By the time the _Goddard_ was over the North Pole where she could make
radio contact with Alaska, the news was already out. For once, Tass
had released the news of a catastrophe without delay. The ground radio
confirmed the fact that every supply ship for the _Sulky_ had been
wiped out, and that the detonation had been so great that even ships
being assembled nearby had been wrecked hopelessly. It would be three
months before Russia could again reach her station.
Later news filtered in slowly. Most of it had to be picked up from the
regular FM news broadcasts that filtered through the ionosphere. A
couple of the scientists who had learned Russian interpreted the news
from Radio Moscow on their next trip over.
Surprisingly, there were no claims of American sabotage. Then Blane
wondered whether it was so surprising. With the level of fear in Russia
as high as elsewhere, it would probably have been a grave mistake
for the leaders to suggest that any American sabotage of territory
so far inside Russia was possible. The people had to count on the
invulnerability of their station for what little hope they had; how
that worked when the supply ships were already ruined was more than he
could guess, but he had long since given up trying to understand the
devious game of propaganda being played on Earth.
At least for the moment, the disaster was not being turned into another
excuse to push the seemingly inevitable war another millimeter closer
to the brink. Maybe the whole affair might result in some decline of
tension. Once the American ships were sent up to supply the _Sulky_
on an emergency basis, there might be a little good will from Russia
and self-satisfaction at a good deed in America. That could give a
breathing spell.
Blane had almost forgotten Manners and the worry over the strange
increase in radioactivity. He had sent Manners' latest figures
down with a query for instructions at the first chance to do so
by tight-beam radio that would not leak security, and then had let
the matter drop from his mind. It was several hours later when his
secretary announced that Peal and Manners were in the outer office.
Manners looked both more worried and strangely satisfied, as if he were
bursting to cry his I-told-you-so. But Peal's face was drained of any
emotion except surprise.
The scientist nodded. "Captain Manners' figures were quite accurate.
We've got to evacuate nearby sections of the station. In a way, we're
lucky--radiation travels in straight lines, and the hull curves away
from it here. There is about three hundred times normal radiation
in there, and it's coming from inside the warheads. It isn't lethal
yet--men can work there for a few hours at a time; but at the rate it's
increasing, it soon will be. Any word from Earth?"
Blane dug through his in basket, and finally located a blue slip.
It was in code, but Devlin's instructions included the location of
the code book. He riffled through it for phrases each decagraph
covered. _Situation within normal expectations--results being
studied here--continue as at present--will apprise if new procedure
advisable--regard as utmost top secret--invoke maximum security
measures over affected personnel._
* * * * *
"No word," he said bitterly. Probably he wasn't even supposed to
say that much, or to discuss it with the other two. But he chose
to interpret the part about continuing as at present to permit the
discussion to continue. He tried to focus his mind on what facts he
knew. "I thought the radiation rate of the stuff in the warheads was
constant, and that the casings were adequate shielding."
Peal nodded. "That's what's driving me out of my mind at the moment,
Jerry. Except when it reaches critical mass, uranium-235 is supposed
to have an absolutely fixed half-life; it shouldn't increase under
any circumstances, and the mass of each section in those bombs can't
increase to become nearer critical, either. It simply can't happen,
according to any physics I ever learned. But it's doing so."
"What about the effects of cosmic rays?" Blane asked. Devlin might have
learned more from Earth, and even if his story to Manners had been
patently untrue, it might still offer some clue.
Peal shook his head, but somewhat doubtfully. "On Earth, they're mostly
only mesons from strikes by cosmic radiation. Out here, we get only
the extremely hard radiation--the shielding of the ship is too thin
to affect them. Maybe they might speed up the half-life a little--but
they shouldn't make it increase. I've been thinking about them, too.
Meteorites show a much greater decay of uranium to lead than the ores
on Earth, which might indicate some effect from cosmic radiation. But
unless they somehow produce another isotope from uranium that's raising
the activity, I can't figure it out. We need a top level nuclear
physicist for this, and we don't have one here."
They discussed it at greater length, but without adding anything to
their speculations. Blane felt the hairs on the back of his neck
prickling, and was conscious of a vague picture in his mind of the
warheads ticking away and getting set to blast spontaneously. But he
put the idea aside. Earth might be a little careless of their welfare
under the pressure of emergency, but right now Earth would never risk
losing the station. It was only his overactive imagination.
He finally assigned Peal and Manners back to the task of studying the
matter as best they could, and tried to dismiss it from his mind. There
were more than enough other worries about the station. The cryogenics
lab was in trouble--the group from Earth who had used the labs had
badly depleted supplies and been careless about equipment that was
common enough below but difficult to obtain here. The evacuation of
the laboratories near the bomb bay threw severe strains on research,
and Earth was demanding that some of it be speeded up. And the weather
study was being crippled by the need to waste too much attention on
detailed studies of every section of Russia. The whole station was on
emergency orders to do twice as much as could possibly be done.
* * * * *
He waited for news that supplies were being sent from Johnston Island
to the _Sulky_, but no such news appeared. Instead, the news carried
details that were only rumors of some effort of the United States to
force Russia to disarm the _Sulky_ unilaterally in return for the loan
of eight rocket ships and launching facilities. If such an offer had
been made, it must have been turned down flatly. The next day there was
not even a mention of it.
When Edwards came up again, Blane sent for him at once. The pilot had
made a superb landing of his ship at Canaveral, and had then been
jetted back to the Island. Normally he would have taken a long layover
there before making another trip up, though he had senior pilot's right
to select or refuse any flight he chose. Blane was curious about his
reasons for choosing the first trip he could make.
Edwards lost no time in reporting. He hadn't stopped to remove his
emergency space suit, though he'd left the helmet and the oxygen tank
somewhere. He clumped in, accepted coffee, and began talking even as he
shucked off the suit.
"It's a wonder they even let me fly up supplies to you," he grumbled.
"Jerry, it's rough down there. They've got everything sewed up under
controls. I'm surprised they didn't suspect me of plotting an orbit for
the _Sulky_ instead of here. Damn all governments that have to mess
into space affairs!"
Some of the details came out slowly, with more color than clarity.
But Blane gathered that they had reacted violently to the news that
the government was trying to use the emergency as a means of forcing
disarmament on the Russian station.
"You mean they actually did refuse help without such an agreement?"
Blane asked. He hadn't wanted to believe the rumors.
Edwards nodded angrily. "They issued a ban against any efforts to help
without such agreement. They most certainly did! And you can guess how
that sat with us. Maybe the _Sulky's_ full of Russians, but they're
Russian _spacemen_! Hell, when we were building this wheel here and
one worker got thrown out into space, three of their pilots came up in
ships to help find him--and one did find him. Remember? Sure you do.
They hated our building here, but they wouldn't let a man die in space
if they could help. So we owe them a few trips."
* * * * *
Two of the pilots had tried to steal one of the ships fueled and
supplied for the _Goddard_, but had been caught before they could
take off. Now they were under guard, and the ships were being watched
carefully. Edwards had been permitted to make the run only after a
session in which it was pointed out that landing rights would be denied
any ship contacting the _Sulky_. And the other pilots were almost
in a state of revolt, with nearly all of the old-time ground force
supporting them.
"The government can't stick to such a policy," Blane said doubtfully.
"They can't gain anything. The _Sulky_ must have enough supplies for
existence until at least one ship can be assembled and sent up. All
we'll do by holding them up is to increase the danger. They must be
bluffing for a while, hoping Russia will crack, but ready to send
supplies in a few days."
Edwards stared at him in surprise. "You mean you don't know?" Then
he slapped his thigh in disgust. "No, of course you don't. I keep
forgetting you couldn't. The _Sulky_ couldn't reach you by radio with
the Earth in between. Jerry, we got a beamed message on the Island from
her when she went over one time. SOS. She's in trouble right now. Can't
get help from her base, and can't wait for negotiations, so she tried
calling us direct. Security clamped down on the message at once, but
the radio operator's as much space as we are, so he made a dupe copy
for the pilots. The day after the blowup at the base, the _Sulky_ ran
into a meteoroid big enough to rip out part of her solar boiler. She
lost most of the mercury into space, and the rest isn't enough, even
when she's patched. She has to operate on batteries right now, and that
won't last more than another day or so."
Blane winced at the picture. A station was dependent on power for its
existence. Lights, air circulation, water for balance, heat regulation,
and even the growing of plants to keep the air breathable depended upon
a steady supply of power. Like the _Goddard_, the _Tsiolkovsky_ used
a reflecting trough on top that directed the intense solar radiation
onto a pipe filled with mercury which was heated to gaseous form and
operated the boiler and generator. It was far cheaper and safer than
atomic power.
"The government knew of that when it refused help?" he asked
incredulously.
Edwards grunted. "Didn't start their extortion plans until they knew!"
Then he grinned slowly. "Funny thing, Jerry, when I checked over the
supplies I brought up for you, I found some of the boxes of equipment
got mixed up in shipment. They're full of cans of mercury! I left them
aboard the ship, figuring you wouldn't need them here."
* * * * *
Blane found his face muscles were trying to frown and smile at the same
time, and he caught himself before he could laugh. He went to the door
to make sure it was locked, and came back to his desk slowly.
In theory, it was entirely possible to reach the _Sulky_ from the
_Goddard_, and every pilot knew the general orbit. The _Sulky_ and the
_Goddard_ each took two hours to circle Earth, with one an hour behind
the other. If a ship took off outward with a reasonable use of power it
could get into an ellipse around Earth that would take three hours to
bring it back to its starting point--and by then, the opposite station
would be at that point. The maneuver could be made both ways with the
fuel a final stage could carry easily enough.
"You don't have fuel enough," he decided.
"Nope. But you do--out in the blasted lunar ships that are still
waiting appropriations."
Blane hadn't had time to think of the lunar ships during the hectic
days of commanding the station. But Edwards' statement was true enough.
The ships had been nearing completion for the long-desired American
exploration of the Moon a year ago when Congress had eliminated
appropriations for everything not connected with the current emergency.
They still trailed the station a few miles in space. The workers had
all returned to Earth, but the fuel still lay in the plastic balloons.
The little ferry ship used between the ships and the station was still
here, too. It could be used to bring the fuel back easily, since it had
been equipped with tanks for moving fuel between supply rockets and the
balloons.
"It wouldn't work," he said at last. "They'd spot your ship from Earth
if you took off for the _Sulky_. They'd even guess where you'd gone
when you didn't return on schedule. They might even refuse to let you
land, and they'd probably make things impossible up here, too."
"I'll take my chances--and so will you," Edwards protested.
"Not unless it's necessary. Sure, somebody's got to make the trip. But
it doesn't have to be your ship. The ferry's a lot smaller, but it
can handle that much cargo and fuel on such an orbit." He grinned at
Edwards' stubborn expression. "Look, you know I ran it for a year while
we built the station. I can still pilot it, and Austin Peal can handle
the math in computing the orbit. I'll get it over to you and you can
transship the mercury, then take off on schedule. Then let Earth guess
what happens."
"And what will they do to you if they find out?"
"Nothing--officially. Nobody has told me officially that the policy is
against offering help, so I'll proceed in terms of the older tradition.
When you let slip the trouble on the _Sulky_ and I found cans of
mercury stored in the ferry, what could I do but assume the station
was expected to get them to the other station?" Blane grinned, feeling
sudden relief from his other worries. "Besides, I don't give a darn
what they do to me. I'm only temporary boss here."
Edwards nodded. "I'll take your last reason, Jerry. Only don't bother
moving the ferry. I can work it over beside my ship, and it'll make
your explanation sound better. Good luck. And if you do get in a
jam--all the guys will be on your side."
He went out while Blane started off to find Peal. He had doubts about
involving the scientist now. The man had never been part of a real
space team. Yet someone had to do the preliminary computing. He had
more doubts as he tried to explain things to Peal; the man listened
quietly, making no comment, and with no visible approval or disapproval.
When Blane finished, Peal stood up, nodding. "Thanks for letting me in
on it, Jerry. You get the fuel and I'll have the computations off the
calculator by the time you get back here."