and holding them until he desisted.

  “The ship is perfect,” Tom’s voice assured him, oddly soft for the foreman. “We’re all proud of you, Erin, and the doctor says there’s no danger now.”

  “Stewart?” he asked weakly.

  “His ship went out a few thousand miles, and the tubes couldn’t stand the concentrated heat of his jets. Worked all right on small models, but the volume of explosives was cubed with the square of the tube diameter, and it was too much. We heard his radio after he cut through the Heaviside, and he was trying to bring her down at low power without burning them out completely. We haven’t heard from the rescue squad, but they hope the men are safe.”

  The strange man clucked disapprovingly. “Not too much talk,” he warned. “Let him rest.”

  Erin stirred again, plucking at the covers. So he finally was seeing a doctor, whether he wanted to or not. “Is there—” he asked. “Am I—grounded?”

  Shaw’s hand fell over his, and the grizzled head nodded. “Sorry, Erin.”

  X

  Erin stood in the doorway of the bunkhouse, looking out over the buildings toward the first star to come out. Venus, of course, but Mars would soon show up. He had not yet told the men that the flight was off, and they were talking contentedly behind him, discussing what they would find on Mars.

  A motorboat’s drone across the water caught his attention and he turned his eyes to the ocean. “There’s someone coming,” he announced. “At least they seem to be headed this way.”

  Jimmy jumped up, scattering the cards he had been playing with his father. “Darn! Must be the reporters. I notified the press that tonight was supposed to be the takeoff and forgot to tell them it was postponed when you came back from the test. Shall I send them back?”

  “Bring them up. There should be room enough for them here. Have Wah serve coffee.” Erin moved back toward his bunk, being careful to take it easy, and sank down. “There’s something I have to tell them—and you at the same time.”

  Helen brought him his medicine and he took it, wondering what reception his words would have with the newspapermen. Previous experience had made him expect the worst. But these men were quiet and orderly as they filed in, taking seats around the recreation tables. Even though it had failed, Stewart’s flight had taught them that rocketry was a serious business. Also, they were picked men from the syndicates, not the young cubs he had dealt with before. Wah brought in coffee and brandy.

  “Your man tells us the flight has been delayed,” one of them began. He showed no resentment at the long ride by rail and boat for nothing. “Can you tell us, then, when you’re planning to make it, and give us some idea of the principle of flight you use?”

  “Jimmy can give you mimeographed sheets of the ship’s design and power system,” Erin answered. “But the flight is put off indefinitely. Probably it will be months before it occurs, and possibly years. It depends on how quickly I can transfer my knowledge to a younger man.”

  “But we understood a successful trial had been made, with no trouble.”

  “No mechanical trouble, that is. But, gentlemen, no matter how perfectly built a machine may be, the human element must always be considered. In this case, it failed. I’ve been ordered not to leave the ground.”

  There were gasps from his own men, and the tray in Wah’s hands spilled to the floor, unnoticed. Shaw and Jack moved about among the others, speaking in low voices.

  Among the newspapermen, bewilderment substituted for consternation. “I fail to see—” the spokesman said.

  Erin found it difficult to explain to laymen, but he tried an example. “When the Wright brothers made their first power flights, they had already gotten practice from gliders. But suppose one of them had been given a plane without previous experience and told to fly it across the Atlantic? This, to a much greater extent, is like that.

  “Perhaps later, if rocketry becomes established, men can be given flight training in a few weeks. Until then, only those who have spent years of ground work can hope to master the more difficult problems of astronautics. This may sound like boasting to you, but an immediate flight without myself as pilot is out of the question.”

  Jack struck in, silencing their questioning doubts. “I tried it, up there,” he told them, “and I had some experience with radio-controlled models. But mathematics and intelligence, or even a good understanding of the principles involved, aren’t enough. It’s like skating on frictionless ice, trying to cut a figure eight against a strong head wind. Without Erin, I wouldn’t be here.” They accepted the fact, and Erin went on. “Two men, to my knowledge, spent the time and effort to acquire the basic ground work—Greogry Stewart and myself. Even though he crashed, killing two of his men, he demonstrated his ability to hold a top-heavy ship on its course under the most trying conditions. To some extent, I have proved my own ability. But Stewart has no ship and I have
no pilot. Mars will have to wait until one of my own men can be given adequate preparation.”

  The spokesman tapped his pencil against a pad of paper and considered. “But, since each of you lacks what the other has, why not let Stewart pilot your ship? Apparently he’s willing to give up his interests here and try for some other planet.”

  “Because he doesn’t consider my ship safe.” Erin knew that it might prove detrimental to their acceptance of his design, but that couldn’t be helped. “Stewart and I have always been rivals, less even in fact than in ideas. Now that his own ship proved faulty, he’d hardly be willing to risk one in which he has no faith.”

  A broad man in the background stirred uneasily, drawing his hat farther down over his face, which was buried in his collar. “Have you asked him?” he demanded in a muffled voice.

  “No.” It had never occurred to Erin to do so. “If you insist, I’ll call him but there can be only one answer.”

  The heavy man stood up, throwing back his hat and collar. “You might consult me before quoting my opinion, Erin,” Gregory Stewart stated. “Even a fool sometimes has doubts of his own wisdom.” The eyes of those in the room riveted on him, but he swung to his son, who was staring harder than the others. “Will the Santa Maria get to Mars?” he asked.

  Jack nodded positively. “It will get there, and back. I’m more than willing to stake my own life on that. But you—”

  “Good. I’ll take your word for it, Jack, with the test flight to back it up. How about it, Erin?” He swung to his rival, some of the old allowance in his voice. “Maybe I’d be glory-hogging, but I understand you’re in the market for a pilot. Like to see my letters of reference?”

  Strength flowed back into Erin’s legs, and he came to his feet with a smile, his hand outstretched. “I think you’ll prove entirely satisfactory, Greg.” It had been too sudden for any of them to realize fully, but one of the photographers sensed the dramatic, and his flashbulb flared whitely. The others were not slow in following suit.