A large anthology of sci.., p.335
A Large Anthology of Science Fiction, page 335
In history, when such divisive elements attained national power, civilization stood still for a generation or more. How to break artificially induced immobility or retrogression? Sometimes one man had been known to do it.
The trouble was that the Los Angeles branch was annoyed at New York and was not too eager to share the fruits of its efforts. Grayson’s reluctant voice came on the wire.
“All right and I’ll back you. Now what’s your plan?”
“What I want,” said Merritt, “is all the available information about these men. Then I’d like the use of an old jet plane. I’m going after Man tin first, since he actually kicked me out of his office, and this time I’m using imagination.”
The fortification that was Textile’s Mantin was stormed that weekend when a jet plane apparently crash-landed within a hundred yards of his hunting lodge. The pilot, discovering that it would require 24 hours to repair the machine, was invited to remain overnight.
Bayliss, the air corporation man, was bombarded with ceramic and metal miniatures of various rocket bombs, each one accompanied by a message stressing the pure motives of the club. An ardent collector, he recognized some of the items as rare and valuable.
In Washington Senator Tinker, that sardonic glutton, finding himself the surprised recipient of a daily shipment of imported foods obtainable only in New York, grew curious and granted an interview to a persistent caller, named Robert Merritt.
And so it came to pass that a young man attended a certain very exclusive poker session, where the average age of the players was nearly forty years above draft requirements. Senator Tinker introduced him.
“Gentlemen, this is Robert Merritt.”
There was a grunted response. Merritt sat down and watched the cards being dealt. He did not look immediately at General Craig. He received two cards, an ace down and an eight up. The ace in the hole decided him to stay, though it cost him five dollars before everybody had stopped raising. His third card was an ace. He himself raised thirty dollars before the belligerent colonel next to the general stopped backing a jack and a nine with raises of his own. His fourth card was a nine, his fifth another ace.
Three aces was not a bad hand for stud poker. In spite of one of the aces not showing no one bet against him. Merritt raked in the chips. He estimated just a bit shakily that he had won about $275, and that these men played a game that was miles out of his class financially.
His first two cards in the next hand were the two of spades and the seven of hearts. He folded and for the first time took a good though cautious look at General Craig. The great man’s publicized face was as rugged in real life as his pictures showed him.
The shaggy eyebrows were shifting as he studied the cards of his opponents. His gaze came to Merritt’s cards, flashed up, then down again. It was as swift as a wink but Merritt retained an impression of having been studied by eyes as bright as diamonds.
As the hand ended, the general said casually, “So it’s me you’re here to contact, Merritt?”
Merritt was shocked but he caught himself. “General,” he said, “you’re a smart man.”
The older man said thoughtfully, “Robert Merritt. Where have I heard that name before? Hmmmmm, Robert Merritt, Captain Air Force, nineteen Jap planes, Congressional Medal of Honor.” He looked shrewdly at Merritt. “Am I getting warm?”
“Uncomfortably,” said Merritt.
He was not altogether displeased but he was also impressed. He recognized that he was in the presence of a man with an amazing memory. He lost nearly six hundred dollars in the three hands that followed, most of it in the third hand when, in a sort of desperation, he tried to make two eights do the work of three.
When that hand was finished, General Craig said, “What are you doing now, Merritt?”
It was direct but welcome. “I’m secretary,” Merritt answered, “of the Spaceship Society, L.A. branch.”
“Oh!” The general’s eyebrows went up. Then he looked at Senator Tinker. “You old Sssstinker you,” he said. “Do you realize what you’ve done, bringing this young man up here?”
“Well, general,” drawled the senator, “they tell me that your army boys have been putting the pressure on you from all directions about this spaceship business. I thought I’d slip somebody in the back door. What are you holding up the parade for anyway? Is the idea too big for you?”
The commander in chief growled, “That kind of stuff is all right for young men but an old artillery man like myself can’t afford to come out into the open until the time is ripe.”
“When will the time be ripe?”
“Let me think,” said the general. “VA-TWO went four thousand miles an hour. VB-TWO is now under construction, and will be completed shortly. It is destined to carry the first human being ever to attempt to reach space itself.
“I would suggest you accept the secret offer made you by Lieutenant Turner. That young fellow’s a physical whiz. If anybody can stand the extreme acceleration of your crude machine he can.”
The senator’s grin was broader. “General,” he said, “you so and so. You’re an old spacehound yourself. I repeat, when would you consider the time ripe?”
“When I’m called in. Under such circumstances I could prepare a report and read it to the President. He’s not interested in printed material. Bad eyes, I suppose.”
“Then we’ve still got to convince the President?”
“Exactly. That’s your problem. And now, Merritt, there’s one question I want to ask you.”
“Yes, sir?”
The general was scowling. “How in—can a ship fly in space where there’s no air for the explosions to push against?”
CHAPTER IV
Out and Back
SAID Serkel, “Print is nothing but a painful sensation on the iris. Print convinces nobody of anything. If you want to influence nobody have your words published in memo, magazine or book form.”
He was a bright-eyed, dried-up little old man and Merritt stared at him in fascination. He sent a quick look toward Senator Tinker, found no help in the big man’s sardonic smile and so he faced the old fellow again.
“Don’t you think, sir, it depends on whether or not your favorite critic recommends the book?”
“The critics,” said Gorin Serkel, “are like mounds of shifting sand on top of which publishers pile books. If they acclaim a book one week you can be certain that they will give their accolade the following week to another book of diametrically opposite viewpoint. Undoubtedly the two books together will fail to influence more people than they failed to influence separately.”
It seemed to Merritt that he had better produce his letter quickly. But he hesitated. They had found Serkel on the veranda of his country home and they were still standing halfway up the steps. Like salesmen, Merritt thought, with no prospect of being invited to sit down.
A little uncertain, Merritt took out the letter, and extended it. Serkel shrank back.
“Writing!” he said. He shrugged. “You might as well start unbuilding your ship right now.”
“This letter,” Merritt urged, “is from Professor Hillier.”
“The President,” said Serkel, “cannot even be influenced by his own speeches once they are made and available only in printed form.”
“But how does the country continue to run?” Merritt protested. “Surely, a mountain of documents crosses his desk every day.”
“Details, yes,” said Serkel. “Administrative necessities and acts of Congress—that he tolerates in the same fashion that he accepts the American dollar as good money. But nothing it new.
He added with asperity, “The President expects of his friends that they will not embarrass him by peddling schemes which he will almost assuredly have to turn down.”
He looked at Senator Tinker, then at Merritt. “The solution seems very simple to me. Professor Hillier is a world-famous scientist. His name will get you a hearing. His presence will safeguard you from a quick exit.”
Merritt and Senator Tinker looked at each other. There was no question that Serkel was now giving them his most earnest counsel. The only thing they could do was to explain the impossibility of using Professor Hillier as a safeguard for anything.
It was a dangerous form of disillusionment because Serkel might avail himself of the opportunity to fade out of the picture finally and forever. Serkel was thoughtful when Merritt had finished describing the professor.
“So the publicized Hillier is a figment of the imagination, deadly to his own purposes when paraded in person and a flop at everything but adding and subtracting on a level approximating infinity.”
He straightened. He said curtly, “Under the circumstances, gentlemen, I do not feel inclined to entertain your proposition. I—”
MERRITT had watched it coming. As he stood looking at the former presidential adviser, a kaleidoscopic memory of the two months just passed flashed through his mind. Slowly the remembrance stiffened him.
He felt no sense of egotism but Serkel didn’t seem to understand that the men who wanted his help were not just ordinary human beings. They were men with a mission. They couldn’t back down or withdraw permanently from any forward position. Merritt gathered himself.
“I think, sir,” he said, “that I have not made clear the potentialities of a letter. Professor Hillier, clothed in his ivory-tower reputation, verbally produced by an experienced persuader, can accomplish more than any stranger named Professor Hillier meeting a stranger named President Graham.
“It is my belief, furthermore, that you have not clearly realized the possibilities of a final great achievement to climax your long and famous career. So that you might better understand the situation I invite you to attend two weeks from now the most exciting experimental flight ever attempted by men. I think you owe it to the future of human kind to ensure that you at least see the first man to fly into space.”
Serkel’s expression was suddenly more intent, thoughtful. “One personality on the scene,” Merritt pressed on, “funneling the convictions of many minds through his own voice, might conceivably capture the attention of the President for the necessary minute without requiring him to read a line.”: He saw that he had an audience again. Serkel sat down. He looked even more thoughtful. At last he said, “You and your friend and the letter are invited to stay for the weekend.” He raised his voice. “Mrs. Ess.”
There were footsteps. A pleasant looking woman came out onto the porch. Serkel said, “Gentlemen, my wife. Mrs. Ess, tell Jane two extra dinners until further notice. Make yourselves at home, everybody.”
He stood up and disappeared into the house, mumbling something to the effect that, “The economic aspects of the Keynes taxation theory do not merit the contempt they undoubtedly deserve. I must tell the president.”
At least that was the way it sounded to Merritt.
Merritt’s purely personal crisis came like an atomic bomb out of the blue on the day of the test. At twenty minutes to two, with the flight scheduled to begin at two, a pale Mike Grayson hurried out of the barns and approached Merritt.
He said, “Bad news! Lieutenant Turner just phoned. His superior officer, not knowing General Craig privately gave him permission to fly VB-2, has refused him leave because of some miserable maneuvers they’re beginning tomorrow. I phoned John Errol but his office says they can’t locate him—he’s out somewhere on business. You were always the only other choice, Bob, so—”
Merritt’s first thought was of Ilsa. Ilsa who would not understand, who would think that he had once more lightly placed her future in jeopardy.
“We could postpone it,” said Grayson, anxiously.
Merritt knew better. There were men waiting in the observation hut who had come to this test for a variety of reasons. It was almost a miracle that they were present at all. No one was so aware as he that that miracle would not be easily repeated.
“No,” he said quietly. “Naturally, I’ll do it. But first I want to call my wife.”
His call went unanswered. He let the phone ring for several minutes, then hung up, disturbed. Ilsa had decided not to come to the test.
“Somebody’s going to get killed,” she had said, “and I don’t want to be around when they bring in the body.”
It was an unfortunate remark.
The four-jet carrier plane, which was to take the rocket on the first leg of its journey, took off without incident. It climbed like a shooting star but it was only about halfway up when the pilot’s voice sounded from the earphones which were embedded in the cushions beside Merritt’s head:
“Grayson wants to talk to you, Bob.”
Grayson was exultant. “Bob, Serkel just phoned from Washington. As you know, he decided not to come to the test because he doesn’t believe in melodramatic shows. Well, he had lunch with the President today. And he’s done it, Bob. He’s done it.”
The other man’s enthusiasm seemed remote to Merritt. He listened to the details with half his mind, agreed finally that it was more important than ever now that the test be successful, and then put the matter out of his mind.
The pilot’s voice said, “Ready, Bob?”
“Ready,” said Merritt.
THE ship turned downward into a power dive. All four of its jet engines thundering, gathering speed, it went down to twenty-five thousand feet, then twisted and zoomed upward at more than five hundred miles an hour.
“Now,” said the pilot tensely.
Merritt didn’t see the door in the rear of the plane opening. But he felt the movement as the rocket slid backward through the opening. Then he was in bright sunlight. Through the treated, tinted Plexiglas of the tiny cabin he had a glimpse of the dark sky above.
For two seconds the long shiny tube continued to fall. It was not really falling. Its upward speed was about three hundred miles an hour. It was falling, however, with respect to the carrier ship and the time gap was designed to let the big machine get out of the way.
The process was electronically timed. Tick, tock, tick, tock—WHAM! He had tensed for it and that was bad. It was like being hit in every bone and muscle and organ, that first titanic blow of the rockets.
Merritt crumpled into the cushions and the springs below and around him. He had a dizzy glimpse of the big converted bomber falling away into the distance. In one jump it retreated from giant hood to a tiny dot barely visible in the haze of sky below. It vanished.
WHAAAAMM! The second blow was more sustained. His head started to ache violently. His eyes stung. His body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. It did. The second set of explosions was designed to exert peak acceleration. But the speed of the rocket was probably still under 2,000 miles an hour.
“Bob!” Grayson’s voice. On the radio.
“Yeah!” The word came hard.
“Shall we go on?”
It hadn’t struck him that they might abandon the flight if he didn’t react well. Curiously that brought fury.
“Blast you,” he shouted. “Get going.”
The explosions were radio-controlled and the third was a duplicate of the second. His body took it hard, harder than anything he had ever imagined.
He found himself puzzling blurrily about what had happened to the cushions and the springs. He seemed to be standing on a slab of metal with steel-hard metal braces pressing onto his arms and legs. Was that what happened to cushions under pressure?
It was tremendously dark outside. His vision was not clear but he could see dots of stars and, over to one side, a fiery blob. It took a moment to realize that it was the sun. He waited, cringing, for the fourth and last series of explosions.
He thought, “Oh, Lord, I can’t take it! I can’t!”
But he did. And, strangely, the blow seemed less severe as if in some marvelous fashion his being had adjusted to its environment of violence. The series of blows pulsed rhythmically through his bones and attuned to his nerves.
“Bob!”
He was so intent on his own thoughts and feelings that it didn’t strike him right away that he was being addressed.
“Bob”—earnestly—“are you all right?”
“Bob,” he thought. Bob? Why, that’s me. Impatience came.
“Why, of course I’m all right.”
“Thank goodness!” The words were a whisper. And in the background, behind Grayson’s voice, there was a murmur of other Voices. “. . . Good man!” . . . “Oh, wonderful . . .”
Then once more, Grayson:
“Bob.”
“Yes?”
“According to the duplicate instruments down here, you’re now six hundred miles up, and going higher at the rate of seventy miles a minute. How do you feel?”
He began to feel fine. There was no sense of movement now. His stomach felt kind of hollow but that was the only sensation. He floated in emptiness, in silence and darkness.
The stars were pinpoints of intense brightness that did not twinkle or glitter. The sun, far to his left, was only superficially round. Streamers of flame and fire mist made it appear lopsided and unnatural.
As Merritt blinked at it the sun came past him and turned away to the right. He watched it amazed, then realized what was happening. The rocket had reached its limit. Held by Earth’s gravity, it was turning slowly, twisting gradually, falling back toward Earth.
Merritt said quickly, “How high am I?”
“Eight hundred and four miles.”
It was not bad. He had topped the farthest limits of the atmosphere by more than three hundred miles. He had looked out at empty space—through protected Plexiglas to be sure—but looked. Soon he would have to start thinking of getting clear of the tube, which was destined to fall-into the ocean.
At forty thousand feet above sea level he set off the explosion that knocked the cabin free of the main tube. At fifteen thousand feet he bailed out of the cabin. His parachute opened at five thousand feet. He came down in an orange grove and walked to a filling station. The attendant charged him fifty cents for using the phone to call Grayson.
