Part 4 (1/2)

”I don't like that idea,” said Joe dourly. ”Anything we can do?”

Major Holt laughed bitterly. ”_Hardly!_” he said. ”_And do you realize that if you can't unload your cargo you can't get back to Earth?_”

”Yes,” said Joe. ”Naturally!”

It was true. The purpose of the pushpots and the jatos and the s.h.i.+p's own take-off rockets had been to give it a speed at which it would inevitably rise to a height of 4,000 miles--the orbit of the s.p.a.ce Platform--and stay there. It would need no power to remain 4,000 miles out from Earth. But it would take power to come down. The take-off rockets had been built to drive the s.h.i.+p with all its contents until it attained that needed orbital velocity. There were landing rockets fastened to the hull now to slow it so that it could land. But just as the take-off rockets had been designed to lift a loaded s.h.i.+p, the landing-rockets had been designed to land an empty one.

The more weight the s.h.i.+p carried, the more power it needed to get out to the Platform. And the more power it needed to come down again.

If Joe and his companions couldn't get rid of their cargo--and they could only unload in the s.h.i.+p-lock of the Platform--they'd stay out in emptiness.

The Major said bitterly: ”_This is all most irregular, but--here's Sally._”

Then Sally's voice sounded in the headphones Joe wore. He was relieved that Mike wasn't acting as communications officer at the moment to overhear. But Mike was zestfully spinning like a pin-wheel in the middle of the air of the control cabin. He was showing the others that even in the intramural pastimes a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p crew will indulge in, a midget was better than a full-sized man. Joe said:

”Yes, Sally?”

She said unsteadily. ”_I'm not going to waste your time talking to you, Joe. I think you've got to figure out something. I haven't the faintest idea what it is, but I think you can do it. Try, will you?_”

”I'm afraid we're going to have to trust to luck,” admitted Joe ruefully. ”We weren't equipped for anything like this.”

”_No!_” said Sally fiercely. ”_If I were with you, you wouldn't think of trusting to luck!_”

”I wouldn't want to,” admitted Joe. ”I'd feel responsible. But just the same--”

”_You're responsible now!_” said Sally, as fiercely as before. ”_If the Platform's smashed, the rockets that can reach it will be duplicated to smash our cities in war! But if you can reach the Platform and arm it for defense, there won't be any war! Half the world would be praying for you, Joe, if it knew! I can't do anything else, so I'm going to start on that right now. But you try, Joe! You hear me?_”

”I'll try,” said Joe humbly. ”Thanks, Sally.”

He heard a sound like a sob, and the headphones were silent. Joe himself swallowed very carefully. It can be alarming to be the object of an intended murder, but it can also be very thrilling. One can play up splendidly to a dramatic picture of doom. It is possible to be one's own audience and admire one's own fine disregard of danger. But when other lives depend on one, one has the irritating obligation not to strike poses but to do something practical.

Joe said somberly: ”Mike, how long before we ought to contact the Platform?”

Mike reached out a small hand, caught a hand-hold, and flicked his eyes to the master chronometer.

”Forty minutes, fifty seconds. Why?”

Joe said wrily, ”There are some rockets in enemy hands which can reach the Platform. They were s.h.i.+pped to launchers ten days ago. You figure what comes next.”

Mike's wizened face became tense and angry. Haney growled, ”They smash the Platform before we get to it.”

”Uh-uh!” said Mike instantly. ”They smash the Platform _when_ we get to it! They smash us both up together. Where'll we be at contact-time, Joe?”

”Over the Indian Ocean, south of the Bay of Bengal, to be exact,” said Joe. ”But we'll be moving fast. The worst of it is that it's going to take time to get in the airlock and unload our guided missiles and get them in the Platform's launching-tubes. I'd guess an hour. One bomb should get both of us above the Bay of Bengal, but we won't be set to launch a guided missile in defense until we're nearly over America again.”

The Chief said sourly, ”Yeah. Sitting ducks all the way across the Pacific!”

”We'll check with the Platform,” said Joe. ”See if you can get them direct, Mike, will you?”

Then something occurred to him. Mike scrambled back to his communication board. He began feverishly to work the computer which in turn would swing the tight-beam transmitter to the target the computer worked out, He threw a switch and said sharply, ”Calling s.p.a.ce Platform! Pelican One calling s.p.a.ce Platform! Come in, s.p.a.ce Platform!...” He paused. ”Calling s.p.a.ce Platform....”

Joe had a slide-rule going on another problem. He looked up, his expression peculiar.