Earthbound (Winston Science Fiction Book 1)

by Milton Lesser

  “I guess that clears up the mess for us, Pete. They’re getting an armed expedition ready. In two, three days it’ll leave for Antarctica, and inside of a week they’ll have Fairchild and his playmates in custody. It still leaves a lot to do — they’ll have to round up the pirate sabotage ships and things like that, but it shouldn’t take long.

  “As for you, well, your story checks with the little they know, so you’re cleared of everything as far as we’re concerned.”

  Pete nodded. “Everything’s straightened out for me, except for the local police in White Sands. I was involved in a sort of involuntary jailbreak up there, and that will need some explaining.”

  Joe smiled. “You know, you were flirting with criminal actions yourself all along, but you just did stay on the side of the law. Except for some sabotage; but since it kept a spaceship out of pirate hands, I don’t think they’ll hold that against you. I guess you learned your lesson, though. There are authorities for things like this, Pete. When something happens, you report to them. You don’t waste any time about it, because you can get into a lot of hot water if you do.

  “Hey! It’s late. Your plane leaves for the U.S. in half an hour. We’d better grab a taxi and get on over to the airport.”

  Soon after that, they solemnly shook hands, and Pete climbed the gangplank into the waiting jet liner. He’d always remember Ushuaia Joe, although he would not remember him the way he last saw him — in a double-breasted overcoat, with polished shoes and a slouch hat. No,, Ushuaia Joe was a man in furs, an Indian, someone who managed to survive in Tierra del Fuego and in Antarctica too, because he belonged on the frontier.

  Several hours later, Pete stepped out of the jet plane in White Sands. It was autumn in the Northern Hemisphere, and now, just before twilight, a cool breeze stirred in restlessly from the north. Not that it ever became really cold in New Mexico — but then, what would be cold after Antarctica?

  Whistling to himself, Pete took the commuters’ bus, got off in his old neighborhood. He walked along smiling, and people looked at him queerly on the street. He knew he should have called his folks to inform them of his coming, but somehow he thought they’d enjoy it better this way. And he would, too.

  By the time he spotted the neat, whitewashed fence a block ahead of him in the gathering dusk, he was running, and breathlessly he pushed the gate in and ran up the walk. He climbed the three steps to the porch, realizing idly that the glider would need a paint-job soon. And then he rang the bell.

  Four or five seconds passed, then, from within the house, he heard footsteps. A slow, heavy tread. Big Pete!

  The door swung in, and his father stood there looking at him, tall and handsome, distinguished, his hair graying at the temples. At first there was no expression on his face, none whatever — but after a moment, he began to smile. He was smiling all the way across, from ear to ear, and Pete was smiling too.

  “Son! You were gone. We didn’t know what —”

  “I’m home to stay, Pop!”

  “Come inside. Come inside. Mother! Mother — you’re in for a shock. Look who’s here . . .”

  His mother came down the stairs from the second floor. She hugged him and held him against her, until Big Pete cleared his throat. “Pete must be tired,” he said, “and he’ll have a lot to tell us, so if you can get your hands off him long enough for him to get washed —”

  And then they all were laughing — they laughed and joked and talked all the way through dinner about little things. Sometimes they just sat and looked at one another.

  Afterwards, Mrs. Hodges was busy with the dishes in the kitchen, and Pete had promised to help her dry them, but Big Pete, who wasn’t laughing any longer, led him into the living room.

  “It’s a shame about your friend Garr,” he said abruptly.

  “Garr? What about Garr”

  “Didn’t you know? There was a patrol ship disabled by some pirates. I read it in the paper —”

  “Yeah,” Pete said. “I knew about it when it happened. I’ll tell you everything later. But what about Garr?” He did not know why, but he could feel his heart beginning to race. He was frightened; he was afraid to hear Big Pete go on with it.

  “Garr was aboard that ship. He’s still on it. But now it’s a derelict Out in the asteroids. I don’t have to tell you what that means, son.”

  “Garr! Garr on that ship? Pop, it’s all my fault!”

  Chapter 15 — Balked!

  “Don’t you see,” Pete said again, after he had told his father everything that had happened, “it’s all my fault!”

  Big Pete’s answer was a tired smile. “That’s quite a story you tell. Taken down to the bottom of the world by a bunch of pirates, but thanks to your Indian friend, you managed to get out of it okay. Wait, let me finish. You’ve been through enough to hold a man for a lifetime, and I mean that. So the result is that you’re all keyed up, and you’re blaming yourself for something, which . . .”

  “It is my fault!” Pete cut in bitterly. “If I hadn’t gone down there with them, they would not have risked bringing their ships in. I was the one who could get them down safely, don’t you see? Because I was there they could try it, and because they tried it, Garr’s on a derelict ship in the Swarm.”

  Big Pete shook his head firmly. “You’re forgetting one thing. Even if what you say is true, still it wasn’t your idea to go down there. They forced you. They drugged you, took you against your will to Antarctica.”

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s my fault.”

  “You need some sleep, son. And after that you need a good long rest. Then we can talk about this again.”

  “No!” Pete cried. “There isn’t time. Are they doing anything for Garr?”

  Big Pete shrugged. “What can they do?”

  “Well, they can send out an expedition.”

  “In the Swarm? Now? It would be suicide. The papers say they’ll have to wait six weeks, until the Swarm thins out. The asteroid belt revolves around the sun; you know that. But it doesn’t revolve in one continual stream, and at times sections of it thin out. In six weeks section 17 — Garr’s section — will thin out. But meanwhile, a ship trying to get through to him would be like a man trying to walk through a storm without being touched by a single raindrop, when the touch of a raindrop is death. No, Pete. They’ll have to wait.”

  “Well, what about Garr? He’s out there without the power to move, and your raindrops are falling all around him.”

  “I know how you feel, Pete. But there isn’t a thing that can be done.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Pete told his father slowly. “Something can be done. Someone can take a ship out to the asteroids and rescue Garr.”

  “The Patrol has forbidden it until six weeks have passed.”

  “Still, someone can do it. It would have to be someone who can plot orbits in his head as he goes along, someone who can keep one eye on the radar screen and the other on his orbit. It would have to be me!”

  In the morning, Pete went with his father to the police station. By that time, reports were trickling in from South America, and the officer in charge was more than willing to let Pete retain his freedom. He did suggest, however that Pete remain in town until the whole business was straightened out.

  After that, a happy Big Pete excused himself and went about his affairs for the day. Pete strolled aimlessly down toward the Spaceport, not knowing what to do. Garr had to be rescued, and Pete, with his ability to plot quick orbits, thought he could do it. But the Patrol had placed a sanction on all such attempts, and, what was worse, Pete could not take a ship up anyway. He was earthbound. . . .

  Someone had to rescue Garr! Someone — and the more he thought about it, the more Pete knew he was that person.

  He remembered the tower quite well. As he entered, a uniformed guard with a vaguely familiar face smiled a greeting at him. He took the elevator up to the top level, found himself confronted by a receptionist that he did not remember.

&
nbsp; “Yes, sir?” the woman demanded.

  “I — I’d like to see Captain Saunders.”

  “He’s an extremely busy man. Have you an appointment?”

  “No. But tell him Pete Hodges is here. I think he’ll see me.”

  The woman spoke briefly into a machine on her desk, then smiled up at him. “Through that door, sir.”

  And a moment later: “Pete! It sure is good to see you.”

  “Hello, Captain Saunders.”

  “Reports are coming in from Buenos Aires and Tierra del Fuego, telling how you set the stage for capturing those pirates. Pete, I’ve got to hand it to you; you had us all fooled. Sit down, son, sit down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you’d like your old job back, it’s still waiting for you.”

  “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “No? What then?”

  “You remember Garr MacDougal?”

  “Yes, of course. A shame about Garr —”

  “It’s only a shame if no one does anything about it!” Pete cried. “I think I can get through to him, Captain Saunders. I know I’d like to try.”

  “You think what?”

  “That I can get through to him.”

  “How?”

  “You know the way I plot orbits. It should give me more than a fighting chance.”

  “The Patrol says no, Pete. No one can try. Not for six weeks.”

  “I know that. But everyone, including the Patrol, realizes that Garr won’t have a chance to stay alive out there for six weeks. It’s a miracle if he’s lasted this long.”

  “So you want to try?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t. It’s against orders.”

  “I said I know that,” Pete insisted. “But one scout ship, just a small one, that’s all you have to risk. And one man. Me.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the authority.”

  “Forget it this one time. Let me go. Please.”

  “You’re earthbound, Pete. Don’t forget that part of it either. You couldn’t take a ship up even if it had nothing to do with the asteroids.”

  “Well, I could go as a passenger! I could plot orbits for the pilot.”

  Captain Saunders shook his head. “In that case, it would be two men, not one. Also, if that collarbone of yours is rebroken, your pilot would be helpless.”

  “That wasn’t my idea, sir. I really wanted to go myself. I can do the job myself. I know I can.”

  “I’m sorry, Pete. No. I can’t give you clearance. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

  “Then send me to someone who can.”

  “No matter whom you saw, the answer would be the same.”

  “Send me to someone.”

  “Who? The Officer of Operations here at White Sands? It won’t do any good; but all right, Pete, I’ll give you a note to him. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The Officer of Operations was a white-haired old man, small and thin, with a gaunt face carved from granite and flat, yellow-brown eyes. He leaned his elbows on a big desk, made a bridge of his hands and peered over it while Pete related his story. When he spoke, his voice had a thin, rasping sound:

  “No.”

  “Just like that? No?”

  “That’s right, No.”

  “But sir —”

  “I can sympathize with you, Mr. Hodges. But no.”

  “Sir, I think it’s my right, since I got him into this in the first place —”

  “Debatable. Can’t jeopardize the ship. Or you. Can’t disobey orders. No.”

  “Whom can I see? I mean, I’d like to go above your head, sir.”

  “Do that. Try anyone. See the President, it would not help.”

  “If you could give me a memo to an officer above you, I’d be able to see him. Anyone —”

  “No. Waste of time. His time, too. Good day, young man.”

  The Officer of Operations thumbed rapidly through some papers on his desk, but did not look up again. He failed to stir when Pete shut the door behind him with a loud bang.

  The Commander of Rocketry, Southwestern United States Division, was next. You did not merely walk in on the Commander of Rocketry. You saw a secretary who suggested another secretary who steered you to a junior liaison officer who shifted you to a public-relations officer who thought the whole thing might be bad for publicity — and then you tried all over again.

  You returned to the first secretary who suggested another one, who gave you a lecture on how busy the Commander of Rocketry, Southwestern United States Division, was. All the while, with each hour that passed, you knew that Garr’s plight kept growing worse.

  Radio reports reached Earth hourly. The story was packed with human interest — a Cadet on his first mission of any importance trapped on an asteroid derelict. The disabled ship had stopped its aimless wanderings. It had plowed into a dumbbell-shaped asteroid several hundred yards across. It had nosed into the thin, bar-like extension between two roughly circular chunks of rock. It would remain there until other asteroids streaking along through the void came and pulverized it. The two circular chunks of rock would offer some protection for a time, but eventually the inevitable would happen. No one in a position of any authority thought that Garr could survive the six necessary weeks, and it was even doubted that anyone could reach him after that time.

  “I’d like to see the Commander of Rocketry.”

  “You said that yesterday. And the day before.”

  “Please, Miss. It’s important.”

  “I know it’s important. It’s always important. But you’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else. I can get you through to his adjutant officer the latter part of next week. Shall I put you down? Name, please?”

  “No. The latter part of next week will be too late. His adjutant won’t do any good.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Completely impersonal, but it was the thing to say.

  After that, Pete gave it up as hopeless. He could not see the Commander of Rocketry, not in time. But actually, he knew it wouldn’t help if he did. He’d get the same answer as the Officer of Operations had given him, the same as Captain Saunders’, without the friendly touch.

  No one understood —

  “I’ve been meaning to talk with you, son,” Big Pete said that night. “You can’t go on like this, hardly sleeping, eating very little, seeing a lot of people and getting nowhere.”

  “I can’t help it!”

  “I know you can’t. I didn’t ask you to. You’re off on the wrong track, son, that’s all. You see all these stuffed shirts; they don’t help you. Why go on seeing them?”

  “I agree with you. I’ve already decided that. But what can I do?”

  “If you want to do something hard enough, you’ll do it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to push you into this. Space knows that your mother and I are happy enough just having you home with us again. But it looks as if you’ve made up your mind. Want some advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “‘Forget about the authorities, because in this matter they won’t help you.”

  “But I —”

  “I know, that confuses you. You learned the hard way that you should go to the authorities when you’re in trouble. Because you didn’t, you wound up in Antarctica, and you almost didn’t come back. But it works both ways, Pete. There are times when a man has to fend for himself, completely. When he knows he’s right, when everyone else seems pitted against him, but when he still knows, deep down inside, that he’s right — and when he’s thought about it a long time and still knows that, then he has to fend for himself.

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I’m not even going to suggest that you do anything. I think I’d rather you didn’t. But that’s your choice, not mine. And before you do anything, remember this: the doctors don’t think your collarbone can take acceleration. They could be wrong; but more often than not they know what they’re talking about. Also, your brother died in the asteroid
s, son. He’d have been a Captain now, but the asteroids —”

  Big Pete always choked up when he spoke of that, and it was only with an effort that he continued. “Anyway, all that is on the negative side of the ledger. But you want to do something about it. You won’t be able to live normally until you’ve tried to rescue Garr. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know if you’re right or wrong, son. But I do know that if you have that feeling and if nothing can shake it from you, you’ll have to try.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing, only it got me no place.”

  “And you still want to try?”

  “Yes. Yes!”

  “Then forget the authorities. Forget all about the red tape you’ll have to go through. We’re behind you, son, your mother and I, no matter what you decide to do. The rest is up to you — but I think you know you’ll have to hurry.”

  Pete hardly slept that night. What was it his father had meant?

  He could not go to the authorities, for they would be of no help. Then — what was the old expression? He must take the law into his own hands. But with everyone and everything against him, how could he get a ship?

  Wherever he turned he was balked, but that did not matter. He must find a way. There had to be a way.

  Every hour that passed was an hour more of danger for Garr. Every hour that passed made it more improbable that Garr could be reached in time. Pete thought of Garr out there in the immensity of space, helpless, gazing out at the bright, brittle pin points that were the stars and the brighter ones that were the asteroids all around him, and waiting for the one with his name on it to strike.

  Garr —

  After dinner, clouds scurried up from the west, and the rain beat dully on his window. For a long time Pete looked out into the sodden night. “Garr!” he cried and beat his fist impotently on the window sill.

  He got up, dressed, walked outside into the wet night. He wore light clothing and the rain soaked through to his skin. He did not hurry, he had no place to go. For a long time he walked and presently he found himself back at the house again.