“Huh?” asked Kane.
“This restricted space was created for the Orionad to return through. The nature of the restriction is such that anyone of official nature will be warned, and no civil traffic will be cleared through here. I am here because I didn’t think the Orionad was due to return yet, and you came because you probably left without clearance. Right?”
“Right.”
“Well, the Orionad believes that anybody who is in the restricted space is an enemy: spying upon their course. The consequences are clear.”
“I hope they hold that screen,” said Kane. “But what about Timmy? My pilot?”
Maynard groaned. “He’s several thousand miles behind, and any attempts to save him would fail. The Orionad will recognize no incoming signals. Nothing we can do will save him!” Maynard groaned, and then he brightened briefly. “Stan!” he called. “What’s the chances of the Orionad missing the Loki?”
“Not too bad,” said the technician. “They’ll be running with their finder at cruising range, and they’ll just touch us. Loki is sliding side-wise and may be out of range.”
“We hope. Well, keep it going, fellows. This may be dangerous.”
Time passed slowly and ponderously, and the Orionad caught up and passed the Loki without seeing or detecting the publisher’s ship. Of this, Maynard was certain, since the celestial globe would have flared briefly had any action been taken against the Loki.
Then as the Orionad passed the Asterite, Maynard said: “Chalk us up a win, Kane. Your crate is safe.”
“You’re certain?”
“I am. Loki is now beyond range of our detector, which was souped up and is running at overload range. Orionad’s detectors would be running at cruising range, which I happen to know is one quarter meg— two hundred and fifty thousand miles, to you.”
“I see. Loki is on the far side of us from the Orionad, and their distance is such that their cruising range on the detector is less than the distance to Loki?”
“Right. And give us another ten minutes, and Orionad will go beyond detection range from us. Cruising range, that is.”
“Mark yourself up a credit for this one, too,” smiled Kane. “If you were an enemy, you could surely score one on the super ship itself.”
“Sure could,” agreed Guy enthusiastically.
Stan Norman said: “Technician to Executive: May I enter this encounter in the log?”
“Go ahead,” said Guy. “They’ll never believe us, though.”
“Wouldn’t a definite statement of their course and velocity be evidence?”
“Nope. I happen to know it. It was part of the maneuver secret that I was kidnaped for, remember.”
“They’d just accuse you of telling tall tales that couldn’t be substantiated,” agreed Kane. “The crew and myself would be considered biased witnesses. I’d sure like to cinch the argument, though.”
“So would I,” said Guy thoughtfully.
“Do you trust this dingbat of yours? The barrier, I mean.”
“Naturally.”
“Then couldn’t we really do something about it?”
“I don’t know what—unless we splashed them with a bucket of paint. We have a gallon of bright red, wire impregnating varnish. Executive to Pilot, Astrogator, Technician, and Observer: Get the course of the Orionad to the last millimeter. Both the intrinsic course and the course with respect to the Asterite. Then plot a free flight across their path to intercept within a thousand feet at thirty degrees angle. You know the standard attack problem as we have designed it; this is an applied problem, fellows. We’re going to label the Orionad! And when they land, they’re going to bear the Asterite’s trademark, and they’ll not know it until we make Terra. Like?”
“We’re on it now,” said Stan.
“And working in nine decimals,” added Astrogator Cummins.
Technician Norman stretched his back, and started to gather his tools.. “So far,” he told Maynard, “every instrument we need has been checked and corrected to the last micron. Turretman Hastings and Machinist Trenton have converted one of the mounts to a spring-loaded gadget to propel a gallon sized cannister of plastic material. Adkins has just cemented such a cylinder together and filled it with the wire gluck. I hope we hit the main personnel lock; it’ll stay glucky until they land, and that wire-impregnating googoo ranks high among the things I wouldn’t care to bathe in.”
“It ranks top with me,” said Maynard.
“To me, it is outranked only by chewing gum and rubber cement. But anyway, we’re ready, all of us.”
“That correct?” asked Maynard of the crew.
A series of “Check” shouts came in ragged confusion.
“O.K. Start going!”
With the instruments under personal supervision, the Asterite accelerated in a wide circle, and then corrected the side-vector component of her course.
Then for an hour solid, the Asterite accelerated on a die-true course. The components of the intersection were complex because the Orionad was in deceleration all the time, while the ‘Asterite was in acceleration, and would be picking up speed until the barrier established; then the little destroyer would coast free, crossing the Orionad’s course at the precise instant that the super ship came to the course of the free-flying Asterite.
The last driving moments of the Asterite’s maneuver passed. The barrier went on, and the tiny ship went free. Time passed, and eventually the Orionad, long beyond detector range, came into the scope of the Asterite’s souped-up finder.
Furious and extensive checking on the part of the crew resulted in the information that everything was going according to plan.
More time passed, and now within sight, the two ships were converging. They became tense, a single moment of failure would be death for all. But the barrier held, as they expected it to, and with lightning velocity, the two ships crossed at thirty degrees angle. “Fire!” called the technician. “Stick to your meters,” drawled Turretman Hastings. “This is a job for an eyepiece and fingertip man. A man, may I say, with eyes in his fingertips. A man, may I add . . . Ughn. There she goes, fellers! . . . who is capable of doing things based upon the excellency of his coordination.”
“What a line of baloney,” snorted Norman. “Did he follow through on that malarkey?”
“And, may I add,” drawled Hastings, “a man who never claims ability beyond his capability? Who never claims that which he is unable to produce. The Orionad is now bearing a great, ugly, irregular circle of bright red, gooey paint.” “Are they aware?”
“Apparently not,” said Technician Norman.. “Also, the projectile we tossed at them is nondetectable and nonradiating, and was in the separation-space too briefly for observation. Another thing, we hit ’em in a blind spot.”
“Blind spot?” asked Kane. “I didn’t know she had any.”
“She hasn’t. What I meant was that we hit ’em in a bald spot. They’ll not see the mess until they land. Pilot, how’re we doing?”
“Fine. We’re coasting away at a great rate.”
“Well, get this barrier down as soon as you get out of range. Wait until you are out of operating range, but don’t worry about extreme range unless you think they smell a crate full of mice.” “Right-o.”
“You know. Kane, that was fun, sort of. But I hate to think of what they will say back home. I’m liable to get busted right down to a junior aide again.”
“They can’t break you for that kind of demonstration,” said Kane.
“Yes they can. I’m still at the mercy of my superiors.”
Kane smiled. “No, you’re not. I forgot to tell you—or you didn’t let me get to the point of my coming. But, Guy Maynard, since the successful establishment of the Plutonian shield, you are now a sector commander. That gives you—” “Tm what?” asked Maynard.
“A. sector commander. Here, if you don’t believe me,” and Kane handed Guy a tiny box. Guy opened it, and found lapel-insignia; the circling comet of the sector comm
ander. In Kane’s other hand was an envelope stamped “Official” which contained official notice of His advance in rank.
“That puts you in the upper bracket,” said Kane, “You are now on your own, Guy. Any demonstrations you may give will be viewed officially, and this is no longer a prank, but a self-assertion; a very definite evidence of your ability to accomplish the difficult.”
The barrier dropped, and the celestial globe traced the last indication of the receding Orionad to the surface of the clear, glassite sphere.
Maynard touched his hat in salute to the Orionad’s last glimmer and said: “Hi!”
IX.
The Asterite beat the Orionad to Terra by a few hours, and in sufficient time for the report of Maynard’s trip to be reviewed by the Bureau of Ordnance. When they came to the incident of the painting, they laughed first, and then called Malcolm Greggor to ascertain the moment of the Orionad’s landing. Armed with the information they went to the big landing area at Sahara Base, and waited for the big ship to touch.
Greggor was there; he arrived almost as they did.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he stormed.
Patrol Marshal Mantley grinned at the irate man and answered: “Your erstwhile employee has demonstrated his sub-screen to excellent effect, Greggor. He hung a gallon of red paint on the Orionad without their notice.”
“This is preposterous!” exploded Greggor.
“Not at all,” said Mantley. “Sector Commander Maynard was merely bringing home the effectiveness of his own invention. It he can do that to the Orionad, no Mar-tie can hope to best us. You must admit that he has something good.”
“That I admit. But to play such a prank—”
“No prank, Greggor, This was a very convincing demonstration. How can you possibly classify such an epoch-making act as a prank? It is deplorable that your pride and joy should be thus decorated by a mere … he was but Senior Executive Maynard at the time . . . destroyer, a spacecraft one tenth the tonnage of the Orionad. But I insist that it does not detract from the pride of the Orionad to have been bested by such a weapon.”
“I feel as though I’ve been made a fool of.”
“Ridiculous! It is not an admission a£ defeat to acknowledge a minor defeat at the hands of a man who is responsible for making Pluto inhabitable. After all, Greggor, Maynard is one m fifty billion.”
Greggor smiled wryly. “When you put it that way, I must admit,” he said. “Any man who can bring the means of warming a planet to human climates certainly must be capable of decorating the Orionad. Maybe I should grow angry again; why should such a genius stoop to tamper with my ship?”
“It was available and the best thing we have to boot.”
Maynard interrupted. “Surely you would not believe me capable of bringing ridicule upon you, Marshal Greggor. It was but a splendid opportunity to demonstrate what could have been done to an enemy with a torpedo. What if I had been a Martian?”
“I agree,” said Greggor. Then he laughed uproariously. “We’ll pink Patrol Marshal Inkland with the idea,” he said. “Tell him that his ship was destroyed in space by a real destroyer; that he must have been asleep. Roast him good, and see what happens. Here she comes —and Maynard, that splotch of red paint sticks out like a miniature sun. What a mal-beautiful job of decoration.”
The Orionad landed, and Inkland came across the sand toward the little group as soon as he saw who it was. He shook hands all around and smiled until Greggor told him of the decoration.
Inkland turned red and blustered. “Nothing was within detector range of me!” he insisted.
“That slab of red paint says you’re wrong,” said Greggor sternly.
Inkland inspected the red paint from where they stood and was forced to admit that something had been close enough to do it while in space. “Who did that?” he stormed.
Mantley indicated Maynard, and Inkland strode over to Guy with murder in his eye. “You insolent young puppy—I’ll see that you lose your rank, senior executive.” He whirled to the assembly and said: “No matter what was done, the fact that a mere senior executive did it is good enough to prove that it was a prank—”
“Just a moment,” snapped Maynard. “First, I resent being called a puppy. I dislike being called insolent. And third, I defy your intent to deprive me of my rank!”
“Why you—”
‘‘For your troubles, Patrol Marshal Inkland, I shall consider my success complete upon the day that I command the Orionad myself!”
“Ridiculous.”
“Inkland,” said Mantley softly, “I would speak more even. You are at fault, and the fact that Sector Commander Maynard has decorated your ship in a complex space maneuver of his own device should brine; praise from you instead of hatred.”
“Sector Commander;” asked Inkland.
‘‘His insignia has not been properly installed,” said Space Marshal Greggor with” a fatherly smile. “Rut his rank has. And if young Guy Maynard puts his aim at commanding the Orionad, I’m beginning to believe, that I would start looking for another job. if I were you.”
Inkland turned upon his heel and left, with no further word.
The group of high-ranking officers followed him at length, leaving Maynard to watch the mighty Orionad being serviced and unloaded, He stood there for some time, relaxing and enjoying the fresh air and watching the operations, He found a comfortable spot, and seated himself lazily.
He did not sleep, though he did drowse a bit. and a sparse circle of cigarette butts began to surround him. He did not care; his last sojourn into space had made him appreciative of the comforts of just being on Earth where he could watch the sky and the ground meeting at the horizon.
He was not molested; though many people came to see the monster Orionad, none bothered him until the day wore into late afternoon. His first visitor was Laura Greggor.
‘Guy,” she said. Her voice was neither sharp nor inviting, but rather a flat tone of greeting.
Guy leaped to his feet and reached for her hands. “Laura!” he breathed. “It’s good to see you!”
“I thank you for that,” she said coldly.
“Why,” he asked her, “what’s the matter?”
“Guy. before I go any further, I want to know something. Did you, or did you not decorate father’s ship?”
“Why,” he answered proudly, “I most certainly did.”
‘I didn’t believe it of you,” she said sharply.
“There was nothing wrong with it,” he said. ‘‘It was the best thing that happened to me.”
“You believe that?” asked Laura.
“I certainly do. After all, it proved the worth of my invention. And,” he added eagerly, “it gave me another set of insignia to have installed.”
“If the worth of your invention is more interesting to you than the interest of my father’s office,” said Laura sharply, “your latest rise in power—made by using father’s finest ship as a stepping stone—is of , little interest to me.”
“But Laura. I’m a sector commander now. And you may have my senior executive’s stars.”
“I have a fair collection,” said
Laura coldly. “You may bring me your patrol marshal’s nebula when you’re raised to sector marshal. Good day!”
She stamped off angrily, and Maynard searched his mind for the answer to the question, and gave it up as one of the unanswerable mysteries of life. If Malcolm Greggor could look upon the incident without rancor, why should she turn upon him? Any reasoning he did made no sense.
And as he stood there, footsteps made him aware of another visitor. He turned to see Joan Forbes.
“Hello,” she said brightly. “I was on my way to the lunchroom and passed by to see the Big Fellow.” She indicated the Orionad now being illuminated by mighty floodlights in the dusk. “I found you instead.”
“Hi,” he said to her. “What’s new?”
“Nothing in my life,” she said with a broad smile. Her eye caught the boxed
insignia in Guy’s clenched hand. “I see that something is new in yours. May I salute you, Sector Commander?”
Guy looked at her with a half-smile as she stepped back and cast him a womanly salute. “Congratulations,” she said, offering her hand.
Guy looked first at her face, and then at her outstretched hand. Instead of taking it in his for a handshake in friendship, which was the manner of its offering, Guy placed the opened box in the outstretched fingers.
Joan blinked, and looked down at the box in surprise for a moment. Then she brightened.
She stepped forward and removed the rayed stars from Guy’s lapel and replaced them with the circularly tailed comets. She stepped back, saluted him silently, and then came forward and kissed him on the lips. Her caress was affectionate, but brief.
“You’re properly installed, commander,” she told him. “But if I don’t hurry, I’ll be un-installed by my boss. I’ve got to run along. Keep rising, Guy!”
And with that she was gone.
Guy looked at the empty box, and then at the comets on his lapels.
And from them, across to the Orionad.
And a challenge arose to confront him. He would be sector marshal one day, and whether he took his patrol marshal’s insignia to Laura Greggor depended only upon her. And he would also command the Orionad.
He clenched his fist upon the empty box, crushing it. His question was not: Would he command the Orionad? It was: How long would it take?
It took five years. Five long, toilsome years.
But five years of constantly increasing, constantly expanding, constantly improving. He never forgot the day of the Orionad's landing in all that five years, though there was evidence that Laura Greggor had been reprimanded by Malcolm Greggor for her actions. But Maynard remembered, and it was Joan Forbes that pinned the silver nebula on his lapels—in public as befitted a Patrol Marshal—just before he stepped aboard the Orionad to take his first major command.
He hoped that Laura Greggor remembered.
Then the Orionad sped into the sky above Sahara Base on the way to Pluto.
Nomad (1944) Page 10