Her head was bowed. She did not answer. He patted her shoulder. “You think it over, Sis. I’ll try to bring him back in one piece.”
When Art came upstairs, much later, his mother was still sitting, waiting for him. “Arthur?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You want to go to the moon?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She took a deep breath, then replied steadily. “You be a good boy on the moon, Arthur. You do what your uncle tells you to.”
“I will, Mother.”
Morrie managed to separate his father from the rest of the swarming brood shortly after dinner. “Poppa, I want to talk to you man to man.”
“And how else?”
“Well, this is different. I know you wanted me to come into the business, but you agreed to help me go to Tech.”
His father nodded. “The business will get along. Scientists we are proud to have in the family. Your Uncle Bernard is a fine surgeon. Do we ask him to help with the business?”
“Yes, Poppa, but that’s just it—I don’t want to go to Tech.”
“So? Another school?”
“No, I don’t want to go to school.” He explained Doctor Cargraves’ scheme, blurting it out as fast as possible in an attempt to give his father the whole picture before he set his mind. Finished, he waited.
His father rocked back and forth. “So it’s the moon now, is it? And maybe next week the sun. A man should settle down if he expects to accomplish anything, Maurice.”
“But, Poppa, this is what I want to accomplish!”
“When do you expect to start?”
“You mean you’ll let me? I can?”
“Not so fast, Maurice. I did not say yes; I did not say no. It has been quite a while since you stood up before the congregation and made your speech, ‘Today I am a man—’ That meant you were a man, Maurice, right that moment. It’s not for me to let you; it’s for me to advise you. I advise you not to. I think it’s foolishness.”
Morrie stood silent, stubborn but respectful.
“Wait a week, then come back and tell me what you are going to do. There’s a pretty good chance that you will break your neck on this scheme, isn’t there?”
“Well…yes, I suppose so.”
“A week isn’t too long to make up your mind to kill yourself. In the meantime, don’t talk to Momma about this.”
“Oh, I won’t!”
“If you decide to go ahead anyway, I’ll break the news to her. Momma isn’t going to like this, Maurice.”
Doctor Donald Cargraves received a telephone call the next morning which requested him, if convenient, to come to the Jenkins’ home. He did so, feeling, unreasonably he thought, as if he were being called in on the carpet. He found Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins in the drawing room; Ross was not in sight.
Mr. Jenkins shook hands with him and offered him a chair. “Cigarette, Doctor? Cigar?”
“Neither, thank you.”
“If you smoke a pipe,” Mrs. Jenkins added, “please do so.”
Cargraves thanked her and gratefully stoked up his old stinker.
“Ross tells me a strange story,” Mr. Jenkins started in. “If he were not pretty reliable I’d think his imagination was working overtime. Perhaps you can explain it.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
“Thanks. Is it true, Doctor, that you intend to try to make a trip to the moon.”
“Quite true.”
“Well! Is it also true that you have invited Ross and his chums to go with you in this fantastic adventure?”
“Yes, it is.” Doctor Cargraves found that he was biting hard on the stem of his pipe.
Mr. Jenkins stared at him. “I’m amazed. Even if it were something safe and sane, your choice of boys as partners strikes me as outlandish.”
Cargraves explained why he believed the boys could be competent junior partners in the enterprise. “In any case,” he concluded, “being young is not necessarily a handicap. The great majority of the scientists in the Manhattan Project were very young men.”
“But not boys, Doctor.”
“Perhaps not. Still, Sir Isaac Newton was a boy when he invented the calculus. Professor Einstein himself was only twenty-six when he published his first paper on relativity—and the work had been done when he was still younger. In mechanics and in the physical sciences, calendar age has nothing to do with the case; it’s solely a matter of training and ability.”
“Even if what you say is true, Doctor, training takes time and these boys have not had time for the training you need for such a job. It takes years to make an engineer, still more years to make a toolmaker or an instrument man. Tarnation, I’m an engineer myself. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Ordinarily I would agree with you. But these boys have what I need. Have you looked at their work?”
“Some of it.”
“How good is it?”
“It’s good work—within the limits of what they know.”
“But what they know is just what I need for this job. They are rocket fans now. They’ve learned in their hobbies the specialties I need.”
Mr. Jenkins considered this, then shook his head. “I suppose there is something in what you say. But the scheme is fantastic. I don’t say that space flight is fantastic; I expect that the engineering problems involved will some day be solved. But space flight is not a back-yard enterprise. When it comes it will be done by the air forces, or as a project of one of the big corporations, not by half-grown boys.”
Cargraves shook his head. “The government won’t do it. It would be laughed off the floor of Congress. As for corporations, I have reason to be almost certain they won’t do it, either.”
Mr. Jenkins looked at him quizzically. “Then it seems to me that we’re not likely to see space flight in our lifetimes.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” the scientist countered. “The United States isn’t the only country on the globe. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear some morning that the Russians had done it. They’ve got the technical ability and they seem to be willing to spend money on science. They might do it.”
“Well, what if they do?”
Cargraves took a deep breath. “I have nothing against the Russians; if they beat me to the moon, I’ll take off my hat to them. But I prefer our system to theirs; it would be a sour day for us if it turned out that they could do something as big and as wonderful as this when we weren’t even prepared to tackle it, under our set-up. Anyhow,” he continued, “I have enough pride in my own land to want it to be us, rather than some other country.”
Mr. Jenkins nodded and changed his tack. “Even if these three boys have the special skills you need, I still don’t see why you picked boys. Frankly, that’s why the scheme looks rattlebrained to me. You should have experienced engineers and mechanics and your crew should be qualified rocket pilots.”
Doctor Cargraves laid the whole thing before them, and explained how he hoped to carry out his plans on a slim budget. When he had finished Mr. Jenkins said, “Then as a matter of fact you braced these three boys because you were hard up for cash?”
“If you care to put it that way.”
“I didn’t put it that way; you did. Candidly, I don’t altogether approve of your actions. I don’t think you meant any harm, but you didn’t stop to think. I don’t thank you for getting Ross and his friends stirred up over a matter unsuited to their ages without consulting their parents first.”
Donald Cargraves felt his mouth grow tense but said nothing; he felt that he could not explain that he had lain awake much of the night over misgivings of just that sort.
“However,” Mr. Jenkins went on, “I understand your disappointment and sympathize with your enthusiasm.” He smiled briefly. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll hire three mechanics—you pick them—and one junior engineer or physicist, to help you in converting your ship. When the time comes, I’ll arrange for a crew. Hiring will not be needed there, in my opinion—we will be able to pick from a l
ong list of volunteers. Wait a minute,” he said, as Cargraves started to speak, “you’ll be under no obligation to me. We will make it a business proposition of a speculative sort. We’ll draw up a contract under which, if you make it, you assign to me a proper percentage of the prize money and of the profits from exclusive news stories, books, lectures, and so forth. Does that look like a way out?”
Cargraves took a deep breath. “Mr. Jenkins,” he said slowly, “if I had had that proposition last week, I would have jumped at it. But I can’t take it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t let the boys down. I’m already committed.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you there was absolutely no chance of Ross being allowed to go?”
“No. I will have to go looking for just such a backer as yourself, but it can’t be you. It would smack too much of allowing myself to be bought off—No offense intended, Mr. Jenkins!—to welch on the proposition I made Ross.”
Mr. Jenkins nodded. “I was afraid you would feel that way. I respect your attitude, Doctor. Let me call Ross in and tell him the outcome.” He started for the door.
“Just a moment, Mr. Jenkins—”
“Yes?”
“I want to tell you that I respect your attitude, too. As I told you, the project is dangerous, quite dangerous. I think it is a proper danger but I don’t deny your right to forbid your son to risk his neck with me.”
“I am afraid you don’t understand me, Doctor Cargraves. It’s dangerous, certainly, and naturally that worries me and Mrs. Jenkins, but that is not my objection. I would not try to keep Ross out of danger. I let him take flying lessons; I even had something to do with getting two surplus army trainers for the high school. I haven’t tried to keep him from playing around with explosives. That’s not the reason.”
“May I asked what it is?”
“Of course. Ross is scheduled to start in at the Technical Institute this fall. I think it’s more important for him to get a sound basic education than for him to be first man on the moon.” He turned away again.
“Wait a minute! If it’s his education you are worried about, would you consider me a competent teacher?”
“Eh? Well…yes.”
“I will undertake to tutor the boys in technical and engineering subjects. I will see to it that they do not fall behind.”
Mr. Jenkins hesitated momentarily. “No, Doctor, the matter is settled. An engineer without a degree has two strikes against him to start with. Ross is going to get his degree.” He stepped quickly to the door and called out, “Ross!”
“Coming, Dad.” The center of the argument ran downstairs and into the room. He looked around, first at Cargraves, then anxiously at his father, and finally at his mother, who looked up from her knitting and smiled at him but did not speak. “What’s the verdict?” he inquired.
His father put it bluntly. “Ross, you start in school in the fall. I cannot okay this scheme.”
Ross’s jaw muscles twitched but he did not answer directly. Instead he said to Cargraves, “How about Art and Morrie?”
“Art’s going. Morrie phoned me and said his father didn’t think much of it but would not forbid it.”
“Does that make any difference, Dad?”
“I’m afraid not. I don’t like to oppose you, son, but when it comes right down to cases, I am responsible for you until you are twenty-one. You’ve got to get your degree.”
“But…but…look, Dad. A degree isn’t everything. If the trip is successful, I’ll be so famous that I won’t need a tag on my name to get a job. And if I don’t come back, I won’t need a degree!”
Mr. Jenkins shook his head. “Ross, my mind is made up.”
Cargraves could see that Ross was fighting to keep the tears back. Somehow it made him seem older, not younger. When he spoke again his voice was unsteady. “Dad?”
“Yes, Ross?”
“If I can’t go, may I at least go along to help with the rebuilding job? They’ll need help.”
Cargraves looked at him with new interest. He had some comprehension of what the proposal would cost the boy in heartache and frustration.
Mr. Jenkins looked surprised but answered quickly. “You may do that—up till the time school opens.”
“Suppose they aren’t through by then? I wouldn’t want to walk out on them.”
“Very well. If necessary you can start school the second semester. That is my last concession.” He turned to Doctor Cargraves. “I shall count on you for some tutoring.” Then to his son, “But that is the end of the matter, Ross. When you are twenty-one you can risk your neck in a space ship if you like. Frankly, I expect that there will still be plenty of chance for you to attempt the first flight to the moon if you are determined to try it.” He stood up.
“Albert.”
“Eh? Yes, Martha?” he turned deferentially to his wife.
She laid her knitting in her lap and spoke emphatically. “Let him go, Albert!”
“Eh? What do you mean, my dear?”
“I mean, let the boy go to the moon, if he can.
I know what I said, and you’ve put up a good argument for me. But I’ve listened and learned. Doctor Cargraves is right; I was wrong. We can’t expect to keep them in the nest.
“Oh, I know what I said,” she went on, “but a mother is bound to cry a little. Just the same, this country was not built by people who were afraid to go. Ross’s great-great-grandfather crossed the mountains in a Conestoga wagon and homesteaded this place. He was nineteen, his bride was seventeen. It’s a matter of family record that their parents opposed the move.” She stirred suddenly and one of her knitting needles broke. “I would hate to think that I had let the blood run thin.” She got up and went quickly from the room.
Mr. Jenkins’ shoulders sagged. “You have my permission, Ross,” he said presently. “Doctor, I wish you good luck. And now, if you will excuse me…” He followed his wife.
GROWING PAINS
• 5 •
“HOW MUCH FARTHER?” The noise of the stripped-down car combined with desert wind caused Art to shout.
“Look at the map,” Ross said, his hands busy at the wheel in trying to avoid a jack rabbit. “It’s fifty-three miles from Route 66 to the turn-off, then seven miles on the turn-off.”
“We left Highway 66 about thirty-nine, forty miles back,” Art replied. “We ought to be in sight of the turn-off before long.” He squinted out across bare, colorful New Mexico countryside. “Did you ever see so much wide-open, useless country? Cactus and coyotes—what’s it good for?”
“I like it,” Ross answered. “Hang on to your hat.” There was a flat, straight stretch ahead, miles along; Ross peeled off and made the little car dig…seventy…eighty…ninety…ninety-five. The needle quivered up toward three figures.
“Hey, Ross?”
“Yeah?”
“This rig ain’t young any more. Why crack us up?”
“Sissy,” said Ross, but he eased up on the gas.
“Not at all,” Art protested. “If we kill ourselves trying to get to the moon, fine—we’re heroes. But if we bust our fool necks before we start, we’ll just look silly.”
“Okay, okay—is that the turn-off?”
A dirt road swung off to the right and took out over the desert. They followed it about a quarter of a mile, then pulled up at a steel gate barring the road. A strong fence, topped by barbed wire, stretched out in both directions. There was a sign on the gate:
DANGER
Unexploded Shells
Enter this area at your own risk. Disturb nothing—report all suspicious objects to the District Forester.
“This is it,” Ross stated. “Got the keys?” The area beyond was an abandoned training ground of the war, part of more than 8,000,000 acres in the United States which had been rendered useless until decontaminated by the hazardous efforts of army engineer specialists. This desert area was not worth the expense and risk of decontamination, but it was ideal for Carg
raves; it assured plenty of room and no innocent bystanders—and it was rent free, loaned to the Association of Atomic Scientists, on Cargraves’ behalf.
Art chucked Ross some keys. Ross tried them, then said, “You’ve given me the wrong keys.”
“I don’t think so. Nope,” he continued, “those are the keys Doc sent.”
“What do we do?”
“Bust the lock, maybe.”
“Not this lock. Do we climb it?”
“With the rig under one arm? Be your age.”
A car crawled toward them, its speed lost in the vastness of the desert. It stopped near them and a man in a military Stetson stuck his head out. “Hey, there!”
Art muttered, “Hey, yourself,” then said, “Good morning.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Get inside.”
“Don’t you see the sign? Wait a minute—either one of you named Jenkins?”
“He’s Ross Jenkins. I’m Art Mueller.”
“Pleased to know you. I’m the ranger hereabouts. Name o’ Buchanan. I’ll let you in, but I don’t rightly know as I should.”
“Why not?” Ross’s tone was edgy. He felt that they were being sized up as youngsters.
“Well…we had a little accident in there the other day. That’s why the lock was changed.”
“Accident?”
“Man got in somehow—no break in the fence. He tangled with a land mine about a quarter of a mile this side of your cabin.”
“Did it…kill him?”
“Deader ’n a door nail. I spotted it by the buzzards. See here—I’ll let you in; I’ve got a copy of your permit. But don’t go exploring. You stay in the marked area around the cabin, and stay on the road that follows the power line.”
Ross nodded. “We’ll be careful.”
“Mind you are. What are you young fellows going to do in there, anyway? Raise jack-rabbits?”
“That’s right. Giant jack-rabbits, eight feet tall.”
“So? Well, keep ’em inside the marked area, or you’ll have jack-rabbit hamburger.”
“We’ll be careful,” Ross repeated. “Any idea who the man was that had the accident? Or what he was doing here?”
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