_They knew the Mars-shot might fail, as
the previous ones had. All the more
reason, then, for having one good meal!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity April 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Without his hat General Carnhouser was just a tired old man. Three men
sat at the other side of the table. "No use trying to gloss it over,"
he said.
The young men nodded. If this shot failed it might be a hundred years
before Congress could be conned into another appropriation. The three
young men had an even better reason not to fail. They were going to be
in the rocket.
Hagstrom spoke. "There were no technical difficulties in the previous
shots."
"Right," the general said. "Take-offs proceeded according to schedule.
Orbital corrections were made; then everybody settled down for a
four-month wait. When deceleration time came the shot was still in the
groove."
"We know," van den Burg said tiredly. He worked a microscopic speck of
dirt from under a fingernail. There was a loud snap as he snipped the
nail off. He stared at the general, a lean forefinger to one side of
his ascetic nose.
"I'm no expert," the general said wearily. "When you reach my age they
turn you into an office boy."