POCKET BOOK edition published January, 1955
1st printing November, 1954
All rights reserved. This book, or any part thereof, may not be
reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher,
except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information, address: Shasta Publishers, 5525 South Blackstone
Avenue, Chicago 37, Illinois.
_Copyright, 1953, by Will F. Jenkins. This_ POCKET BOOK _edition is
published by arrangement with Shasta Publishers. Library of Congress
Catalog Card Number: 53-7292. Printed in the U. S. A._
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| Transcriber's Note |
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| No evidence has been found that the copyright of this book |
| has been renewed. |
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Ltd.
_To Joan Patricia Jenkins_
1
To the world at large, of course, it was just another day. A different
sort entirely at different places on the great, round, rolling Earth,
but nothing out of the ordinary. It was Tuesday on one side of the Date
Line and Monday on the other. It was so-and-so's wedding anniversary and
so-and-so's birthday and another so-and-so would get out of jail today.
It was warm, it was cool, it was fair, it was cloudy. One looked forward
to the future with confidence, with hope, with uneasiness or with terror
according to one's temperament and one's geographical location and past
history. To most of the human race this was nothing whatever but just
another day.
But to Joe Kenmore it was a most particular day indeed. Here, it was the
gray hour just before sunrise and already there were hints of reddish
colorings in the sky. It was chilly, and somehow the world seemed still
and breathless. To Joe, the feeling of tensity marked this morning off
from all the other mornings of his experience.
He got up and began to dress, in Major Holt's quarters back of that
giant steel half-globe called the Shed, near the town of Bootstrap. He
felt queer because he felt so much as usual. By all the rules, he should
have experienced a splendid, noble resolution and a fiery exaltation,
and perhaps even an admirable sensation of humility and unworthiness to
accomplish what was expected of him today. And, deep enough inside, he
felt suitable emotion. But it happened that he couldn't take time to
feel things adequately today.
He was much more aware that he wanted some coffee rather badly, and that
he hoped everything would go all right. He looked out of the windows at
empty, dreary desert under the dawn sky. Today was the day he'd be
leaving on a rather important journey. He hoped that Haney and the
Chief and Mike weren't nervous. He also hoped that nobody had gotten at
the fuel for the pushpots, and that the slide-rule crew that had
calculated everything hadn't made any mistakes. He was also bothered
about the steering-rocket fuel, and he was uncomfortable about the
business of releasing the spaceship from the launching cage. There was,
too, cause for worry in the take-off rockets--if the tube linings had
shrunk there would be some rather gruesome consequences--and there could
always be last-minute orders from Washington to delay or even cancel
everything.
In short, his mind was full of strictly practical details. He didn't
have time to feel noble aspirations or sensations of high destiny. He
had a very tricky and exacting job ahead of him.
The sky was growing lighter outside. Stars faded in a paling blue and
the desert showed faint colorings. He tied his necktie. A deep-toned
keening set up off to the southward, over the sere and dreary landscape.
It was a faraway noise, something like the lament of a mountain-sized
calf bleating for its mother. Joe took a deep breath. He looked, but saw
nothing. The noise, though, told him that there'd been no cancellation
of orders so far. He mentally uncrossed one pair of fingers. He couldn't
possibly cross fingers against all foreseeable disasters. There weren't
enough fingers--or toes either. But it was good that so far the schedule
held.
He went downstairs. Major Holt was pacing up and down the living room of
his quarters. Electric lights burned, but already the windows were
brightening. Joe straightened up and tried to look casual. Strictly
speaking, Major Holt was a family friend who happened also to be
security officer here, in charge of protecting what went on in the giant
construction Shed. He'd had a sufficiently difficult time of it in the
past, and the difficulties might keep on in the future. He was also the
ranking officer here and consequently the immediate boss of Joe's
enterprise. Today's affair was still highly precarious. The whole thing
was controversial and uncertain and might spoil the career of somebody
with stars on his collar if it should fail. So nobody in the high brass
wanted the responsibility. If everything went well, somebody suitable
would take the credit and the bows. Meanwhile Major Holt was boss by
default.