Part 7

“With a sister like you encouraging him, Miss Gerard, I don’t see how he can miss,” Rob told her gallantly and with an engaging smile.

Her thoughtful gaze followed his figure until it disappeared around the far corner of the hall.

A few hours afterward, the six-man crew of the Cetus X-500 was in the Space Command planetarium receiving final briefing from General Forester. The spacious dark room gleamed with thousands of lights, each one of them accurately depicting a prominent star in the heavens. General Forester pointed to a pulsing hazy spot against the starlight.

“This is the R-cloud,” he said. “It’s really invisible, of course, but it’s made visible in here to show you its location. Its apparent direction is a few degrees south of the bright star Procyon in the constellation Canis Minor, almost on the plane of the ecliptic. Some of our scientists believe the cloud was an eruption from Procyon about fifteen years ago. Starting eleven light years away and traveling nearly at the speed of light, it’s just getting here.”

“Am I right, sir,” Lieutenant Swenson said, “in assuming that there will be a colossal explosion when our bombs contact it?”

“Undoubtedly,” the general assured him. “For that reason you will release the guided missiles when you reach the edge of the solar system. Unless the cloud changes course, which we have no reason to believe that it will do, the point of contact will be ten billion miles distant from the sun. Our scientists believe that is a safe enough distance from us. The flash will probably be of novalike proportions.”

The general turned over to Rob and Lieutenant Swenson, the navigator, stacks of charts and tables that had been prepared showing the exact location of their ship and the cloud every minute of the way. It was a project requiring infinitely careful calculation, and Rob marveled at the mathematical ingenuity that had gone into the prodigious task. A miniature of the much larger electrometer which had first detected the menacing cloud had been installed in the rocket fighter so that Rob could continually keep it in his electronic sights, so to speak, at all times.

“You will blast off at 1835, seventeen minutes from now,” the general concluded, “and cross planetary orbits under full atomic thrust to Titan. You will land at our base there, have a final mechanical check, and load your bombs. General Carmichael, the chief there, will advise you of any conditions that might have changed since you left here. After that you will blast off to your rendezvous with the R-cloud. Any questions?”

There were none. Like himself, Rob noted that his companions seemed to be rather numbed by the enormity of their task. It seemed almost ridiculous that six persons could be expected to accomplish the incredible job plotted for them.

“My sister said she talked to you,” Clay Gerard said to Rob when the Cetus X-500 had blasted off and her crew had unbuckled from acceleration couches.

“That’s right, Clay,” Rob answered. “I’m afraid she was a little suspicious about our mission. Did she try to get any information out of you?”

Rob knew he had touched off a spark as Clay’s handsome face colored. “Sis isn’t one to go prying into official business, lieutenant! That’s why she holds such a confidential job. Besides, I know enough about regulations to know what I can say and what I can’t!”

“Don’t get out of line, Clay,” Rob reminded him. “I wasn’t implying that either one of you were violating rules.”

“Sis is a swell guy, lieutenant. She’s one in a million.”

“I’ve met her, Clay. I know she is.”

Rob felt Clay’s eyes appraising him from head to foot.

“You must’ve been quite a star yourself when you were in cadet school, lieutenant,” he said. “I mean, since you’ve been such a hero on different space expeditions.”

“As a matter of fact, I couldn’t seem to do anything extra well, Clay,” Rob admitted.

Rob thought Clay looked somewhat pleased to hear this. He wondered then if Clay had not set him up as his own personal rival who must be overcome as he had overcome all others he had vied with.

Rob noticed Mort Haines, the stocky mechanic, watching them both closely from the other side of the compartment. Was that an expression of contempt he was directing at the strapping young “sputter”? He had observed such an expression once before when Clay had spoken of his accomplishments.

Rob hoped desperately that there would be no personal conflicts. A clash of temperaments, even a trivial one, could endanger the operation. Rob resolved that if he did notice anyone getting out of line he would replace the offender on Titan with a new crew member. He could not afford to take any chances.

Rob was first aware of trouble when he heard a commotion down the corridor. He sprang from the electroscope, where he had been checking on the movement of the R-cloud, and clicked rapidly down the aisle. He caught the scene in a graphic instant. Harry Goode’s small form was wedged courageously between the scrambling figures of Clay and Mort Haines. There had obviously been some blows thrown, for there was a cut on Mort’s face.

“Let them go, Harry,” Rob said.

He stepped back and the combatants cooled down.

“What happened?” Rob asked.

Mort sponged his cut with a handkerchief. “The big guy was bragging about the records he had set, sir. I was busy checking a rocket chamber that was heating up, and I told him to lose himself. He said he had as much right in here as I did and that I’d have to throw him out. I was starting to oblige him, sir, when you came in.”

“Better get back to that rocket trouble, Mort,” Rob said.

“Yes, sir,” Mort said and went back into the cramped quarters of the engine compartment.

“Thanks, Harry,” Rob said to the medic, whose sparse fringe of hair had been disordered in the struggle.

Rob took Clay into the corridor where they were alone.

“Was Mort’s story true?” Rob asked.

“I don’t like his use of the word ‘bragging,’” Clay protested. “We just happened to get to talking about sports and I told him about the track meet in 2002 when I set new records in the running broad jump and mile run. Then suddenly he springs up all red-faced, accusing me of bragging ever since he has known me. That got me hot then, and I guess one thing led to another.”

Rob looked at him squarely. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to replace you on Titan, Clay,” he said quietly.

The color drained out of the big fellow’s face. He was shocked. “Why—why?” he blurted.

“Because I’m afraid your attitude is a danger to the success of the project,” Rob said.

“My attitude?” Clay asked in surprise. “What attitude?”

“Think about it awhile and I believe you’ll understand if you’re honest with yourself. If you can’t figure it out, my explaining won’t do much good.”

As this sank in, Clay’s initial pallidness gave way to a red suffusion of anger. “I know what it is! You can’t stand the competition! You’re afraid the name of Gerard will steal the glory from the Allison reputation on this flight!”

Just then there was an unexpected witness on the scene. Lieutenant Swenson was striding rapidly up the corridor.

“I couldn’t help listening,” he said, “and I can’t help putting in my two cents!”

He planted his stalwart body in front of Clay Gerard. “Lieutenant Allison is too much of a gentleman to give you the lesson you deserve, Gerard, so I’ll do it myself verbally—and physically too if you prefer.”

“The idea of your name competing with his in reputation is laughable. He’s set records for unselfish service you’ll never touch. You’ve set your records for personal glory, but his were an outcome of risking his life to save his friends. And what Lieutenant Allison meant by your attitude was a polite way of saying you’re a troublemaker and an unmitigated braggart. Every word you speak is a challenge to someone. Tell me, have you ever lost a race?”

“No, sir,” Clay returned meekly, under the shock of the officer’s blast.

“Well, you’re losing this one. You’re not good enough for this team, Gerard, and you’re going to be put ashore on Titan. I can’t imagine a person who calls himself a spaceman and takes the oath of allegiance to duty letting petty interests take first place in an operation as important as this. I don’t believe you have realized yet that the future of life itself on Earth depends on the success of this flight.”

For a moment Lieutenant Swenson seemed to have run out of steam as his big chest gasped for breath. Clay was so overcome he stood with lips trembling and eyes smarting. Rob suspected this was perhaps the first real dressing-down he had had in his life, something that probably his own father had never done.

Clay Gerard said nothing in defense.

Lieutenant Swenson turned to Rob. “I’m sorry Rob, but I couldn’t help it. When I heard him blast out at you—”

Rob remained silent and Lieutenant Swenson walked off with some embarrassment.

Just then the rocket fighter angled up and sent Rob and Clay rolling over against the wall of the corridor. Clay’s head thumped against the metal, and the blow appeared to daze him. Rob helped him up as the ship continued to rock.

“Are you hurt?” Rob asked him.

Clay shook his head vigorously. “I—I don’t think so.”

Rob hastened to the engine room, some impulse telling him that the misbehaving rocket chamber might be behind the trouble. He found Mort in front of an opening in the floor, a frantic look on his face.

“The rocket cylinder that was heating up has blown a leak!” he shouted above a deafening swooshing sound from below.

“Can you repair it?” Rob asked. “The ship is practically out of control!”

“Tell Lieutenant Fox to cut all jets and keep her even,” the mechanic said. “I’ll have to go down into the hold to plug the break-through so it’ll last until we reach Titan.”

Rob leaned over the hold and felt hot air rushing up at him. It was dark and crowded with machinery down there. “I don’t see how you can work down there in all that heat.”

Mort shrugged. “I’ll have to, or we may never land. If I’d checked it when I had that tangle with Cadet Gerard I might have saved the blowout.”

Rob sensed someone behind him and turned to see Clay, who had followed him into the engine room. Rob saw a stark look on the cadet’s face as though the grave significance of his clash with Mort were suddenly made startlingly real to him.

“Can I help?” Clay asked.

“If you can, we’ll let you know,” Rob told him as he hurried from the room toward the pilot’s nest forward.

After instructing Lieutenant Fox, Rob returned to the engine room. As though anxious to make himself useful, Clay was leaning over the hold into which Mort had disappeared, pointing a flashlight for him. The other crewmen, except for the pilot, were gathered around in a tense knot. By now, the ship had leveled off somewhat and the unevenness was less severe.

“How is Mort coming?” Rob asked them.

“He’s complaining of the heat, sir,” Harry said. “He’s liable to collapse down there.”

Rob leaned over the hold. “How are you, Mort?”

“I’m nearly through!” came a feeble reply.

“He sounds weak,” Lieutenant Swenson said.

“I wish one of us knew how to repair the damage,” Rob said. “We could give him relief.” He turned to Clay. “Let me have the light.”

Rob shone the flashlight around the confining interior of the rocket hold. He could see the squatting figure of Mort in the far corner pressed against the huge glittering curve of the jet chamber.

Minutes later, Mort had just announced that the job was completed when there was a burst of radiant light that filled the entire hold. An acrid, burning smell swirled into the room above.

“Hand me that fire extinguisher!” Rob cried and began lowering himself. Someone thrust the CO₂ extinguisher from its wall rack into his hand, and he disappeared into the smoky hold. Through the gray veil that choked the basement room, Rob could see growing lurid flames. He pointed the extinguisher full into the fire and saw white clouds of carbon dioxide suffocating the blaze. When he could see no more redness, Rob moved forward and tumbled along the floor for Mort. He retched and coughed from the smoke. He’d be needing help soon.

His probing hands finally located Mort’s inert body and he began dragging it back toward the opening in the ceiling. A few steps away and under the hole he found Lieutenant Swenson waiting there to help. The navigator took the heavy weight from his arms and handed it up through the circular opening to the others. Then he turned to give help to Rob.

When Rob had recovered sufficiently several minutes later, with no more than a tight chest and raw throat, he checked with Harry Goode, who had put Mort to bed as soon as he came out of the hold.

“How is he, Harry?” Rob asked.

The medic shook his head gravely. “He doesn’t look too good to me, sir,” he replied. “He’s got a lot of burns and he swallowed plenty of smoke. He’ll be a lucky guy if he pulls through.”

“He knew this might happen when he took that welding torch down there,” Rob murmured. “But he knew the job had to be done.” He coughed.

“Better let me check you over too, lieutenant,” Harry said. “You swallowed some smoke yourself.”

“I’ll be all right,” Rob said. “I’ll have the space surgeon look at me on Titan, though.”

Rob went back to join the others. When he told them the unfavorable news about Mort, a gloomy silence settled over the compartment. Mort had been well liked, having quickly become a friend to all except Clay Gerard.

“I checked the hold when the smoke lifted,” Lieutenant Swenson said, breaking the oppressive stillness. “Mort’s torch must have touched off latent gases in the chamber. There’s some charred machinery down there but no real damage from the explosion. Fox said the ship’s moving all right again.”

Clay seemed ashamed to gather here with the others. He was lingering in the corridor looking out the port. Rob had begun to feel sorry for the young fellow whose quarrel with Mort had led to such tragic results. Rob went out to join him.

“Nearly time to take to landing couches,” Rob remarked as he saw the curved, mistbound world that was Titan.

“Yes, sir,” Clay answered, without spirit.

“Did you hear me tell the others about Mort’s condition?” Rob asked.

Clay barely nodded. “If he dies, I will be the one who killed him.”

“It’s not your fault that he was hurt,” Rob soothed. “He knew what he was getting into when he went down into the hold with the torch.”

“But if we hadn’t fought he could have prevented the blowout,” Clay argued. “I heard him say it.”

“If there’s to be any blame for the accident, it’ll rest with the inspection team back on Luna which should have found the weakened temper of the chamber. They have stress gauges to detect such things, and they should have found it, particularly on a ship whose mission is so important.”

Clay smiled wanly. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, lieutenant. The truth of the matter is that I’m everything Lieutenant Swenson said I am. I know now what sort of unselfish records he said you’d made. It was just like the one Mort made when he went down into the hold, knowing the risk he was taking.”

“I think, given time, you’ll make a good spaceman,” Rob said.

Clay’s unhappy face studied the approaching world outside for several moments in silence until there came the pilot’s report of altitude and Rob knew it was time to strap down. Lieutenant Fox switched in the robot pilot that would make the landing and joined his companions on the row of degravity couches in another compartment. All buckled the plastic belts across their bodies and yielded themselves to the discomfort of swiftly cutting speed.

As soon as the ship landed, Rob unbuckled and, with Harry Goode, hurried to the compartment where Mort had been placed. Harry took the injured man’s pulse and told Rob that it was weak.

“We’ll get him to the infirmary immediately,” Rob said and went to the radio nook just off the pilot’s nest. He put through a call to the Space Command headquarters.

“General Carmichael speaking,” came a firm, booming voice over the amplifier. “Come in, X-500.”

“This is Lieutenant Allison, sir,” Rob spoke. “We’ve had an accident aboard and a man has been badly hurt. Will you send out a stretcher for him?”

“Certainly,” came the reply. “What was the man’s duty?”

“Mechanic 101, sir,” Rob answered.

“We’ve got a replacement for him,” the general said. “While we’re on the subject of bad news, Allison, I’ll give you mine.”

“What’s that, sir?” Rob asked anxiously.

“Just that the people of Earth are closer than ever to panic stage,” said General Carmichael. “A switchboard operator on Luna half guessed our secret and when she telephoned someone on Earth the operators back there picked up the message. You won’t have much time for layover here, Allison. You’ll have to be off almost immediately so that we can report success of Operation Big Boy as soon as possible.”

Rob suddenly went cold with dread and disappointment. Dulcie Gerard, whom he had considered one of the squarest persons he had ever met, had suddenly destroyed his faith in her completely. It made Rob wonder if making themselves unpopular wasn’t a confirmed Gerard trait.

Some minutes later, Rob and his crewmates solemnly followed the stretcher bearers out of the ship. Through the plastic airtight case Rob could see the still-as-death figure of the burr-headed mechanic who had risked his life for his friends. The party trooped across the ice slick that lay between the X-500 and Space Command headquarters on Titan.

General Carmichael met the group inside the air lock of the headquarters. His small, sharp eyes looked out from under thick gray brows at the identically dressed men before him, streams of condensed vapor rolling off their glossy suits.

Rob pulled off his helmet and advanced. “I’m Allison, sir,” he said, offering his hand.

The wiry general shook hands briskly. “Glad to meet you, Allison.” He frowned. “We’ve got a lot to do, so we may as well get started.”

General Carmichael led them into his private office.

“Your mechanic replacement will be over shortly,” the officer told them when they were seated. “His name is Olney. A good man. You’re lucky he was available. We’re kind of shorthanded here and really can’t spare anyone. None of us on the project thought your crew would have to be replaced at this final stage, but of course accidents can’t be avoided.”

Rob glanced over at Clay Gerard. Rob thought he detected a flicker of hope in the youth’s eyes. Rob pondered deeply, wondering if he should go ahead with the replacement of Clay as he had said he would do. But it wouldn’t be easy to explain Clay to General Carmichael. Giving the appearance to Rob of being a strict old-timer, the chief officer did not look to be too understanding a person on a matter such as this. Then too, he had said he simply had no other men to spare.

And yet Rob knew he must consider his other crewmen. If Clay were unreliable, what right had he to risk their lives just to give a mixed-up young fellow another chance? Rob didn’t know what to do, so he looked to his friends for advice. He resolved to act on their judgment, since they were older men. Rob caught Lieutenant Swenson’s eye. To his wordless inquiry, the navigator-radiation officer nodded. Lieutenant Fox did the same. The silent vote had given the impetuous Clay Gerard another chance, and for some reason Rob was glad that it had come out this way. Clay, who had been watching the other raptly, knew he had been reinstated, and he smiled his gratitude.

General Carmichael handed each of them pencil-like tubes which he told them they would wear in their upper blouse pockets at all times during the flight.

“These instruments record cosmic-ray radiation,” the general said. “As you know, a concentration of these rays will cause agonizing death. You will be the first crew ever to carry C-bombs on a mission because fortunately we’ve never had to use them before.”

Less than an hour and a half later, the Cetus X-500 was ready to go. General Carmichael replaced the charts given Rob by General Forester with ones carrying figures for the accelerated moment of departure.

Rob considered Bruce Olney a capable fill-in for the valiant Mort Haines, if looks were any criterion. He was a slender, straw blond, with intelligent eyes. He wore a miniature good-luck horse-shoe charm around his neck.

A report from the infirmary showed that Mort Haines was still in serious condition. Rob saw Clay Gerard wince as he heard the news. Clay had been an exceedingly quiet individual since the accident to the mechanic, a different person entirely. His blatant self-confidence had been whittled down strikingly to a brooding reserve.

When the crew of the X-500 was already in the ship and about to blast off, General Carmichael spoke his final disturbing speech over their radio, “I’ve just had another report from General Forester. The people are mobbing the White House demanding to know what it is that threatens their lives. The President doesn’t believe he can hold them off much longer.” The general’s tone became grimmer and more emotional as he concluded. “Operation Big Boy has got to be a success, Allison. There’s no two ways about it. I want the next message you send to give the good news that we will immediately broadcast throughout the system. Good luck and God be with you.”

The six of them stared at one another soberly as the final words were spoken. The full enormity of their duty seemed to have struck them just now for the first time. Rob choked down the lump that pressed up into his throat. He took a full breath, readying himself, then gave his first command.

“Blast-off couches,” he spoke quietly. “Prepare for launching.”

When the roaring thunder of the blast-off was behind them and the rocket ship was grasping for the stars, Clay unbuckled his straps and turned to Rob.

“I don’t believe Dulcie spread that report about our project, lieutenant,” he said. “She wouldn’t lose her head. Not her. She’s the calmest one in the family. Besides, she’s a—a—”

“A Gerard?” Rob supplied, smiling faintly.

Clay flushed. “I guess I haven’t really changed, have I?” he said bleakly.

Rob’s brows furrowed. “I’d like to believe she didn’t do it too. But she’s the switchboard operator on Luna. She was on when we left. Who else could it have been?”

“There still must have been someone else,” Clay persisted. “I know my sister too well. She would have known what would happen if she had spoken openly.”

After setting the ship on course and under full rocket thrust, Rob and Lieutenant Swenson took time to study the elaborate firing mechanism in the navigator’s compartment that would send the bombs on their way a few hours from now. The electroscope which gave the reading on the R-cloud was located nearby. The gauge had shown consistent increase ever since the blast-off from Titan, indicating that they were drawing closer to the cosmic menace all the time.

Within the next half hour tension had grown nearly to fever pitch, and yet there was still some time before the crucial zero hour. Rob found himself pacing restlessly about the navigation compartment. Lieutenant Swenson was rattling keys in his pocket, and Rob guessed that the others must also be similarly tightened up.

Clay’s grinning face appeared at the door of the navigator’s cabin. The young cadet looked as calm as if he were on nothing more than a sight-seeing tour. He carried a tray on which sealed containers filled with lavender drinks were held by magnetism.

“How about some palm-berry tea, gentlemen?” he said, setting the tray down on a magnetic table.

Lieutenant Swenson smiled at the youth whom he had tongue-lashed on the previous flight. “You’re a lifesaver, Clay,” he said, picking up a container and beginning to suck on the connected straw.