Part 6

Mrs. Carver kept her voice level, but her eyes caught and held those of her younger son. "I'm sorry if I seem too stubborn about this, Jon; but I just don't like the idea of you boys trying to handle, alone, something you don't know anything about, especially since you yourselves admit that it's highly dangerous."

Jon's petulance slowly disappeared, and finally he grinned and kissed her. "You're right, as always, Mom. I'm getting too big for my coveralls. I'll calculate courses to One, and to and around the sun, and we'll let this ride until Pop wakes up."

While Jak and Mrs. Carver busied themselves at other tasks, Jon sweated over the complicated math of the new courses. He knew how important this was, especially the plan he had in mind for placing the marker in its orbit about the sun. He knew their very lives depended on the correctness of his calculations. So he did them slowly, carefully, and checked them closely to make sure he had done them right and made no mistakes.

But when he was finished, he put the sheets of calculations in a drawer, took more paper and figured the courses over a second time. That solution he also put in the drawer, and figured it the third time, without consulting what he had done before.

When he had completed this third computation he took out the other two sets and compared the three. All came out exactly the same ... and he gasped in relief and sank back, trembling with thankfulness, in the pilot's seat. They must be right.

* * * * *

While Mrs. Carver and her sons were eating lunch they heard a weak call from the bunkroom, and ran in to find their father fully awake. He seemed surprised at his condition, but Jak explained swiftly what had happened, and Jon told briefly what they had done and were planning to do next.

"That's good; that's very good," he said drowsily, and before Jon could say anything about finding that new metal, his father had again sunk into sleep--or unconsciousness; not even Jak could tell which.

"Well," Jon tried to be brave about his disappointment, "I guess we'll just have to go ahead. But isn't it swell that Pop woke up fully?"

"It certainly is." Mrs. Carver had tears of joy in her eyes. "Now we know he'll soon be all right."

The trip to Planet One--"Tad"--was neither long nor eventful, once they got started. They found, as expected, that the small world--smaller than Sol's Mercury--was so close to the sun that it was fearfully hot, even on the equator, or "intermediate" zone.

Despite the refrigerators on the ship, it was becoming hot inside, and all stripped as far as decency allowed. The planet had no real atmosphere, but many of the metals--indeed, the very rocks, themselves--were so largely molten, especially on the eternally sunward side, that there was a fog of gasses about the surface. These gaseous emanations were in a state of motion much like that of Earthly cyclones, constantly swirling and blowing with terrific velocity.

The boys carefully examined their spectro-analyzer, but "Annie" showed none of that strange fuel-metal they were so keen to locate in its natural state. "Maybe we found all there is here," Jak suggested.

"Perhaps, but somehow I can't feel that way." Jon's voice was worried. "I must have slipped somewhere. Don't see how just one boxful could have shown up so clearly from as many light years away as we first discovered it."

Despite the conditions the young planet mappers found here on One, the Colonial law required that a sending beacon be set up on ALL planets, or else in an orbit about them. They decided to place theirs on top of one of the highest of the small mountains that comprised the twilight zone.

Jon made up the tape for this planet's signal-marker, while Jak brought it from the storeroom. When the tape was installed and running, the sender was placed in the lock between the inner and outer doors, and the boys returned to the control room.

Jon directed the ship toward the range of mountains and when he neared them Jak--from his co-pilot's seat--worked the remote controls and the outer lockdoor swung open. Then he activated the "distant hands"--the handling mechanism that was an integral part of the airlock's equipment, for handling materials into and out of the ship.

Watching through his special visiplate--really a sort of two-way television--Jak made the grips pick up the signal-sender box, ready to deposit it on the hard, hot ground outside when Jon would swoop down over the pre-selected mountaintop.

"Move it outside," Jon called, and Jak did so. "Set it down." Jon yelled, and as soon as he was sure Jak had placed the sender solidly, sent the space-yacht rising higher and away from the planet. Then Jak closed the outer door; turned in his co-pilot's seat, and tuned in their receiver. Soon they caught the message and knew everything was jetting fair.

"Nice going, Owl," Jon applauded.

"Aw, you're just saying that because it's true," Jak grunted, and Jon turned his attention once more to his controls and the new course he had plotted for their swing around the sun of this system, now less than thirty million miles away.

"How close d'you go?" Jak was more interested than fearful, having confidence in his brother's skill.

"We have to follow a course so that when the sender is dumped, it will take up a closed orbit--the more nearly circular the better--around the sun. Also, we'll have to have speed enough so we won't get fried to a crisp at the near-point, which figures to be about ten million miles."

"Isn't that pretty close?" their mother, who had slipped into the control room quietly just after Jak had placed the sender, tried not to sound too frightened.

"Relax, Mother, the kid knows what he's doing," Jak tried to calm her.

"I've figured this three times, Mom," Jon said earnestly. "Got the same answer each time, so I _know_ we can do it."

"Well," still doubtfully, "I guess you do know what you are doing, but that seems awfully close." She struggled with herself and finally managed a weak smile. "I promised to let you boys make the decisions. I'll go lie down in my bunk so I won't know what's happening until it's all over."

"You do that, Mother. I'm not worrying. Jon really knows his stuff," Jak assured her brightly. But as soon as she had left the control room, he turned worried eyes to his brother. "I ... I hope you actually do, Chubby." His voice quavered a bit.

Jon grinned mockingly. "There's one sure thing. If I'm wrong, we'll never know it. But I've studied this a lot since I knew it was up to me. I know the technique and, as I said before, I've computed our course three times and come up with the same figures each time. And we have to set it as close as possible. Now, either hit your bunk or set your seat to recline. We're up to better than two G's already, and I'm building to five."

"Yes, I feel us getting heavier. I'll stay with you." Jak made sure his straps were in place, then tilted his seat.

Jon cranked his own to recline, the control panel automatically slanting to keep it in the same relative position. His arms were resting on movable slides, and the controls he would have to manipulate on this dangerous orbit were all beneath his hands and fingers.

Closer and closer they drove to the sun with ever mounting speed. Their gallant little ship's refrigerators were full on; all shutters in place. Their only view of the outside was through one visiplate whose aperture was closed until only a tiny slit was open. But it was enough, although Jon was forced to keep building up layer after layer of protective, colored plastic to make the intense, blinding light of the swiftly approaching sun bearable.

Clearly visible now were the tremendous streamers of matter the sun was throwing up as prominences. Jon was able to see huge sunspots occurring here and there about the surface of that mighty furnace--tremendous cyclonic storms of atomic disintegration. So interested was he in this first close view of a sun that he almost forgot the reason for this dangerous trip.

Almost--but not quite, for his mind was well-trained to remember the things that had to be recalled, young as he was. So his eyes glanced often at the distance gauge. Soon he yelled at Jak, "Get ready to throw out the sender."

Jak struggled to place his hands on the controls, a thing he had not had the foresight to do before Jon started building up that tremendous acceleration. His muscles strained. Sweat broke out on him even worse than that the heat from the sun brought. His breathing became gasps. There seemed to be a constricting band about his chest. His eyes felt as though the balls were being pushed down into his head. He just couldn't possibly move a muscle under this terrible pressure.

Still he exerted every force of will and of muscle. Slowly, painfully, he stretched out his fingertips a fraction of an inch. He dug them into the fabric of the arm rest and pulled the palm of his hand along. Then he forced the rest of his arm to follow his fingers and hand. Over and over, straining to do what had to be done. Then victory at last--his hand and arm were on the sliding arms. Now it was easier, and soon his fingers were on the controls.

"S-say when," he panted then.

"Open the outer door now ... we're almost there," Jon commanded, watching his controls intently. "We're going ... so fast ... won't have ... much time."

"You're sure ... sender'll keep ... correct orbit?"

"Sure," Jon's voice was confident. "If we don't dump ... exactly on zero ... it'll just change shape ... of orbit a little ... that's all."

"Door open," Jak reported a moment later.

"Lift sender, but don't eject yet."

"Right."

More minutes while the heat increased, and even through that tiny aperture and the covering shields, the blinding light was coming in so fiercely Jon was tempted to close it entirely. Then, with a snort of disgust at his stupidity, he did close it--and breathed a sigh of relief as that piercing beam died. He didn't need to see. There was no reason to look. Even if there was, it was too late now to do anything about it. If his calculations were correct, the ship would get away safely. If his figures were wrong ... he shuddered. Well, they'd never know it, that was for sure.

He made himself forget that dire possibility and kept his eyes glued to his indicators.

"Almost there."

"Ready." Jak tensed his hand and fingers above the controls. He hoped he could do it when the time came. But this awful heat ... this horrible acceleration pressure....

"Drop it!" Jon yelled suddenly.

Jak tensed hand and fingers and tried to depress the button. It seemed he couldn't move. He gritted his teeth, and again called upon his inner strength, his will. From that hidden depth he found that extra measure of energy necessary to curve his fingertip downward.

His eyes, peering into the shielded intercom visiplate, saw those distant hands--the servo-mechanism in the lock--swing the box out through the opened doorway. When he could no longer see it, because of the angle at which his visiplate was set, he touched and depressed the second button. Now, if the mechanism was still functioning in spite of that terrific heat, its arms were opening and the box slipping away.

He withdrew the handling arms, and as they came into sight again he saw with satisfaction that they were empty. He locked them into their cradle, then closed the outer lockdoor.

"Done," he reported thankfully ... and let himself go. Unconsciousness claimed him at once. Why suffer, had been his thought, when he could so easily sleep until this intolerable pressure was gone.

So quickly did he slip away he did not realize that Jon, too, after a final quick glance at his board, and knowing that everything necessary had been done, had also relaxed into unconsciousness. Did not know, or care, that their ship was now speeding around and away from the sun. Did not realize that all four of the Carvers were now unconscious.

But their blackout did not last too long. In a few hours, during which the auto-pilot took them smoothly and accurately away from that titanic furnace, safety distance was attained and the frightful acceleration began to ease.

By the time they were traveling at a little less than two gravities, Jon stirred. His memory cells began functioning once more, and slowly he awakened. As soon as he realized where he was, and why, he glanced at his various telltales.

"We made it!" he yelled triumphantly. Then, as he heard no reply from his brother, he quickly raised his seat to upright, and turned to look at Jak. The latter was still lying down, his face white and strained.

Quickly, anxiously, Jon released himself and sprang across to his brother's side. He rubbed Jak's wrists and temples. Soon the flush of returning blood showed, and the elder sighed and opened his eyes.

"We made it!" Jon cried again as he pushed Jak's seat into erect. "Everything went off shark-y."

Jak struggled into full consciousness, then began loosening his straps. "Mother and Father?" he exclaimed. "Did they come through all right?"

7

At Jak's question, Jon started. "Haven't looked yet. Let's go see."

The two raced into the living room and into their parents' bunkroom. Mrs. Carver was just opening her eyes, and seeing the boys' anxious looks, struggled to sit up. They helped her, and Jak turned quickly to look at his father. To his relief, the latter's pulse was no weaker, and his breathing was regular.

"We got through all safely," Jon assured his mother, and she threw her arms about him and broke into tears. "Hey, no need of crying now; it's all over."

"I know." She reached down for a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. "Just relief, I guess. Is Mr. C. all right?" she asked Jak.

"Didn't seem to hurt him a bit."

Indeed, just then there was a mutter from Mr. Carver's lips, and his eyelids fluttered open.

The three gathered closely beside him, and were tremendously heartened at the look of sane awareness in his eyes.

"Hullo?" as though surprised to find himself in bed and the others gathered about him. "Did I oversleep?"

Jak reached out and took his father's hand. "No, Father. You've been a little ill and unconscious, that's all. But you're almost well now. A bit more rest and you'll be all OK."

The invalid looked surprised, then doubtfully at his wife, who quickly stooped and kissed him. "Jak's right, Mr. C. You get some more sleep so you'll get strong quicker."

Dutifully he closed his eyes and immediately his regular breathing told the three he was asleep once more.

Quietly Jak drew the others out of the bunkroom and closed the door. Then his eyes shone and he grabbed his mother and danced her about, while Jon "tried to get into the act."

"He's almost well; he's almost well!" Jak chanted.

Jon yelled in honest praise. "You did a grand job, Owl." But his voice broke into a boyish treble with the excitement.

After several minutes of jubilation, Jon went back into the control room and began figuring their course to Planet Three.

He turned on the receiver and pointed the directional antenna. Soon the broadcast of their solar signal came in. This one about the sun had most worried him, but he could read it clearly: "This solar system was first discovered and charted by Tad Carver of Terra, on fourteenth January, 2136. It has been named 'Carveria,' and the five planets and seven satellites are being charted and named. Details will be filed with the Terran Colonial Board."

Finally Jon finished his astrogation, then went back into the living quarters. "Ready to set course to Three, Folks. Strap down while I change course."

"How long'll it take?"

"Just under a couple of days at two G's."

"Ouch! Do we have to go that fast?" Jak complained.

"You want to get there, don't you?" Jon turned away indifferently, while Mrs. Carver smiled at Jak and shrugged.

During the balance of that "day" Jon stayed in the control room. When either of the others looked in, he was studying intently. Right after breakfast the next morning he put in a long session at the computer and his drawing board, then after lunch went into the storeroom. After a while he came out with his arms filled with wires, cells, relays and other oddments, which he carried into the control room.

The others, busy with their own work and chores, paid no special attention to what Jon was doing. Seeing him busy like this had become so commonplace they seldom bothered even asking what he was doing when he did not volunteer the information.

But as they approached Planet Three early the following morning, under negative acceleration, all three were in the control room, peering intently into the visiplates.

What would they find there? Would there be people of some sort? Cities? Jungles, deserts, ice fields?

All three minds were busy with such conjectures as they came closer in. Their instruments had already told them Three possessed an atmosphere containing water vapor, so they knew it could not be entirely untenable, unless the air contained poisonous gases. But what real conditions they would discover there remained to be seen.

They had already found, charted and photographed the two small moons that circled the planet. One of these was fairly large--about nine hundred miles in diameter, and the other much smaller, about a hundred and fifty. Three, itself, was about five thousand miles through.

"There are clouds down there," Jak called suddenly as they approached ever nearer at constantly decreasing speed.

"Yes, I see them."

"And there's a big ocean!" Their mother was equally excited.

"Three's only about thirty million farther away than Two, although on the opposite side of the sun right now. So there shouldn't be too much difference, except Three'll be colder," Jon stated. "We're about a hundred miles up now, so I'm throwing us into a descending spiral."

"There's a big mountain range, and some of the peaks are snow-covered," Jak called out a few minutes later.

"I see them. We're down to about twenty miles now, and I'm setting a crisscross orbit for two or three revolutions to get a better view and take our first pictures. Mom, if you can tear yourself away, I'm hungry."

She stepped back from the screen, laughing. "You're always hungry." Then she glanced at her wrist-chronom and gasped in dismay. "No wonder--it's over an hour past lunchtime!"

"We'll yell if anything especially interesting shows up," Jak called as she was leaving.

By circling the planet from east to west they kept to the daylight side most of the time, and as the hours passed they were able to get most of their pictures and reports on the geography, climate and other conditions. Their spectro-analyzer showed considerable mineral deposits in many of the places over which they passed.

They saw plenty of vegetation and Jon exclaimed about its coloring.

"Must be fall here," Jak explained. "Unless, of course, those plants don't contain chlorophyll, which I doubt."

But nowhere did they see anything that looked like the works of intelligent beings. Like Planet Two, there was no sign of people anywhere.

When they became so tired they could no longer keep awake, Jon set the ship into a higher, safer orbit, and they all went to bed. Their father had awakened only once during the day, and then only for a few minutes, nor had his wife allowed him to talk, greatly as the boys, especially, desired it.

* * * * *

After breakfast the next morning Jon maneuvered the ship down closer to the surface and they completed exploring the planet, taking their pictures and recordings. Jak made tests and reported the atmosphere not poisonous, although so scant they would have to wear suits most of the time when outdoors.

"It's lots better than Mars, but not near as dense as Terra or Two back there," he told Jon. "Temp's below freezing, but I imagine it'll get warmer when the sun's nearer noon here."

"Humans can adapt themselves to living here, then." Jon's voice was joyful. "They've already colonized planets worse than this, as far as temperature and air are concerned."

"Yes, the human animal seems to be marvelously adaptable to almost any conditions not actually poisonous," Jak said admiringly. "There's even a colony of people from the High Andes of Souamer living on Mars now, without domes."

"They could transport those Andean Indians to Mars direct because they were used to living in the rarefied atmosphere of the high mountains, eh?"

"That's right. Those Indians would have suffocated at sea level back on Terra. Indeed, they seldom went down the mountains below ten thousand feet because of the discomfort. On Mars, they had some difficulty at first, but I understand the second generation born there are perfectly at home."

Jon's blue eyes had been watching his detectors, even while his ears had been listening to Jak's explanations. So far he had not discovered any of that strange fuel-metal--if it was fuel--they had found on Two. He spoke of this now to his brother. "Wonder if those people didn't leave any caches here on Three, or what?"

"Maybe they didn't like cold weather." Jak grinned. "More likely, though, either we haven't come close enough to detect it, or else they may only have made a cache on one planet in a system."

"That's probably it. I've been watching for it all the way in, and 'Annie' didn't chirp at all. Well, do we land and see what the joint is like?"

"Don't know about you, Chubby, but I sure want to. How about closer to the equator? Ought to be warmer there, and more comfortable. I want to study that plant life."

"OK by me--if you don't try to load the boat with your specimens." Jon laughed, and Jak joined in sheepishly.

"I promise not to go hog-wild like I did last time."

"Going to land, Mom. Strap down," Jon called into the intercom.

Jak reached for the sheet of landing instructions, but Jon shook his head. "Don't think we'll need those. Tighten your belt, here we go."

"Hey, what gives?" Jak's eyes widened as he saw his brother throw in one switch and then take his hands off the controls, although his eyes were alertly watching his many dials and lights, and his body was tensely ready for emergencies.

Jon did not answer, and Jak watched in the plate as the ground below appeared to rush closer each second. It almost seemed to him they were not slowing as fast as was usual on landings, but he was not unduly worried--he trusted Jon to know what he was doing ... even if he didn't!

But apparently Jon was not satisfied--for when the ship was only a few hundred yards above ground, he suddenly worked frantically at his controls, and the nose of the little yacht came up sharply and she zoomed into the upper air with a push from her stern tubes.

Thirty-some miles up, Jon set the ship into a circular orbit, then got out of his pilot's seat and began tinkering with some of the controls.

"What's wrong?" Jak asked. "How come you went down without following the manual, and then came up again?"

But Jon was tight-lipped and uncommunicative. Their mother's voice came over the intercom, asking why they had not landed, and Jon answered her question.

"Just a slight miscalculation of height, Mom, so I came up to try again," he answered. "Stay strapped down--I'll be going down again in a minute."

Soon he was back in his seat, scanning his various instruments, then again Jak saw him throw that one switch. Once more the little ship began settling toward the ground beneath, without any handling of the controls.

This time the landing was smooth, soft and even. Still without any move by Jon, Jak could feel the various generators and engines stop, the landing props go down, and finally the board show a clear green "neutral" condition.

"How ... how come?" Jak gasped, and this time Jon chose to answer.