The ferry was a sausage-shaped structure of thin metal and plastic with
an airlock at the front and a small reaction motor at the rear. It had
been modified to hold either solid or liquid cargo and to operate off
the monopropellant fuel instead of the lox and kerosene used when the
station was built. There was even a plastic pipe between the cargo tank
and its fuel tank to save separate filling, and no further modification
was needed.
Blane took it out after checking the stowage of the mercury cans. He
was slightly rusty, but he steadied down as he jockeyed into position
beside one of the three lunar ships. He'd picked a balloon on the
sunward side, and the warm fuel was soon flowing into his tank, forced
through a long tube by a tiny, built-in pump. When he took off again,
the ferry was overloaded and sluggish, but it showed no evidence of
weakness. Of course, if they ran into a meteoroid of any size, they'd
be ruined--but the chances of that were very slight.
Peal was already outside the hub, dressed in space suit and clinging
to a convenient handhold. He came through the lock, carrying his
computations, a small telescope, and an extra spacesuit for Blane. "May
need this," he suggested. "Our front end probably won't fit the seal on
their hub."
Blane nodded. He should have thought of it. But his chief interest
was in the orbit. It had been figured so that they would accelerate
away from the station and up from Earth at low thrust, well within the
limits of his power. There was a table of times and star angles to
locate his correct course. Peal had done an excellent job, far better
than Blane had expected.
"I spent two years on the Island," the scientist explained. "I learned
a little about astrogation, though I'm no navigator. But this is a
simple problem."
Essentially, it was; to make it simpler, it was always possible to make
minor corrections, since they had more than enough fuel.
"If the stations were run properly, there'd be a regular service
between them," Peal suggested when they were coasting along in their
orbit. "It would be cheaper to exchange supplies than to rush up a
sudden emergency shipment from Earth. In fact, if a private company had
built the first one, there would probably be a dozen stations by now,
all connected. And we'd take over the television relay business, too."
At times, Peal sounded like the editorials from a business magazine,
but Blane could find no fault with his logic. The fact was that the
stations _were_ basically service companies, delivering useful services
for which they could collect enormous fees without complaints. But they
were forced to render most of their service to a military struggle no
one wanted and for which no one wanted to be forced to pay.
* * * * *
Peal went on, warming to his theme. "History proves my point, Jerry.
The stations have to be too complicated in function and too flexible in
purpose to be run properly by men who have to think in terms of Earth
politics. Every nation that ever tried controlling a major industrial
set-up has found it won't work. They tried socializing railroads,
airlines and factories--not to mention farming--and the experiment
failed. Every Russian industry today is run independently by its
own board who share in the profits, no matter how much theoretical
ownership rests with the government. And China is now nothing but a
system of state capitalism, whatever they call it there."
"Fine," Blane admitted. "Why didn't private industry build the
stations, then?"
Peal grimaced, then grinned. "That's the weak point, of course. You
can't sell shares to fund a venture until the public sees the need--and
they couldn't see the need of space until military pressure put the
stations up and proved they had other values. But now the stations have
proved themselves. The government should turn them back to private
hands under long-term loans, the same as they turned back factories
after the war."
"They won't, though. And it's not just that no power is ever
voluntarily given up," Blane pointed out. "They won't sell the stations
because they're up here where no government on Earth could tax them.
They might eventually, otherwise, but no government is going to lose
its profit without getting taxes in return."
For a second, Peal started to argue. Then an expression of surprise
crept onto his face. He sat silently through most of the trip. Like
most scientists, he'd probably considered himself a fair amateur
economist, but he'd overlooked one of the most basic aspects of
economy--the fact that governments also had to operate on enough of a
profit to pay their executives and bond-holders.
At the end of the wide-looping three hour orbit, Blane was surprised
and pleased to see that he could locate the Russian station through the
telescope. They had made corrections according to Peal's figures, and
the scientist had proved to be a better astrogator than could have been
expected. Only a tiny corrective blast was needed to bring them into
line with the _Sulky_.
* * * * *
As they drew near, Blane stared in amazement. He'd seen pictures, but
they had never conveyed the true feeling of the station. Russia had a
tradition of building massively for space. Her early ships had been
heavy and unsophisticated, relying on strength, size and power. The
station was the same. It resembled the _Goddard_ superficially, but it
was three times as large, and must contain more than twenty times the
total volume. It had a solid, substantial look that was indefinable.
The ferry contained a tiny radio, but Blane had not expected it to be
useful, since it was adjusted for the frequencies that had been used by
the work forces who built the _Goddard_. He reached out and turned it
on, expecting nothing. Yet there was a voice coming from it, speaking
excellent English. It was a female voice, and a pleasant one.
"Ahoy, space taxi! _Tsiolkovsky_ calling taxi. Oh, for Pete's sake,
don't you Americans have two-way radio? Wiggle your tail or something
so I'll know you're receiving, and I'll give you landing instructions!"