The space capsule carrying Willy was the old-fashioned type, with
room enough for only one man. However, it had special controls which
made its manual operation similar to that used on the plasma craft.
Throughout the flight, Willy was in charge of the operation. Without
warning, certain simulated emergencies were signaled to instruments
aboard the capsule and Willy was expected to meet them.
Although space flight sounds dangerous, most of it isn't because space
is more empty than anything most of us ever saw. The only critical
times are usually at the lift-off, the re-entry and the landing.
However, other emergencies can arise. The worst would be the sudden
appearance of a large meteor, meaning a pebble a quarter of an inch in
diameter or bigger. Since about 95 per cent of the meteors in space are
less than that size, chances of meeting one, even on a trip lasting
two-and-a-half years, are remote. But it could happen.
The plasma ship was equipped with meteor bumpers which would vaporize
anything smaller than a quarter of an inch. Larger ones might puncture
the sides, but even then there was patching fluid in the walls of the
craft which would prevent too much air loss. A tremendously large
meteor can be detected by radar and avoided. Willy'd had to make the
right maneuver to avoid such a meteor.
Radiation in space also poses some problems. Space travel requires high
speed, and astronauts can pass through a radiation belt in so short a
time that the exposure isn't harmful. But a very large cloud might pose
problems and Willy would have to meet such an emergency by determining
the size of the cloud and the best way to pierce it.
Another hazard could be faulty astrogation. On a 75,000,000-mile
trip--the distance we were to travel to reach Mars--a small error
at the start might put the ship too far from Mars to be caught by
the planet's gravity at the end of the voyage. Willy had to make
observations throughout the test flight and go through operations
necessary to correct his trajectory. There might be other minor
emergencies, such as failure of equipment and instruments, but Willy
had demonstrated his ability to cope with them in tests conducted on
the ground.
Dr. Warner Joel entered the room. A few months ago he had been
overweight, but stringent diet had cut his weight down enough to allow
him to qualify for our crew. He was a short, stocky man, with a smooth
face and nervous manner. However, his knowledge of geology had made
him almost indispensable. Rarely do you find a man with his experience
in this particular field who can also qualify for the stringencies of
space flight.
There was one thing against Joel that I was determined to overlook and
this was his rather ingratiating manner, his eagerness to appear to be
more than he was, and his intense desire to win favor from Dr. Spartan.
As he entered he hailed everyone in a loud voice, speaking to no one
in particular. And no one in particular answered. Ignoring the rebuff,
and with a strict eye to protocol, he walked over to the control board
where Dr. Spartan was seated.
"Great show, Doctor! Brilliant show!" Joel exclaimed, extending his
hand as if he were congratulating a playwright on opening night.
Spartan, his dark eyes glued to the instruments in front of him,
ignored Joel.
"Yes, sir!" the geologist continued, putting his hand in his coat
pocket, probably to give it warmth after Spartan's coolness. "We've got
a good man in Willy Zinder. I always did say this boy was a sleeper.
Better than a lot of men in our group, in fact."
Axel nudged me in the ribs and, as I turned, he winked one of his
ice-blue eyes. "Meaning me or you, Bill?"
"You, you big Swede," I said, winking back. "But my opinion puts Willy
several notches above Joel, too."
Axel chuckled softly.
"I won't worry with Willy Zinder on the crew," Joel was saying loudly.
"No, sir--"
"Why don't you sit down?" snarled Spartan, still not turning his head.
"You drive me crazy."
"Uh--ah--why yes, of course! I didn't realize--"
"Then do it!" snapped Spartan.
Joel almost stumbled as he backed away. Now, as he spotted Axel and me,
he decided we were appropriate sympathizers. He walked over to us and
said, "He's understandably touchy."
"I never pet rattlesnakes," said Axel.
Willy's voice, surprisingly cheerful, came over the loud-speaker. He
was A-okay and was passing over the North Pole for the fifteenth time.
Communications responded and wished him good luck.
Dr. Spartan nodded. Then he turned his head and called out: "Miss
Loring!"
I turned my head. I hadn't seen Gail Loring when I entered the room.
She must have been in Operations and had entered through the door in
the other end of the room. Now I saw her fine-featured face as she
replied, "Yes, Dr. Spartan?"
"Come here!"
She came over to his control board briskly, holding her head high,
paying no attention to anyone but Dr. Spartan. She was all business.
It was a pitiful waste, because she was an attractive girl and so
untouchable. She wasn't beautiful in the sense that a stage or screen
star is. She was good-looking, the kind of girl who wore well. Without
lace or fancy trimmings, she was solid, durable, functional--and
feminine, in spite of herself. She'd made a successful landing on the
moon and had accompanied Dr. Spartan on the trial flight of the plasma
ship. Now she was preparing for some other project--only the NASA knew
what it was.
Surprisingly enough, I'd found out in the three or four times we'd
met that she had a pleasant disposition, in spite of her businesslike
manner. She liked to laugh and she was intelligent, which of course
she'd have to be as a woman astronaut. Up to the time I'd met her
informally, I'd classified her as a female Dr. Spartan.
"Please take over the control panel for a few minutes," Spartan said.
"I'm going to get some breakfast before the re-entry."
"Certainly, Doctor," she said. "Any special orders?"
"None," he said. "Operations has alerted the Navy carrier and it is
in position to pick up Zinder after the re-entry, on his next orbit.
All you have to do is be ready to switch over to ground control in the
event of an emergency."
I felt Axel's elbow shudder against my arm. Resorting to ground control
would wash Willy Zinder off the project because it was his job to
handle the capsule from beginning to end of his flight. Only during the
lift-off and re-entry was there automatic operation--Willy had to take
over again after re-entry.
Dr. Spartan rose and Gail took his seat. She glued her eyes on the
instruments with all the instinct of a good pointer flushing a covey of
quail.
I watched her. Even in slacks she looked good; a statement I could
make about no other women I've ever seen. She wore no make-up, except
lipstick, and that didn't hurt her. She had brown hair cut close,
almost mannish style, and still she looked like a woman.
The disappointing thing about her was that she would not allow a man to
become part of her life. Not that she was cold. No one could tell me
that a woman who tried so hard to forget she was feminine had nothing
to forget. It was simply that men were "out" until she'd got enough of
her career.
I turned my head and noticed that young Morrie Grover had come in and
was too busy watching Gail Loring to take much interest in what was
going on in space.
Morrie was the fifth man in our crew--Willy was qualifying as sixth.
Morrie was the youngest of our group, being a couple of years my junior
by the calendar. Actually I felt at least ten years older because
Morrie was one of those eager young lads who keep too busy learning
about the universe to understand what is going on in this world. No
doubt he'd grow up a lot on the Martian adventure. The fact that he was
looking hungrily at Gail didn't mean his thoughts were grown up. High
school boys have the same thoughts.
He watched her until he decided, apparently, that she was less likely
to move than the faces on Mt. Rushmore, then he took off his glasses,
began rubbing them with a clean white handkerchief and squinted at me.
"Hello, Bill," he said condescendingly. "Is Willy on his last lap yet?"
"He will be in about two minutes," I said, glancing at the clock on the
wall. I could have told him about the map and explained that he could
see for himself, but that would have been rude. I would have to live
with this guy for thirty months and it was best that I learn to get
along with him.
Dr. Spartan came in again, carrying a bacon-and-egg sandwich in his
left hand.
"Hello, Doctor Spartan," said Morrie.
"Wmpf!" replied Spartan, chomping on the sandwich. He didn't even give
Morrie a glance.
Morrie looked shook up.
"Don't mind him, kid," said Axel. "He hates everybody. Especially
today."
Morrie did not reply. He blew heavily on his glasses, wiped off the
moisture with his handkerchief and held them up to the light. He
squinted, nodded with satisfaction and put them on his nose. Then he
turned to resume watching Gail Loring.
Though Dr. Spartan had taken a position behind Gail so that he blocked
the view, Morrie wasn't going to miss the pleasure of ogling the
prettiest girl astronaut in the world. He moved over to the left for an
unobstructed view. Realizing there would be about ninety idle minutes
to kill, I moved to the right, deciding that I could get even more
pleasure out of watching her than Morrie could.
Axel and Dr. Joel remained where they were, Axel watching the little
light on the screen map and Dr. Joel bobbing his head, smiling and
waving at everyone who looked in his direction.
Gail turned her head and looked up at Dr. Spartan. "You want to take
over now, Dr. Spartan?" she asked.
"Go ahead," said Spartan. "I haven't finished breakfast, my dear."
She turned her head in a businesslike manner and glanced at the clock,
then at the instrument panel. Finally she picked up the microphone and
held it to her lips. She waited a moment, still watching the instrument
panel.
"Last orbit!" she said. Her words were echoed by the speaker in the
room. "We'll start our countdown for re-entry five minutes before
you've completed the turn, Zinder. At zero, set the automatic control
to take over."
"A-okay," said Willy's voice. He spoke calmly. Apparently he was no
longer frightened.
"Remember," she said, "precisely at zero."
"A-okay."
Gail put the microphone back on its hook. She watched the instruments.
Suddenly she tensed. Her voice rose as she spoke to Dr. Spartan.
"Doctor, look!"
She gestured excitedly at the panel.
"Good God in heaven!" Spartan reached out, snatched up the microphone.
"Zinder! Zinder, you fool! What have you done? Are you crazy?"
"Hey!" Willy's cry was full of fear, but he was not speaking
to Dr. Spartan. He was yelling to no one. "Help me! I'm
accelerating--decelerating! Something's gone haywire! I'm starting to
re-enter--"
The voice broke off as a crash came from the speaker.
"He hit something!" somebody yelled.
"Hell, he probably fell to the floor," said Axel. "He wouldn't have his
harness on now."
"He cut in the automatic," Spartan said. "Did you tell him this was the
last lap, Miss Loring?"
"Oh, no, Doctor! I told him it was the next to last!"
"He must have misunderstood."
I squirmed to catch a glimpse of the instrument panel, but Spartan's
bulk hid it from my eyes. Willy should have known he had another lap to
go. There was a clock in front of him. I shifted my position. I could
see Gail's hands flying to this button and that as if she were trying
desperately to check the fall with the ground controls. But she must
have known it was useless to try. Once the re-entry cycle is started,
nothing can shut it off till the parachute opens in the earth's
atmosphere. Willy Zinder was being returned to a world unready for his
arrival.
"Willy! Willy! Please answer!" Gail screamed above the excited voices
in the room.
No reply came from the speaker.
Then the intercom from Operations cut in. "The medical section says
Zinder may have been injured by sudden deceleration," said the voice.
"His heart action is very weak."
"Oh, dear God!" moaned Gail Loring. "It's all my fault!"
_Chapter 2_
Ordinary human reflexes, which respond to tangible, near-at-hand
crises, were woefully inadequate for the dozen or so men and women in
that room. What could anyone do to save Willy Zinder, so far away that
he could only be detected by instruments, and whose future and very
existence depended upon electronic gadgets which went about their task
more cold-bloodedly even than Dr. Spartan?
In fact, Spartan himself seemed to lose his poise for a moment. He
appeared to freeze as he stood directly behind Gail, staring at the
dials that told what was happening to Willy. At last he seemed to see
her hands, fluttering aimlessly from button to switch. He reached out,
swept them away.
"Stop it!" he said hoarsely. "Nothing you can do will stop the
automatic action of the capsule now!"
Gail seemed to wilt. Spartan released her hands and she sat there
helplessly. Behind her Spartan looked like some kind of understudy of
Satan, his black beard, dark eyes and sharp features blending into the
illusion. He was tall and gaunt to begin with--now he looked taller and
more gaunt. Was it a suspicion of a smile that I saw on his face for a
brief, fleeting instant? But surely he didn't want Willy to fail. He
had a greater stake in this operation than any of us. For him it would
mean immortality as the leader of the first manned flight to Mars.
Again the fleeting smile. I tried to tell myself that it was the result
of nervousness. I'd often seen men under stress grinning like fools,
because laughter is an emotional reflex. But I'd never suspected
Spartan of having emotions before. He'd had a wealth of experience and
had seen men die in space.
For ten years he'd been one of the top astronauts of the nation--ever
since he had risen to fame as the genius who had developed a certain
method of converting nuclear energy directly into electricity. In those
days he'd been a poorly paid instructor at some obscure mid-western
college. Now he was famous as a spaceman, and wealthy from his
discoveries.
His apparent nervousness lasted only an instant. Then he became his
cold self again. Not that it served to reassure anybody--we all knew
that northeast of where we stood, far out over the Atlantic, Willy's
capsule was screaming into the atmosphere. It mattered little that
the parachutes were open, since the men who had been watching the
instruments recording Willy's heartbeat said he had been hurt badly.
There was no button to push, no knob to turn, no switch to flip which
would make everything A-okay. And there certainly was no magic wand to
break the evil enchantment of the moment.
The loud-speaker squawked out a report from the Navy carrier. Its
helicopters were airborne, attempting to reach the place where Willy
would come down, but they were hundreds of miles west--at the place
where Willy would have come down after his next lap, not this one.
Then there was an awful silence, broken only by a sob from Gail.
Spartan looked down at her, his lips curling with displeasure. She
clasped her hands to her face and swayed in her chair. Spartan growled
with annoyance, then turned his head and saw me.
"Drake!" he bellowed. He gestured a slim finger toward Gail. "Get that
hysterical woman out of here!"
I didn't like the way he gave the order, but it made sense and I
started forward to obey. Gail jerked her hands away from her face and
turned toward him. She stopped her swaying, turned her eyes on Dr.
Spartan and tilted her chin upward with indignation.
"I'm _not_ hysterical! I've never been hysterical!"
"Take her outside, Drake," said Dr. Spartan, as if she'd never spoken.
It did seem like the best idea. Every dial in front of her was an
instrument of torture. Whatever happened to Willy Zinder, she believed
it to be her fault.
I stepped forward and took Gail by the arm. "Please come," I said.
"There's nothing you can do."
She jerked her arm out of my grip, then got up by herself. "Willy must
have misunderstood me," she said. Suddenly her shoulders sagged. "Yes,
Bill Drake, I'll go. You're right. There's nothing I can do."
Her eyes were moist but her voice was firm. She was not crying like a
hysterical woman. I believe that, at that moment, if there was anything
she could have done, she would have done it as efficiently as anyone in
that room, including Dr. Spartan.
She let me take her arm again as I guided her through the door, out of
the bunker and into the refreshing warmth of the outside air.
"I told him to switch on the automatic controls precisely at zero,"
she said. "Those were my words: 'Precisely at zero!' He must have
misunderstood. He thought I said it was precisely zero at that moment.
He lost track of time."
"Don't think about it," I said. "It wasn't your fault."
"It _was_ my fault. People under tension are in a highly suggestible
state. I should have chosen my words more carefully, so that he could
not possibly misunderstand--"
"If Willy was capable of such confusion, it's best that we know about
it now. In space that kind of a misunderstanding could cost lives."
"Willy may be dying," she said. "Even if he isn't, the Mars project is
down the drain for twenty-six months."
"Maybe," I said, "and maybe not. Spartan says he's gotta have a six-man
crew, but I don't follow him. It's better to try it short-handed than
to get there after the Commies."
"But I've heard him say a dozen times that there must be six men," she
said. "Dr. Spartan doesn't change his plans once he makes up his mind."
Certainly that was true, but Dr. Spartan was too intelligent to insist
on the impossible. Six men could operate the plasma ship efficiently:
two could be on watch, two could rest, two could care for the needs
of the others--prepare the meals, do cleaning, and operate the water
and air regeneration machinery, check the course and so on. But a
system could be worked out for five, four, three--even two or one. The
fewer the number, the greater the risk, but the important thing was
to achieve a successful mission. The risks could never deter him from
trying for a first landing on Mars.
We reached the pad which the big Jupiter rocket had carried Willy
Zinder into space twenty-four hours before. Gail stood there looking at
it, choking back a sob, and then turned around and started back toward
the bunker.
"I could take Willy's place, if he's--he's hurt," she said softly. She
probably had been thinking about this while we stood at the launching
pad.