Project Orion
There was an air of anticipation everywhere at the Scarlet Lake rocket
base. Rick, who was sensitive to such things, felt it keenly. He also
recognized that under the anticipation, like thick, stagnant water under
the bright surface of a pond, there was fear.
The anticipation was spoken; the fear was not.
By mutual agreement, Rick and Scotty parted soon after their return to
the base. Each went back to his own unit, more on guard then ever before
for the slightest hint of irregularity in personnel or equipment.
The electronics group of Pegasus was just about at a standstill. Dick
Earle and Frank Miller had gone to the firing area, to lend the Orion
group a hand. Dr. Bond remained, along with Kassick and Sherman. The
three were amusing themselves with a game of three-handed bridge, while
the marmoset occasionally made things lively by stealing cards.
Rick watched for a few minutes, then wandered into the empty Orion shed,
abandoned now that its crew and rocket had moved to the firing pad and
blockhouse. As he stood looking at the complex test equipment a sedan
pulled up and Gee-Gee Gould got out. The electronics chief waved at him
and trotted by into the project office. He returned in a moment with a
portable tube and circuit tester under his arm and paused to ask,
"What's up, boy-oh?"
Rick answered briefly, "No transistors, no work."
"Bored?"
"Not exactly, sir. But I wish I could do something useful instead of
just hanging around."
Gee-Gee stroked his magnificent mustache. "I'm with you," he said
finally. "Jump in."
Rick needed no further invitation. He took the tester from the scientist
and climbed into the sedan, holding the gadget on his lap. "Where are we
going?" he asked.
"Pad. Work to do, and you can help. Do a good job with me and I'll give
you a special reward. Check?"
"Check," Rick agreed, grinning. "What's the reward?"
"Watch Orion from the blockhouse with me. Good?"
"Plenty good," Rick said, pleased. "What's the work?"
Gee-Gee drove the way he talked, at high speed and with a flourish. Rick
held his breath as the sedan skidded around a gasoline truck, then
leveled off. Gee-Gee gave him a long glance and almost went off the road
in consequence.
"You're fairly new, Rick. But you know about this Earthman?"
"I've heard plenty of rumors," Rick agreed, "but I can't say I know many
facts about him. He's a big, noctilucent mystery to me." He thought,
"Now he's got me doing it!"
"I like that," Gee-Gee said appreciatively. "High, rare, and mysterious.
Like noctilucent clouds high above the cirrus belt. I can use it."
Rick chuckled. "You were talking about the Earthman," he prompted.
"Yes. You weren't here for the first two shoots, so you are not this
Earthman. And I'm not. No one knows this but me, on account of everyone
suspects everyone. So far, only the Earthman knows who he is. But I'm
telling you, it's not me. You don't have to believe this, of course,
but, young Brant, I'm going to check every electronic circuit in Orion
myself. And you're not only going to help me, you're going to check what
I check. Roger?"
"Roger," Rick replied grimly. "How long will it take?"
"All night. We'll live on sandwiches and coffee and get no sleep. But
when we're through, we'll both be satisfied that all electronics in
Orion are correct and functioning."
"But hasn't the rocket been checked already?" Rick asked.
"Twice. Every circuit in it. The critical circuits have been checked a
dozen times. But is ole Gee-Gee satisfied? Negative, young Brant.
Gee-Gee is not going to be satisfied until he personally rechecks and
locks all access doors and ports himself."
Rick sat back in the seat, smiling to himself. He had no doubt that Dr.
Gerald Gould meant every word of it. If Orion failed tomorrow, it would
not be the fault of the electronics department.
The sedan pulled up at the pad and Rick got out, staring at the great
rocket. Myriad cables dripped from various parts of it, and he thought
of Gulliver tied down by the threads of the Lilliputians. There was
something magnificent about the clean, towering shape that stirred his
imagination. In the jargon of the rocketeer the great missiles were
called "beasts" or "birds." The former was because they sometimes acted
"beastly." The latter was a tribute to their beautiful flight when they
ran true.
Rick thought, "How could anyone sabotage a thing like that?"
Gee-Gee brought him back to earth. "Ever climb a gantry?"
"No, sir."
"Well, start flying, young Brant. We go to the top and work down."
Rick went. He was too excited to be afraid. The first stage was by
elevator. Then he and Gee-Gee climbed thin steel rungs to the very tip
of the great rocket. Not until he reached the shaky, wind-blown,
postage-stamp-size platform at the top did he take time to look down.
The thin steel web was no barrier to vision. He was on top of the world,
at the doorstep to space, looking down on fantastic activity below. The
rocket curved sweetly away below him, down to the sharp lines of the
great stabilizer fins. He noted the breakaway zone where the first stage
and second stage were joined. He could see, as one perched on a cloud,
the tiny, busy forms of men below.
For an instant, as the nose access port yawned before him, Rick had a
vision of himself in pressure suit and plastic helmet, mounting the
rocket as a pilot mans his plane, anticipating the signal for blast-off.
Gee-Gee brought him back to earth with a prosaic, "Let's get at it,
boy-oh."
It was the beginning. The picturesque but highly competent and efficient
electronics chief hadn't exaggerated. The fabulous world of rocketry
narrowed to a maze of wiring, circuit after circuit, checking, testing,
and calling for test signals from the blockhouse. Rick checked and
rechecked, following closely on Gee-Gee's heels. He missed nothing, took
nothing for granted. Once he snapped, "Wait a minute! You didn't check
that circuit properly. Check for polarization as well as contact."
Gee-Gee looked at him in astonishment, then slowly grinned. He thrust
out a grimy hand. "You're my boy, young Brant. Who taught you about
polarization?"
Rick was about to say, truthfully, "My father." But he caught himself in
time. "A boss I had at Spindrift."
"He taught you well, and you're right. I did goof on that one. I'll
check, and you recheck."
They went at it again, inch by inch through the incredible maze of
wiring in the rocket's innards. By very accurate analogy, they were
probing the rocket's brains. The circuits, like nerves, carried messages
to and from the central rocket control. One would signal "_Rocket
starting to yaw_," and another would reply to the servomotors that
activated the gimbal-mounted motor, "_Compensate! Two degrees correction
azimuth 350!_" and the great rocket would steady on course again. There
was a circuit to carry the heartbeats of the monkey caged in the nose
cone, and another to carry his skin temperature, and dozens more.
Rick didn't even notice when it grew dark. Sometime during the night
someone thrust ham sandwiches and a cup of steaming coffee into his
hands and he ate and drank without taking his eyes from Gee-Gee.
Then, what seemed only minutes later, someone yelled, "Zero minus three
hours!"
Gee-Gee looked up. He glared at Rick from red-rimmed eyes. "Quick!
What's left to check?"
Rick stared at smudged, much-handled circuit diagrams through eyes that
refused to focus sharply. "Only the control circuit for the pumps."
They were low on the crane now, working at the last access port. These
were the electronic nerves of the great pumps that would force fuel into
the rocket motor. Gee-Gee checked them, spoke into a walkie-talkie he
had carried through the night, and Dick Earle's voice came back from the
blockhouse. "The board is green."
Rick took over and checked again. And once more Earle's voice sounded,
harsh and definite. "The board is green."
Gee-Gee slammed the access port door and locked the patented fasteners
with a few turns of his screw driver. "We're done," he said flatly.
"Come on down."
Rick followed, jumping to the ground from the lowest platform. He looked
around, dazed. The sky was pink in the east. It was dawn. Where had the
night gone? He stared amazed at grotesque figures that waited, silent,
patient, like beings from another world. Then he realized it was the
fueling crew dressed in protective clothing, swathed like strange
cocoons in plastic that would keep their vulnerable human skins from the
harm of corrosive liquid and fumes.
Gee-Gee led him to the blockhouse, and the walk across the barren plain
cleared the mists from Rick's head. He knew, as clearly and finally as
anyone can ever know anything, that the electronic circuits were all in
order and functioning.
The massive door of the blockhouse was open. Inside were two dozen men,
each with his own place and his own job. Rick knew some of them by
sight, but he knew few names. This was the Orion crew. He looked at them
with respect. They had made the great rocket on which he had worked all
night. They had created it from sketches on paper, followed it through
all the stages of construction until now it was ready.
A loud-speaker crackled, then boomed, "The time is now zero minus ninety
minutes."
They were the fastest ninety minutes Rick had ever spent. He was
enthralled by the activity in the blockhouse, and, careful to keep out
of the way, he walked from station to station. Now and then he looked
through the thick glass ports, and he saw the green mist of boron
hydride as fuel throbbed slowly into the rocket's tanks.
A thin, bald scientist in a scarlet sports shirt picked up a microphone
and spoke into it. "Tracking stations, report your readiness. Stand by.
Lathrop Wells, report."
A loud-speaker over his head replied instantly. "Lathrop Wells ready and
tracking."
Tonopah, Indian Springs, Mercury, Death Valley Junction, Shorty's Well,
Chloride Cliff, Jubilee Pass: All ready and tracking. Then:
"Careless Mesa."
Big Mac's voice boomed forth. "Careless Mesa ready and tracking."
The time: "Zero minus thirty minutes!"
One by one red lights on the main board winked out and green lights came
on in their places, showing circuits and controls in operation. Only a
few red lights remained now. Rick looked through the glass ports and saw
the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars
were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and
hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched,
taking in everything. He didn't even notice when the massive door was
swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss.
"Zero minus five minutes."
At last the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean,
beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth.
Rick couldn't tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of
the red lights flick out, the green glow showing readiness.
Then, zero minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ...
FIRE!
A steady hand threw the final switch.
Green flame stabbed from Orion's tail, grew to white intensity. The
instrument cable dropped from the rocket's nose and writhed to the
ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the
mighty rocket's voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent
lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away.
Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was
like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice
faltered, the shuddering increased.
A yell of pure horror burst from Rick's throat. High on the rocket's
side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and
green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he knew the rocket
was dead. The gash opened wider ... wider ...
The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out--silent, horrified
men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick
went out with them.
The desert was alive with sound now, with the roaring torch of rocket
propellant and the scream of sirens. Speeding down from the base camp
came the fire engines, to save what could be saved, to help still the
flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong.
Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim
men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust.
Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines and ran to where Rick
stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events.
"What happened to it?" Scotty asked hoarsely.
Rick shook his head. He couldn't talk.
The firemen were already at work. Crews from the trucks, protected by
asbestos and plastic, carried hoses to the very edge of the roaring
propellant and began to smother it with mounds of foam. The men who had
followed with shovels and picks were also at work, hastily digging a
trench to prevent the spread of the fiery liquid.
Someone yelled, then another yelled. Rick looked up in time to see the
rocket split wide open and most of the remaining tons of propellant gush
out. The firemen saw it, too, saw that they would be engulfed. They
turned and ran.
Horrified, Rick saw a fireman, clumsy in his protective suit, trip and
fall before the oncoming flood of flaming boron hydride.
Scotty moved, instinctively, his finely trained body responding with
perfect co-ordination. Straight toward the oncoming flood he ran, into
the edge of the flames, leaping the rapidly widening trench. Rick ran,
too, but Scotty's fast reaction had carried his pal beyond reach. He saw
the husky ex-marine stoop into the flames, pick up the fallen fireman,
and literally throw him across the trench to safety.
Then Rick was at his friend's side, slapping at the burning places on
his clothes, rushing him away from the spreading propellant. But Scotty
wasn't through. He helped the fireman to his feet and pulled at the
protective suit. Rick saw instantly what had happened. The suit had been
torn in the fall, and some propellant had gotten in through the rents.
The fireman was burning under the protective cover!
Other hands came to help and they got the man out of his cover, out of
his burning clothes. Then the first-aid squad moved in.
Not until the fireman had been cared for did Scotty say, almost
apologetically, "Any of that stuff left? I've got a couple of burns."
Then Rick noticed for the first time that his own hands were scorched
and in need of the soothing unguent. By the time he and Scotty were
smeared with the ointment, the fire was out.
The boys watched as water was sprayed over the white-hot wreckage until
at last the safety officer pronounced the torn remnants cool enough for
inspection. Then John Gordon and the senior staff moved in.
It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination
of the rocket, but no one left to eat, to change clothes, or even to sit
down. No one thought of it.
John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer.
Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly, but not one of the hundreds watching
missed a single word.
"Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. With an
unstable fuel like boron hydride, that made the difference. Internal
pressure was too much for the shell to take."
The engineer paused, and the tense, waiting silence became almost too
much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.
"We found no pictures," he said. "We'll continue the examination in the
laboratory, of course. But as of this moment we cannot say whether it
was the kind of accident that rocketeers always have to expect, or
whether someone tampered with the pump. By someone, I mean--the
Earthman."