II
Gimp Hines put the finishing touches on the first full-scale ionicduring that next week. The others of the Bunch, each working when hecould, completed cementing the segments of the first bubb together.
On a Sunday morning they carried the bubb out into the yard behind thestore and test inflated the thirty-foot ring by means of a line of hosefrom the compressor in the shop. Soapsuds dabbed along the seamsrevealed a few leaks by its bubbling. These were fixed up.
By late afternoon the Bunch had folded up the bubb again, and weresimulating its practice launching from a ground-to-orbit rocket--as wellas can be done on the ground with a device intended only for use in astate of weightlessness, when the operators are supposed to beweightless, too. The impossibility of establishing such conditionsproduced some ludicrous results:
The two Kuzaks diving with a vigor, as if from a rocket airlock, hittingthe dirt with a thud, scrambling up, opening and spreading the greatbundle, attaching the air hose. Little Lester hopping in to help fitwire rigging, most of it still imaginary. A friendly dog coming over tosniff, with a look of mild wonder in his eyes.
"Laugh, you leather-heads!" Art Kuzak roared at the others. He grinned,wiping his muddy face. "We've got to learn, don't we? Only, it's likemake-believe. Hell, I haven't played make-believe since I was four! Butif we keep doing it here, all the kids and townspeople will be peekingover the fence to see how nuts we've gone."
This was soon literally true. In some embarrassment, the Bunch rolled uptheir bubb and lugged it into the shop.
"I can borrow a construction compressor unit on a truck," Two-and-Twooffered. "And there's a farm I know..."
A great roll of stellene tubing, to have a six-feet six-inch insidediameter when inflated, was delivered on Monday. Enough for three bubbs.The Archer Fives were expected to be somewhat delayed, due to massiveordering. But small boxes of parts and raw stock for the ionics hadbegun to arrive, too. Capacitors, resistors, thermocouple units.Magnesium rods for Storey or Ramos or the Kuzaks to shape in a lathe.Sheet aluminum to be spun and curved and polished. With Eileen Sandshelping, Gimp Hines would do most of that.
So the real work began. Nobody in the Bunch denied that it was a grind.For most, there were those tough courses at Tech. And a job, for money,for sustenance. And the time that must be spent working for--Destiny.Sleep was least important--a few hours, long after midnight, usually.
Frank Nelsen figured that he had it relatively easy--almost as easy asthe Kuzak twins, who, during football season, were under strict ordersto get their proper sack time. He worked at Hendricks'--old Paul didn'tmind his combining the job with his labors of aspiration. Ramos, thenight-mechanic, Tiflin, the car-washer, and Two-and-Two Baines, thepart-time bricklayer, didn't have it so easy. Eileen, a first-rate legaltypist employed for several hours a day by a partnership of lawyers,could usually work from notes, at the place where she lived.
Two-and-Two would lift a big hand facetiously, when he came into theshop. Blinking and squinting, he would wiggle his fingers. "I can stillsee 'em--to count!" he would moan. "Thanks, all you good people, forcoaching me in my math."
"Think nothing of it," Charlie Reynolds or David Lester, or most any ofthe others, would tell him. Two-and-Two hadn't come near Frank Nelsenvery much, during the last few days, though Frank had tried to befriendly.
Lester was the only one without an activity to support himself. But hewas at the shop every weekday, six to ten p.m., cementing stellene withmeticulous care, while he muttered and dreamed.
The Bunch griped about courses, jobs, and the stubbornness of materials,but they made progress. They had built their first bubb and ionic. Theothers would be easier.
Early in November, Nelsen collected all available fresh capital,including a second thousand from Paul Hendricks and five hundred fromCharlie Reynolds, and sent it in with new orders.
That about exhausted their own finances for a long time to come. Sevenbubbs, minus most of even their simpler fittings, and five ionics,seemed as much as they could pay for, themselves. Charlie Reynoldshadn't yet lined up a backer.
"We should have planned to outfit one guy completely," Jig Hollinsgrumbled on a Sunday afternoon at the shop. "Then we could have drawnlots about who gets a chance to use the gear. That we goofed there isyour fault, Reynolds. Or--your Grandpappy didn't come through, huh?"
Charlie met Hollins' sneering gaze for a moment. "Never mind the'Grandpappy', Jig," he said softly. "I knew that chances weren't good,there. However, there are other prospects which I'm working on. Iremember mentioning that it might take time. As for your other remarks,what good is equipping just one person? I thought that this was aproject for all of us."
"I'm with Charlie," Joe Kuzak commented.
"Don't fight, guys--we've got to figure on training, too," Ramoslaughed. "I've got the problem of an expensive training centrifuge aboutbeat. Out at my old motor scooter club. Come on, Charlie--you, too,Jig--get your cars and let's go! It's only seven miles, and we all needa break."
Paul Hendricks had gone for a walk. So Nelsen locked the shop, and theyall tore off, out to the place, Ramos leading the way in his scooter. Atthe scooter club they found an ancient carnival device which used to becalled a motordrome. It was a vertical wooden cylinder, like a huge,ironbound, straight sided cask, thirty feet high and wide, standing onits bottom.
Ramos let himself and the scooter through a massive, curveddoor--conforming to the curvature of the walls--at the base of the'drome.
"Secure the latch bar of this door from the outside, fellas," he said."Then go to the gallery around the top to watch."
Ramos started riding his scooter in a tight circle around the bottom ofthe 'drome. Increasing speed, he swung outward to the ramped juncturebetween floor and smooth, circular walls. Then, moving still faster, hewas riding around the vertical walls, themselves, held there bycentrifugal force. He climbed his vehicle to the very rim of the greatcask, body out sideways, grinning and balancing, hands free, thesquirrel tails flapping from his gaudily repainted old scooter.
"Come on, you characters!" he shouted through the noise and smoke. "Youshould try this, too! It's good practice for the rough stuff to come,when we blast out!... Hey, Eileen--you try it first--ride with me--thenalone--when you get the hang of it!..."
This time she accepted. Soon she was riding by herself, smilingrecklessly. Reynolds rode after that, then the Kuzaks. Like most ofthem, Frank Nelsen took the scooter up alone, from the start. He was abit scared at first, but if you couldn't do a relatively simple stuntlike this, how could you get along in space? He became surer, thengleeful, even when the centrifugal force made his head giddy, pushed hisbuttocks hard against the scooter's seat, and his insides down againsthis pelvis.
Storey, Hollins and Tiflin all accomplished it. Even Gimp Hines rodebehind Ramos in some very wild gyrations, though he didn't attempt toguide the scooter, himself.
Then it was David Lester's turn. It was a foregone conclusion that hecouldn't take the scooter up, alone. Palefaced, he rode double. Ramoswas careful this time. But on the downward curve before coming to rest,the change of direction made Lester grab Ramos' arm at a criticalinstant. The scooter wavered, and they landed hard, even at reducedspeed. Agile Ramos skipped clear, landing on his feet. Lester floppedheavily, and skidded across the bottom of the 'drome.
When the guys got to him, he was covered with friction burns, and withblood from a scalp gash. Ramos, Storey and Frank worked on him to gethim cleaned up and patched up. Part of the time he was sobbing bitterly,more from failure, it seemed, than from his physical hurt. By luck theredidn't seem to be any bones broken.
"Darn!" he choked in some infinite protest, beating the ground with hisfists. "Damn--that's the end of it for me...! So soon... Pop..."
"I'll drive you to Doc Miller's, Les," Charlie Reynolds said briskly."Then home. You other people better stay here..."
Charlie had a baffled, subdued look, when he returned an hour later. "Ithought his mother would chew my ear, s
ure," he said. "She didn't. Shewas just polite. That was worse. She's small--not much color. Of courseshe was scared, and mad clean through. Know her?"
"I guess we've all seen her around," Nelsen answered. "Widow. Les was inone of my classes during my first high school year. He was a senior,then. They haven't been in Jarviston more than a few years. I neverheard where they came from..."
Warily, back at the shop, the Bunch told Paul what had happened.
For once his pale eyes flashed. "You Bright Boys," he said. "Especiallyyou, Ramos...! Well, I'm most to blame. I let him hang around, becausehe was so doggone interested. And _driven_--somehow. Lucky nothing toobad happened. Last August, when you romantics got serious about space, Imade him prove he was over twenty-one..."
They sweated it out, expecting ear-burning phone calls, maybe legalsuits. Nothing happened. Nelsen felt relieved that Lester was gone. Onedangerous link in a chain was removed. Contempt boosted his own arrogantpride of accomplishment. Then pity came, and anger for the sneers of JigHollins. Then regret for a fallen associate.
The dozen Archers were delivered--there would be a spare, now. The Bunchcontinued building equipment, they worked out in the motordrome, theydrilled at donning their armor and at inflating and rigging a bubb. GimpHines exercised with fierce, perspiring doggedness on a horizontal barhe had rigged in the back of the shop. He meant to compensate for hisbad leg by improving his shoulder muscles.
Most of the guys still figured that Charlie Reynolds would solve theirmoney problem. But in late November he had a bad moment. Out in front ofHendricks', he looked at his trim automobile. "It's a cinch I can't useit Out There," he chuckled ruefully and unprompted. Then he brightened."Nope--selling it wouldn't bring one tenth enough, anyhow. I'll get whatwe need--just got to keep trying... I don't know why, but some so-calledexperts are saying that off-the-Earth enterprises have beenoverextended. That makes finding a backer a bit tougher than I thought."
"You ought to just take off on your own, Reynolds," Jig Hollinssuggested airily. "I'll bet it's in your mind. The car would pay forthat. Or since you're a full-fledged nuclear engineer, some company onthe Moon might give you a three year contract and send you out free in acomfortable vehicle. Or wouldn't you like to be tied that long? Iwouldn't. Maybe I could afford to be an independent, too. Tough on theseshoestring boys, here, but is it _our_ fault?"
Hollins was trying to taunt Reynolds. "You're tiresome, Jig," Reynoldssaid without heat. "Somebody's going to poke you sometime..."
Next morning, before going to classes at Tech, Frank Nelsen, with thepossibility of bitter disappointment looming in his own mind, spottedGlen Tiflin, the switch blade tosser, standing on the corner, not quiteopposite the First National Bank. Tiflin's mouth was tight and his eyeswere narrowed.
Nelsen felt a tingle in his nerves--very cold.
"Hi--what cooks, Tif?" he said mildly.
"To you it's which?" Tiflin snapped.
Nelson led him on. "Sometimes I think of all the dough in that bank," hesaid.
"Yeah," Tiflin snarled softly. "That old coot, Charlie Reynolds'grandpa, sitting by his vault door. Too obvious, though--here. Maybe inanother bank--in another town. We could get the cash we need. Hell,though--be cavalier--it's just a thought."
"You damned fool!" Nelsen hissed slowly.
It was harder than ever to like Tiflin for anything at all. But he didhave that terrible, star-reaching desperation. Nelsen had quite a bit ofit, himself. He knew, now.
"Get up to Tech, Tif," he said like an order. "If you have a chance,tell my math prof I might be a little late..."
That was how Frank Nelsen happened to face J. John Reynolds, who, in aquestion of progress, would still approve of galley slaves. Nelsen hadheard jokes like that laughed about, around Jarviston. J. John, byreputation, was all hard business.
Nelsen got past his secretary.
"Young man--I hope you have something very special to say."
There was a cold, amused challenge in the old man's tone, and animplication of a moment of casual audience granted generously, amidmountains of more important affairs.
Nelsen didn't waver. The impulse to do what he was doing had come toosuddenly for nervousness to build up. He hadn't planned what to say, buthis arguments were part of himself.
"Mr. Reynolds--I'm Frank Nelsen, born here in Jarviston. Perhaps youknow me on sight. I believe you are acquainted with Paul Hendricks, andyou must have heard about our group, which is aiming at space, as peoplelike ourselves are apt to be doing, these days. We've made fairprogress, which proves we're at least earnest, if not dedicated. Butunless we wait and save for years, we've come about as far as we can,without a loan. Judging from the success of previous earnest groups, andthe development of resources and industries beyond the Earth, we aresure that we could soon pay you back, with considerable interest."
J. John Reynolds seemed to doze, hardly listening. But at the end hiseyes opened, and sparks of anger--or acid humor--seemed to dance inthem.
"I know very well what sort of poetic tomfoolery you are talking about,Nelsen," he said. "I wondered how long it would be before one ofyou--other than my grandson with his undiluted brass, and knowing me fartoo well in one sense, anyway--would have the gall to come here and talkto me like this. You'd probably be considered a minor, too, in somestates. Dealing with you, I could even get into trouble."
Nelsen's mouth tightened. "I came to make a proposition and get ananswer," he responded. "Thank you for your no. It helps clear the view."
"Hold on, Nelsen," J. John growled. "I don't remember saying no. I said'gall,' intending it to mean guts. That's what young spacemen need,isn't it? They've almost got to be _young_, so legal viewpoints aboutthe age at which competence is reached are changing. Oh, there is plentyof brass among your generation. But it fails in peculiar places. I waswaiting for one place where it didn't fail. Charlie, my grandson,doesn't count. It has never taken him any courage to talk to me any wayhe wants."
This whole encounter was still dreamlike to Frank Nelsen.
"Then you are saying yes?"
"I might. Do you foolishly imagine that my soul is so completely sourmilk that in youth I couldn't feel the same drives that you feel, now,for the limited opportunity there was, then? But under some damnablepressure toward conformity, I took a desk job in a bank. I am noweighty-one years old... How much does your 'Bunch' need--at minimum,mind you--for the opportunity to ride in space-armor till the rank smellof their bodies almost chokes them, for developing weird allergies orgoing murdering mad, but, in the main, doing their best, anyway,pathfinding and building, if they've got the guts? Come on, Nelsen--youmust know."
"Fifty thousand," Frank answered quickly. "There are still eleven in ourgroup."
"Yes... More may quit along the way... Here is _my_ proposition: I wouldmake funds available for your expenses up to that amount--from mypersonal holdings, separate from this bank. The amount due from eachindividual shall be ten percent of whatever his gains or earnings are,off the Earth, over a period of ten years, but he will not be requiredto pay back any part of the original loan. This is a high-risk,high-potential profit arrangement for me--with an experimental element.I will ask for no written contract--only a verbal promise. I have foundthat people are fairly honest, and I know that, far in space,circumstances become too complicated to make legal collections verypractical, anyway, even if I ever felt inclined to try them... Now,if--after I see your friends, whom you will send to me for an interviewand to give me their individual word, also, I decide to make myproposition effective--will you, yourself, promise to abide by theseterms?"
Nelsen was wary for a second. "Yes--I promise," he said.
"Good. I am glad you paused to think, Nelsen. I am not fabulously rich.But having more or less money hardly matters to me at this late date, soI am not likely to try to trap you. Yet there is still a game to play,and an outcome to watch--the future. Now get out of here before youbecome ridiculous by saying more than a casual thanks."
"
All right--thanks. Thank you, sir..."
Nelsen felt somewhat numb. But a faint, golden glow was increasinginside his mind.
Tiflin hadn't gone up to Tech. He was still waiting on the streetcorner. "What the hell, Frank?" he said.
"I think we've got the loan, Tif. But he wants to see all of us. Can yougo in there, be polite, say you're a Bunch member, make a promise,and--above all--avoid blowing your top? Boy--if you queer this...!"
Tiflin's mouth was open. "You kidding?"
"No!"
Tiflin gulped, and actually looked subdued. "Okay, Frank. Be cavalier.Hell, I'd croak before I'd mess this up...!"
By evening, everybody had visited J. John Reynolds, including CharlieReynolds and Jig Hollins. Nelsen got the backslapping treatment.
Charlie sighed, rubbed his head, then grinned with immense relief."That's a load off," he said. "Glad to have somebody else fix it.Congrats, Frank. I wonder if Otto has got any champagne to go with thehotdogs...?"
Otto had a bottle--enough for a taste, all around. Eileen kissed Frankimpulsively. "You ought to get _real_ smart," she said.
"Uh-huh," he answered. "Now let's get some beer--more our speed."
But none of them overdid the beer either...
Just after New Year's they had eight bubbs completed, tested, foldedcarefully according to government manuals, and stowed in an attic theyhad rented over Otto's place. They had seven ionics finished and stored.More parts and materials were arriving. The air-restorers were going tobe the toughest and most expensive to make. They were the really vitalthings to a spaceman. Every detail had to be carefully fitted andassembled. The chlorophane contained costly catalytic agents.
A winter of hard work was ahead, but they figured on a stretch of clearsailing, now. They didn't expect anyone to shake their morale, least ofall a nice, soft-spoken guy in U.S.S.F. greys. Harv Diamond was the oneman from Jarviston who had gotten into the Space Force. He used to hangaround Hendricks'.
He dropped in on a Sunday evening, when the whole Bunch was in the shop.They were around him at once, like around a hero, shouting andquestioning. There were mottled patches on his hands, and he wore darkglasses, but he seemed at ease and happy.
"There have been some changes in the old joint, huh, Paul?" he said. "Soyou guys are one of the outfits building its own gear... Looks prettygood... Of course you can get some bulky supplies cheaper on the Moon,because everything from Earth has to be boosted into space against agravity six times as great as the lunar, which raises the price likehell. Water and oxygen, for instance. Peculiar, on the dry, almostairless Moon. But roasting water out of lunar gypsum rock is an easytrick. And oxygen can be derived from water by simple electrolysis."
"Hell, we know all that, Harv," Ramos laughed.
So Harv Diamond gave them the lowdown on the shortage of girls--yet--inSerenitatis Base, on the Moon. Just the same, it was growing like cornin July, and was already a pretty good leave-spot, if you liked to lookaround. Big vegetable gardens under sealed, stellene domes. Metalrefineries, solar power plants, plastic factories and so forth, alreadyin operation... But there was nothing like Pallastown, on little Pallas,out in the Asteroid Belt... Mars? That was the heebie-jeebie planet.
Gimp asked Harv how much leave he had on Earth.
"Not long, I guess," Harv laughed. "I've got to check back at the ForceHospital in Minneapolis tomorrow..."
But right away it was evident that his thoughts had been put on thewrong track. His easy smile faded. He gasped and looked kind ofsurprised. He hung onto Paul's old swivel chair, in which he wassitting, as if he was suddenly terribly afraid of falling. His eyesclosed tight, and there was a funny gurgle in his throat.
The Bunch surrounded him, wanting to help, but he half recovered.
"Even a good Space Force bubb, manufactured under rigid governmentspecifications, can tear," he said in a thick tone. "If some jerk,horsing around with another craft, bumps you even lightly.Compartmentation helps, but you can still be unlucky. I wasfortunate--almost buttoned into my Archer Six, already. _But did youever see a person slowly swell up and turn purple, with frothy bubblesforming under the skin, while his blood boils in the Big Vacuum?_ Thatwas my buddy, Ed Kraft..."
Lieutenant Harvey Diamond gasped. Huge, strangling hiccups came out ofhis throat. His eyes went wild. The Kuzaks had to hold him, while MitchStorey ran to phone Doc Miller. A shot quieted Diamond somewhat, and anambulance took him away.
That incident shook up the Bunch a little. A worse one came on a Tuesdayevening, when not everybody was at the shop.
The TV was on, showing the interior of the _Far Side_, one of those big,comparatively luxurious tour bubbs that take rubbernecks that can affordit on a swing around the Moon. The _Far Side_ was just coming intoorbit, where tending skip gliders would take off the passengers forgrounding at the New Mexico spaceport. Aboard the big bubb you could seepeople moving about, or sitting with drinks on curved benches. A girlwas playing soft music on a tiny, lightweight piano.
There wasn't any sign of trouble except that the TV channel went deadfor a second, until a stand by commercial with singing cartoon figurescut in.
But Frank Nelsen somehow put his hands to his head, as if to protect it.
Mitch Storey, with a big piece of stellene in his brown mitts, stood upvery straight.
Gimp, at a bench, handed a tiny capacitor to Eileen, and startedcounting, slow and even. "One--two--three--four--five--"
"What's with you slobs?" Jig Hollins wanted to know.
"Dunno--we're nuts, maybe," Gimp answered. "Ten--eleven--twelve--"
Charlie Reynolds and Paul Hendricks were alert, too.
Then a big, white light trembled on the thin snow beyond the windows,turning the whole night landscape into weird day. The tearing, cracklingroar was delayed. By the time the sound arrived, all of the stellene inthe _Far Side_ must have been consumed. It had no resistance toatmospheric friction at five miles per second, or faster. There werejust the heavier metallic details left to fall and burn. Far off, therewas a thumping crash that seemed to make the ground sag and recover.
"Here we go!" Charlie Reynolds yelled.
In his and Hollins' cars, they got to the scene of the fragment's fall,two miles out of town, by following a faint, fading glow. They werealmost the first to reach the spot. Tiflin and Ramos, who had beenworking on their jobs, came with their boss, along with a trailing hordeof cars from town.
Flashlights probed into the hot impact pit in the open field, where thefrozen soil had seemed to splash like a liquid. Crumpled in the hole wasa lump of half-fused sheet steel, wadded up like paper. It was probablypart of the _Far Side_'s central hub. Magnesium and aluminum, of whichthe major portions had certainly been made, were gone; they could neverhave endured the rush through the atmosphere.
Ramos got down into the pit. After a minute, he gave a queer cry, andclimbed out again. His mitten smoked as he opened it, to show something.
"It must have been behind a heavy object," he said very seriously, notlike his usual self at all. "That broke the molecular impact with theair--like a ceramic nose cone. Kept it from burning up completely."
The thing was a lady's silver compact, from which a large piece had beenfused away. A bobbypin had gotten welded to it.
Old Paul Hendricks cursed. Poor Two-and-Two moved off sickly, with apalm clamped over his mouth.
Eileen Sands gasped, and seemed about to yell. But she got back most ofher poise. Women have nursed the messily ill and dying, and have tendedghastly wounds during ages of time. So they know the messier side ofbiology as well as men.
Ramos gave the pathetic relic to a cop who was trying to take charge.
"Somebody must have goofed bad on the _Far Side_, for it to miss orbitlike that," Ramos grated. "Or was something wrong, beforehand? Their TVtransmitter went out--we were watching, too, at the garage... You cansee the aurora--the Northern Lights... Those damn solar storms mighthave loused up instruments...! But who'll ever know, now...?"
&n
bsp; The Kuzaks, who had been to an Athletic Association meeting at Tech, hadgrabbed a ride out with the stream of cars from town. Both looked grim."No use hanging around here, Charlie," Art urged. "Let's get back to theshop."
Before he drove off, Jig Hollins tried to chuckle mockingly ateverybody, especially Charlie Reynolds. "Time to think about keeping anice safe job in the Jarviston powerhouse--eh, Reynolds? And stayingnear granddad?"
"We're supposed not to be children, Hollins," Charlie shot back at himfrom his car window. "We're supposed to have known long ago that thesethings happen, and to have adjusted ourselves to our chances."
"Ninnies that get scared first thing, when the facts begin to show!"Tiflin snarled. "Cripes--let's don't be like soft bugs under boards!"
"You're right, Tif," Frank Nelsen agreed, feeling that for once thene'er-do-well--the nuisance--might be doing them all some good. Frankcould feel how Tiflin shamed some of the quiver out of his own insides,and helped bring back pride and strength.
The _Far Side_ disaster had been pretty disturbing, however. And nextday, Thursday, the blue envelopes came to the members of the Bunch. Aprinted card with a typed-in date, was inside each: "Report forspace-fitness tests at Space-Medicine Center, February 15th..."
"Just a couple of weeks!" Two-and-Two was moaning that night. "How'll Iget through, with my courses only half-finished. You've gotta help mesome more, people! With that stinking math...!"
So equipment building was almost suspended, while the Bunch crammed andsweated and griped and cursed. But maybe now some of them wouldn't careso very much if they flunked.
Two loaded automobiles took off for Minneapolis on the night before theordeal. The Bunch put up at motels to be fresh the next morning. Maybesome of them even slept.
At the Center, there were more forms to fill out. Then completephysicals started the process. Next came the written part. Right off,Frank Nelsen knew that this was going a familiar way, which hadhappened quite often at Tech: Struggle through a tough course, hear direpromises of head-cracking questions and math problems in the final quiz.Then the switch--the easy letdown.
The remainder of the tests proceeded like assembly-line operations, eachperson taking each alone, in the order of his casual position in thewaiting line.
First there was the dizzying, mind-blackening centrifuge test, to see ifyou could take enough Gs of acceleration, and still be alert enough tofit a simple block puzzle together.
Then came the free fall test, from the top of a thousand foot tower. Aparachute-arrangement broke your speed at the bottom of the track. As inthe centrifuge, instruments incorporated into the fabric of a coverallsuit with a hood, were recording your emotional and bodily reactions.The medics wanted to be sure that your panic level was high and cool.Nelsen didn't find free fall very hard to take, either.
Right after that came the scramble to see how fast you could get into anArcher, unfold and inflate a bubb and rig its gear.
"That's all, Mister," the observer with the camera told Nelsen in abored tone.
"Results will be mailed to your home within twelve hours--Mr. Nelsen," agirl informed him as she read his name from a printed card.
So the Bunch returned tensely to Jarviston, with more time to sweat out.Everybody looked at Gimp Hines--and then looked away. Even Jig Hollinsdidn't make any comments. Gimp, himself, seemed pretty subdued.
The small, green space-fitness cards were arriving at Jarvistonaddresses in the morning.
Near the end of the noon hour, Two-and-Two Baines was waving his aroundthe Tech campus, having gone home to look, as of course everybody elsewho could, had also done. "Cripes!--Hi-di-ho--here it is!" he wasyelling at the frosty sky, when Frank came with his own ticket.
The Kuzaks had theirs, and were calm about it. Eileen Sands' card wastucked neatly into her sweater pocket, as she joined those who werewaiting for the others on the front steps of Tech's Carver Hall.
Ramos had to make a noise. "See what Santa brought the lady! But hedidn't forget your Uncle Miguel, either--see! We're in, kid--be happy.Yippee!"
He tried to whirl her in some crazy dance, but Gimp was swinging alongthe slushy walk on his crutches. His grin was a mile wide. Mitch Storeywas with him, looking almost as pleased.
"Guess legs don't count, Out There," Gimp was saying. "Or patchedtickers, either, as long as they work good! I kind of figured on it...Hey--I don't want to ride anybody's shoulders, Ramos--cut it out...! Wewon't know about Charlie and Jig till tonight, when they come to Paul'sfrom their jobs. But I don't think that there's any sweat for them,either... Only--where's Tif? He should be back by now from where helives with his father..."
Tiflin didn't show up at Hendricks' at all that evening, or at hisgarage job either. Ramos phoned from the garage to confirm that.
"And he's not at home," Ramos added. "The boss sent me to check. His OldMan says he doesn't know where Tif is and cares less."
"Just leave Tif be," Mitch Storey said softly.
"Maybe that's best, at that," old Paul growled. "Only I hope the darnedidiot doesn't cook himself up another jam..."
They all knew then, for sure, what had happened. Right now, Glen Tiflinwas wandering alone, somewhere, cursing and suffering. As likely as not,he'd start hitchhiking across the country, to try to get away fromhimself... Somewhere the test instruments--which had seemed solenient--had tripped him up, spotting the weakness that he had tried tofight. Temper, nerves--emotional instability. So there was no green cardfor Tif, to whom space was a kind of Nirvana...
The Bunch worked on with their preparations. Things got done all right,but the fine edge of enthusiasm had dulled. Jig Hollins flung his usualremarks, with their derisive undertone, around for a couple of weeks.Then he came into the shop with a girl who had a pretty, rather blankface, and a mouth that could twist with stubborn anger.
"Meet Minnie," Jig said loudly. "She is one reason why I have decidedthat I've had enough of this kid stuff. I gave it a whirl--for kicks.But who, with any sense, wants to go batting off to Mars or theAsteroids? That's for the birds, the crackpots. Wife, house, kids--rightin your own home town--that's the only sense there is. Minnie showed methat, and we're gonna get married!"
The Bunch looked at Jig Hollins. He was swaggering. He was making sourfun of them, but in his eyes there were other signs, too. A pleading:Agree with me--back me up--quit! Don't see through me--it's not so,anyhow! Don't say I'm hiding behind a skirt... Above all, don't call meyellow! I'm _not_ yellow, I tell you! I'm tough Jig Hollins! You're thedopes!...
Frank Nelsen spoke for the others. "We understand, Jig. We'll be gettingyou a little wedding present. Later on, maybe we'll be able to send yousomething really good. Best of luck..."
They let Jig Hollins and his Minnie go. They felt their contempt andpity, and their lifting, wild pride. Maybe Jig Hollins, wise guy and bigmouth, boosted their own selves quite a bit, by contrast.
"Poor sap," Joe Kuzak breathed. "Who's he kidding--us or himself, orneither...?"
Soon Eileen began to show symptoms: Sighs. A restlessness. Sudden angrypouts that would change as quickly to the secret smiles of reverie,while she hummed a soft tune to herself, and rose on her toes, dancing afew steps. Speculative looks at Nelsen, or the other guys around her.Maybe she envied men. Her eyes would narrow thoughtfully for a second.Then she might look scared and very young, as if her thoughts frightenedher. But the expression of determined planning would return.
After about ten days of this, Gimp asked, "What's with you, Eileen? Youdon't usually say much, but now there must be something else."
She tossed down a fistful of waste with which she had been wiping herhands--she had been cementing segments of the last of the ten bubbs theywould make--more than they needed, now, but spares might be useful.
"Okay, all," she said briskly. "You should hear this, without anyfurther delay. I'm clearing out, too. Reasons? Well--at least since Tifflunked his emotional I've been getting the idea that possibly I've beenplaying on a third-rate team. No offense,
please--I don't really believeit's so, and if it isn't so you're tough enough not to be hurt. Farworse--I'm a girl. So why am I trying to do things in a man's way, whenthere are means that are made for me? I'm all of twenty-two. I've gotnobody except an aunt in Illinois. Meanwhile, out in New Mexico, there'sa big spaceport, and a lot of the right people who can help me. I'll betI can get where you want to go, before you do. Tell Mr. J. John Reynoldsthat he can have my equipment--most of which he paid for. But perhapsI'll still be able to give him his ten percent."
"Eileen! Cripes, what are you talking about?" This was Ramos yelping, asif the clown could be hurt, after all.
"I don't mean anything so bad, Fun Boy," she said more gently. "Lots ofmen are remarkably chivalrous. But no arguments. Now that I havedeclared my intentions, I'll pick up and pull out of here thisminute--taking some pleasant memories with me, as well as aspace-fitness card. You're all good, plodding joes--honest. But there'llbe a plane west from Minneapolis tomorrow."
She was getting into her blazer. Even Ramos saw that arguments would befutile. Frank Nelsen's throat ached suddenly, as if at sins of omission.But that was wrong. Eileen Sands was too old for him, anyhow.
"So long, you characters," she said. "Good luck. Don't follow meoutside. Maybe I'll see you, someplace."
"Right, Eileen--we'll miss yuh," Storey said. "And we better sure enoughsee you that someplace!"
There were ragged shouts. "Good luck, kid. So long, Eileen..."
She was gone--a small, scared, determined figure, dressed like a boy. Onher wrist was a watch that might get pawned for a plane ticket.
Ramos was unbelievably glum for days. But he worked harder buildingair-restorers than most of the Bunch had ever worked before. "We'rehardcore, now--we'll last," he would growl. "Final, long lap--March,April and May--with no more interruptions. In June, when our courses atTech are finished, we'll be ready to roll..."
That was about how it turned out. Near the end of May, the Bunch linedup in the shop, the ten blastoff drums they had made, including twospares. The drums were just large tubes of sheet magnesium, in whichabout everything that each man would need was compactly stowed: ArcherFive, bubb, sun-powered ionic drive motor, air-restorer,moisture-reclaimer, flasks of oxygen and water, instruments, dehydratedfoods, medicines, a rifle, instruction manuals, a few clothes, andvarious small, useful items. Everything was cut to minimum, to keep theweight down. The lined up drums made a utilitarian display that lookedrather grim.
The gear was set out like this, for the safety inspectors to look atduring the next few days, and provide their stamp of approval.
The blastoff tickets had also been purchased--for June tenth.
"Well, how do you think the Bunch should travel to New Mexico, Paul?"Frank Nelsen joshed.
"Like other Bunches, I guess," Paul Hendricks laughed. "A couple ofmoving vans should do the trick..."