Part 21 (2/2)

The landing of the first robot s.h.i.+p at the Platform was almost as matter-of-fact as if it had been done a thousand times before. From the Platform its dramatic take-off couldn't be seen, of course. It first appeared aloft as a pip on a radar screen. Then Mike prepared to go out and hook on to it and tow it in. He was in his s.p.a.ce suit and in the landing lock, though his helmet faceplate was still open. A loudspeaker boomed suddenly in Brown's voice: ”_Evacuate airlock and prepare to take off!_”

Joe roared: ”Hold that!”

Brown's voice, very official, came: ”_Withhold execution of that order.

You should not be in the airlock, Mr. Kenmore. You will please make way for operational procedure._”

”We're checking the s.p.a.ce wagon,” snapped Joe. ”That's operational procedure!”

The loudspeaker said severely: ”_The checking should have been done earlier!_”

There was silence. Mike and Joe, together, painstakingly checked over the very many items that had to be made sure. Every rocket had to have its firing circuit inspected. The tanks' contents and pressure verified.

The air connection to Mike's s.p.a.ce suit. The air pressure. The device that made sure that air going to Mike's s.p.a.ce suit was neither as hot as metal in burning sunlight, nor cold as the chill of a shadow in s.p.a.ce.

Everything checked. Mike straddled his red-painted mount. Joe left the lock and said curtly:

”Okay to pump the airlock. Okay to open airlock doors when ready. Go ahead.”

Mike went out, and Joe watched from a port in the Platform's hull. The drone from Earth was five miles behind the Platform in its...o...b..t, and twenty miles below, and all of ten miles off-course. Joe saw Mike scoot the red s.p.a.ce wagon to it, stop short with a sort of c.o.c.ky self-a.s.surance, hook on to the tow-ring in the floating s.p.a.ce-barge's nose, and blast off back toward the Platform with it in tow.

Mike had to turn about and blast again to check his motion when he arrived. And then he and Haney--Haney in the other s.p.a.ce wagon--nudged at it and tugged at it and got it in the great s.p.a.celock. They went in after it and the lock doors closed.

Neither Mike nor Haney were out of their s.p.a.ce suits when Kent brought Joe a note. A note was an absurdity in the Platform. But this was a formal communication from Brown.

”_From: Lt. Comdr. Brown

To: Mr. Kenmore

Subject: Cooperation and courtesy in rocket recovery vehicle launchings.

1. There is a regrettable lack of coordination and courtesy in the launching of rocket-recovery vehicles (s.p.a.ce wagons) in the normal operation of the Platform.

2. The maintenance of discipline and efficiency requires that the commanding officer maintain overall control of all operations at all times.

3. Hereafter when a s.p.a.ce vehicle of any type is to be launched, the commanding officer will be notified in writing not less than one hour before such launching.

4. The time of such proposed launching will be given in such notification in hours and minutes and seconds, Greenwich Mean Time.

5. All commands for launching will be given by the commanding officer or an officer designated by him._”

Joe received the memo as he was in the act of writing a painstaking report on the maneuver Mike had carried out. Mike was radiant as he discussed possible improvements with later and better equipment. After all, this had been a lucky landing. For a robot to end up no more than 30 miles from its target, after a journey of 4,000 miles, and with a difference in velocity that was almost immeasurable--such good fortune couldn't be expected as a regular thing. The s.p.a.ce wagons were tiny. If they had to travel long distances to recover erratic s.h.i.+ps coming up from Earth----

Joe forgot all about Lieutenant Commander Brown and his memo when the mail was distributed. Joe had three letters from Sally. He read them in the great living compartment of the Platform with its sixty-foot length and its carpet on floor and ceiling, and the galleries without stairs outside the sleeping cabins. He sat in a chair with thigh grips to hold him in place, and he wore a gravity simulation harness. It was necessary. The regular crew of the Platform, by this time, couldn't have handled s.p.a.ce wagons in action against enemy manned rockets. Joe meant to stay able to take acceleration.

It was just as he finished his mail that Brent came in.

”Big news!” said Brent. ”They're building a big new s.h.i.+p of new design--almost half as big as the Platform. With concreted metal they can do it in weeks.”

”What's it for?” demanded Joe.

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