Chapter 21
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE GLa.s.sES AND ASHES and litter and spilled drinks had all been cleared away. The table top gleamed in polished stripes of light and dark, where the light came through the louvered plastic of the wall. The big chairs were empty, waiting, and at each place, arranged with the precision of a formal dinner-setting, was the inevitable pad of yellow paper, two freshly-sharpened pencils, a small neat pile of typed white sheets of paper, a small gla.s.s ashtray and a s.h.i.+ning empty water gla.s.s. Down the center of the table, s.p.a.ced for comfort, three crystal pitchers of ice and water stood in perfect alignment.
Ruth was the first one there. She stood in front of a chair, fingering the little stack of paper on whichsomeone (Allie? She'd have had to be up early to get it done so quickly) had tabulated the details of yesterday's events. "To refresh your memory," was how they always put it.
She poured a gla.s.s of water, and guiltily replaced the pitcher on the exact spot where it had been; lit a cigarette, and stared with dismay at the burnt match marring the cleanliness of the little ashtray; pulled her chair in beneath her and winced at the screech of the wooden leg across the floor.
Get it over withl She picked up the typed pages, and glanced at them. Two at the bottom were headed "Recommendations of U. S. Rocket Corps to Facilitate Construction of KIM-VIII." That could wait.
The three top sheets she'd better get through while she was still alone.
She read slowly and carefully, trying to memorize each sentence, so that when the time came to talk, she could think of what had happened this way, from outside, instead of remembering how it had been for her.
There was nothing in the report that she didn't already know.
Jock Kruger had set out in the KIM-5 at 5:39 P.M., C.S.T., just at sunset. First report after recovery from blackout came at 6:o2-plus. First log readings gave no reason to antic.i.p.ate any difficulty.
Subsequent reports and radioed log readings were, for Kruger, unusually terse and formal, and surprisingly infrequent; but earth-to-s.h.i.+p contact at twenty-minute intervals had been acknowledged. No reason to believe Kruger was having trouble at any time during the trip.
At 11:54, an attempt to call the s.h.i.+p went unanswered for 56 seconds. The radioman here described Kruger's voice as "irritable" when the reply finally came, but all he said was, "Sorry. I was firing the first brake." Then a string of figures, and a quick log reading-everything just what you'd expect.
Earth acknowledged, and waited.
Eighteen seconds later: "Second brake." More figures. Again, everything as it should be. But twenty seconds after that call was completed: "This is Kruger. Anything wrong with the dope I gave you?"
"Earth to Kruger. Everything okay in our book. Trouble?"
"Track me, boy. I'm off."
"You want a course correction?"
"I can figure it quicker here. I'll keep talking as I go. Stop me if I'm wrong by your book." More figures, and Kruger's calculations coincided perfectly with the swift work done at the base. Both sides came to the same conclusion, and both sides knew what it meant. The man in the beast fired once more, and once again, and made a landing.
There was no reason to believe that either s.h.i.+p or pilot had been hurt. There was no way of finding out.
By the best calculations, they were five degrees of arc around onto the dark side. And there was no possibility at all, after that second corrective firing that Kruger had enough fuel left to take off again. The last thing Earth had heard, before the edge of the moon cut off Kruger's radio, was: "Sorry, boys. I guess I fouled up this time. Looks like you'll have to come and..."One by one, they filled the seats: Gordon Kimberly at one end, and the Colonel at the other; Tim O'Heyer to one side of Kimberly, and Ruth at the other; Allie, with her pad and pencil poised, alongside Tim; the Colonel's aide next down the line, with his little silent stenotype in front of him; the Steins across from him, next to Ruth. With a minimum of formality, Kimberly opened the meeting and introduced Col.
Swenson.
The Colonel cleared his throat. "I'd like to make something clear," he said. "Right from the start, I want to make this clear. I'm here to help. Not to get in the way. My presence does not indicate any- criticism on the part of the Armed Services. We are entirely satisfied with the work you people have been doing." He cleared his throat again, and Kimberly put in: "You saw our plans, I believe, Colonel. Everything was checked and approved by your outfit ahead of time."
"Exactly. We had no criticism then, and we have none now. The rocket program is what's important.
Getting Kruger back is important, not just for ordinary humanitarian reasons-pardon me, Mrs. Kruger, if I'm too blunt -but for the sake of the whole program. Public opinion, for one thing. That's your line, isn't it, Mr. O'Heyer? And then, we have to find out what happened!
"I came down here today to offer any help we can give you on the relief s.h.i.+p, and to make a suggestion to facilitate matters."
He paused deliberately this time.
"Go ahead, Colonel," Tim said. "We're listening."
"Briefly, the proposal is that you all accept temporary commissions while the project is going on. Part of that report in front of you embodies the details of the plan. I hope you'll find it acceptable. You all know there is a great deal of-necessary, I'm afraid-red tape, you'd call it, and 'going through channels/ and such in the Services. It makes cooperation between civilian and military groups difficult. If we can all get together as one outfit 'for the duration,' so to speak..."
This time n.o.body jumped into the silence. The Colonel cleared his throat once more.
"Perhaps you'd best read the full report before we discuss it any further. I brought the matter up now just to-to let you know the att.i.tude with which we are submitting the proposal to you..."
"Thank you, Colonel." O'Heyer saved him. "I've already had a chance to look at the report. Don't know that anyone else has, except of course Miss Madero. But I personally, at least, appreciate your att.i.tude. And I think I can speak for Mr. Kimberly too..."
He looked sideways at his boss; Gordon nodded.
"What I'd like to suggest now," O'Heyer went on, "since
"Thank you. I would like to." The officer stood up, his gold Rocket Corps uniform blazing in the louvered light. "If I may so so, Mr. O'Heyer, you seem remarkably sensible, for a-well, a publicity man."
"That's all right, Colonel." Tim laughed easily. "I don't even think it's a dirty word. You seem like an all-right guy yourself-for an officer, that is."
They all laughed then, and Tim led the blaze of glory out of the room while the rest of them settled downto studying the R.C. proposals. When they had all finished, Kimberly spoke slowly, voicing the general reaction: "I hate to admit it, but it makes sense."
"They're being pretty decent about it, aren't they?" Ben said. "Putting it to us as a proposal instead of pulling a lot of weight."
He nodded. "I've had a little contact with this man Swenson before. He's a good man to work with. It...
makes sense, that's all."
"On paper, anyhow," Sue put in.
"Well, Ruth..." the big man turned to her, waiting. "You haven't said anything."
"I... it seems all right to me," she said, and added: "Frankly, Gordon, I don't know that I ought to speak at all. I'm not quite sure why I'm here."
Allie looked up sharply, questioning, from her notes; Sue pushed back her chair and half-stood. "My G.o.d, you're not going to back out on us now?"
"I... look, you all know I didn't do any of the real work on the last one. It was Andy Argent's job, and a good one. I've got Toby to think about, and..."
"Kid, we need you," Sue protested. "Argent can't do this one; this is going to be another Three, only more so. Unmanned, remote-control stuff, and no returning atmosphere-landing problems. This is up your alley. It's..." She sank back; there was nothing else to say.
"That's true, Ruth." Tim had come back in during the last outburst. Now he sat down. "Speed is what counts, gal. That's why we're letting the gold braid in on the job-we are, aren't we?" Kimberly nodded; Tim went on: "With you on the job, we've got a working team. With somebody new -well, you know what a ruckus we had until Sue got used to Argent's blueprints, and how Ben's pencil notes used to drive Andy wild. And we can't even use him this time. It's not his field. He did do a good job, but we'd have to start in with somebody new all over again..." He broke off, and looked at Kimberly.
"I hope you'll decide to work with us, Ruth," he said simply.
"If... obviously, if it's the best way to get it done quick, I will," she said. "Twenty-eight hours a day if you like."
Tim grinned. "I guess we can let the braid back in now...?" He got up and went to the door.
Another Three, only more so... Sue's words danced in her mind while the Colonel and the Colonel's aide marched in, and took their places, while voices murmured politely, exchanging good will.
Another Three-the first s.h.i.+p she had designed for Kimberly. The s.h.i.+p that made her rich and famous, but that was nothing, because it was the s.h.i.+p that brought Jock to her, that made him write the letter, that made her meet him, that led to the Five and Six and now...
"I've got some ideas for a manned s.h.i.+p," he'd written. "If we could get together to discuss it some time..."
"... pleasure to know you'll be working with us, Mrs. Kruger." She shook her head sharply, and located in time and place."Thank you, Colonel. I want to do what I can, of course..."
CHAPTER FIVE.
James James Morrison's mother put on a golden gown...
Toby knew the whole thing, almost, by heart. The little boy in the poem told his mother not to go down to the end of the town, wherever that was, unless she took him along. And she said she wouldn't, but she put on that golden gown and went, and thought she'd be back in time for tea. Only she wasn't. She never came back at all. Last seen wandering vaguely... King John said he was sorry...
Who's King John? And what time is tea?
Toby sat quietly beside his mother on the front seat of the car, and looked obliquely at the golden uniform she wore, and could not find a way to ask the questions in his mind.
Where was James James's father? Why did James James have to be the one to keep his mother from going down to the end of the town?
"Are you in the Army now, Mommy?" he asked.
"Well... sort of. But not for long, darling. Just till Daddy comes home."
"When is Daddy coming home?"
"Soon. Soon, I hope. Not too long."
She didn't sound right. Her voice had a cracking sound like Grandma's, and other old ladies. She didn't look right, either, in that golden-gown uniform. When she kissed him goodbye in front of the school, she didn't feel right. She didn't even smell the same as she used to.
" 'Bye, boy. See you tonight," she said-the same words she always said, but they sounded different.
"Bye." He walked up the driveway and up the front steps and down the corridor and into the pretty-painted room where his teacher was waiting. Miss Callahan was nice. Today she was too nice.
The other kids teased him, and called him teacher's pet. At lunch time he went back in the room before anybody else did, and made pictures all over the floor with the colored chalk. It was the worst thing he could think of to do. Miss Callahan made him wash it all up, and she wasn't nice any more for the rest of the afternoon.
When he went out front after school, he couldn't see the car anywhere. It was true then. His mother had put on that golden gown, and now she was gone. Then he saw Grandma waving to him out of her car, and he remembered Mommy had said Grandma would come and get him. He got in the car, and she grabbed at him like she always did. He pulled away.
"Is Daddy home yet?" he asked.
Grandma started the car. "Not yet," she said, and she was crying. He didn't dare ask about Mommy after that, but she wasn't home when they got there. It was a long time after that till dinner was ready.
She came home for dinner, though.
"You have to allow for the human factor..."n.o.body had said it to her, of course. n.o.body would. She wondered how much tougher it made the job for everybody, having her around. She wondered how she'd stay sane, if she didn't have the job to do.
Thank G.o.d Toby was in school nowl She couldn't do it, if it meant leaving him with someone else all day-even his grandmother. As it was, having the old lady in the house so much was nerve-racking.
I ought to ask her if she'd like to sleep here for a while, Ruth thought, and s.h.i.+vered. Dinner time was enough.
Anyway, Toby liked having her there, and that's what counted.
I'll have to go in and see his teacher. Tomorrow, she thought. I've got to make time for it tomorrow. Let her know... but of course she knew. Jock Kruger's family's affairs were hardly private. Just the same, I better talk to her...
Ruth got out of bed and stood at the window, waiting for the moon. Another ten minutes, fifteen, twenty maybe, and it would edge over the hills on the other side of town. The white hands on the clock said 2:40. She had to get some sleep. She couldn't stand here waiting for the moon. Get to sleep now, before it comes up. That's better...
Oh, Jockl "... the human factor..." They didn't know. She wanted to go tell them all, find somebody right away, and shout it. "It's not his fault. I did itl"
"You're not scared, are you, baby?"
Oh, no! No, no! Don't be silly. Who, me? Just stiff and trembling. The cold, you know...?
Stop that!
She stood at the window, waiting for the moon, the man, the man in the noon.
Human factor... well, there wouldn't be a human factor in this one. If she went out to the field on takeoff day and told KIM-VIII she was scared, it wouldn't matter at all.
Thank G.o.d I can do something, at least!
Abruptly, she closed the blind, so she wouldn't know when it came, and pulled out the envelope she'd brought home; switched on the bed light, and unfolded the first blueprints.
It was all familiar. Just small changes here and there. Otherwise, it was the Three all over again-the first unmanned s.h.i.+p to be landed successfully on the moon surface. The only important difference was that this one had to have some fancy gadgetry on the landing mech. Stein had given her the orbit calcs today. The rest of the job was hers and Sue's: design and production. Between them, they could do it. What they needed was a goldberg that would take the thing once around low enough to contact Jock, if... to contact him, that's all. Then back again, prepared for him to take over the landing by remote, according to instructions, if he wanted to. If he could. If his radio was working. If...
Twice around, and then down where they figured he was, if he hadn't tried to bring it down himself.
It was complicated, but only quant.i.tatively. Nothing basically new, or untried. And no human factors to be allowed for, once it was off the ground.
She fell asleep, finally, with the light still on, and the blind drawn, and the blueprints spread out on thefloor next to the bed.
Every day, she drove him to school, dressed in her golden gown. And every afternoon, he waited, telling himself she was sure to come home. That was a very silly little poem, and he wasn't three, he was six now. But it was a long time since Daddy went away.
"I'd rather not," she said stiffly.
"I'm sorry, Ruth. I know-well, I don't know, but I can imagine how you feel. I hate to ask it, but if you can do it at all... just be there and look confident, and... you know."
Look confident] I couldn't do it for Jock, she thought; why should I do it for them? But of course that was silly. They didn't know her the way Jock did. They couldn't read her smiles, or sense a barely present stiffness, or know anything except what she chose to show on the front of her face.
"Look confident? What difference does it make, Tim? If the thing works, they'll all know soon enough.
If..."