Moe Arhelger nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing at the city man. Then he
looked up at Matt. "I know. That's why I want him to go down to the
Ship. With you along with him."
* * * * *
The trip down the mountainside was slow. It was almost a half an hour
before they reached the encampment at the bottom, on a gravel road
that led straight out to the Rocket site. The road was piled high with
rocks, and four men with old felt hats and plaid shirts sat in jeeps,
watching the road for a stir of life.
Matt and Loevy commandeered a jeep, bounced down a gulley to by-pass
the road block, and started along the road toward the fenced enclosure.
A spotlight picked them up almost immediately, and Loevy hoisted a
white shirt up on a pole, waving it to catch the light. Then slowly
they drove ahead, until two more spotlights flashed on from the ship,
scanning the sage on either side of them, flickering in their faces as
they made their way along. Loevy sat tight-lipped, peering ahead into
the darkness. Matthews drove silently. He had never been this close to
Rocket Number Five before, but rockets were an old story to him. He
had worked on Number Three and Number Four during his two years in the
Labor Force. He knew quite enough about rockets.
More lights went on as they approached the fence. Inside, off to
the left and right were buildings, the storerooms and offices of
the Project, and in the center, standing tall, with her lower third
enshrouded in scaffolding and canvas, stood the ship--
Rocket Number Five. The last attempt, the straw that broke the camel's
back. Four great ships before it, crashing into heaps of rubble,
dragging the Earth down with them. And here the fifth, as yet unborn,
never to be launched. Matthews made a bitter sound in his throat. When
he thought of the horrible fifty-four days just past, he knew that his
hate for this Rocket ship and everything it stood for was right. Moe
was right, in his fanatical burning hatred of the old world which had
struggled blindly to launch its ships, and starved itself to do so. But
Moe wanted everything--the ships, the men, the government, everything.
Matthews only wanted the ship.
He smiled grimly to himself. The garrison could not hold out much
longer. They had no food, and the ring of guerillas surrounding the
ship like a tight net would see that they got no food. It had been
a long wait--but soon they would struggle out, begging for food and
water, leaving the ship standing alone--