CHAPTER II
Assignment: Rocket Base
Rick turned the phrase over and over in his head, trying to make senseout of it. Earthman? Who wasn't an earthman? The whole human race wascomposed of them. Of course ordinary people didn't refer to themselvesas _homo terrestrialis_, but that's what they were just the same.
Scotty was just as puzzled. "Do you make anything out of it?" heinquired.
Rick shook his head mutely.
As Barby made a beeline for the library, Scotty called after her, "Whereare you going? It's lunchtime."
She answered without pausing. "I'm going to consult the dictionarybefore Dr. Gordon comes down."
"Maybe she has something there," Rick said. "Let's go."
But the dictionary gave no clues. _Homo_ was simply "man," and_terrestrial_ was simply "of earth."
"Terrestrial is in here, but not terrestrialis," Barby complained.
"Same thing," Rick said. "Adding 'is' just makes it a Latin form. No,there's nothing strange about the term, except it's strange that anyoneshould use it."
"We'll find out," Scotty reminded him. "John Gordon was just teasing us.Let's go eat. Maybe he'll break down at lunch."
Rick realized the sense of what Scotty said, but he couldn't stopworrying the problem as his dog, Dismal, might worry a bone. Then, whenthey all sat down to lunch, his father effectively blocked discussion ofit, and their new assignment, by talking with Dr. Gordon about mutualfriends out West.
Finally Mrs. Brant came to her son's rescue. "Now, Hartson, and you too,John. You've teased Rick and Scotty enough."
Mr. Brant chuckled. "I wondered how long he was going to put up with ourreminiscences before blowing a fuse or something."
Rick grinned sheepishly. He should have guessed that the two scientistswere deliberately keeping the conversation off the main subject just asa joke.
John Gordon took a generous helping of salad. "All right. I'll talk, butyou'll have to excuse me if I mumble a little. I intend to go right oneating. I've been looking forward to this for months!"
"We'll excuse you," Barby said quickly. "Only please start!"
Gordon smiled at her. "Can you keep secrets?"
"I always have," Barby retorted.
"All right. Then you can listen. But what I say must not be repeated."
The scientist paused long enough to drain his glass of milk and refillit from the pitcher.
"Well, to begin with, we moved from New Mexico to Nevada only a shortwhile ago, in order to separate our work from military research. Wecreated a new test base in Nevada, not too far from the Atomic EnergyCommission's Nevada Test Site, although we have no connection with it."
"Then you're not on a military project?" Scotty asked.
"Yes and no. The work is sponsored jointly by the Department of Defenseand some other agencies, including the National Science Foundation.However, we are not working on military projects, in the sense that ourrockets are not weapons. They're for research purposes. Of course someof the things we're doing will be valuable for military applicationlater, and so our test base is closed to the public and most of our workhas a high classification. Usually the work is secret, but sometimesit's top secret. Is that clear?"
Scotty and the Brants agreed that it was.
"Very well. Since we operate under security, every person who works onthe base is fully investigated and cleared for top secret. This is animportant point. You know how thorough these investigations are. Once asecurity check for top secret is completed, there is literally nothingof importance that isn't known about a person. But in spite of the mostcareful security work, there is someone on our base about whom we do notknow everything.
"It's absolutely baffling," Gordon continued. "Our first project was asimple one, with a tested rocket system. Actually, we used a modifiedAerobee, a rocket of proven dependability. Nothing should have gonewrong. But when we fired, the rocket exploded at the top of thelauncher. We investigated thoroughly, of course, and found someone hadcleverly sabotaged the shoot."
"The what?" Barby asked.
"The shoot. When we launch a rocket we simply call it a shoot."
"Oh. Now I understand."
"Ask any questions you want. Well, we discovered that someone had riggeda steel bar at the top of the launching tower. It was spring-loaded andtriggered to move right across the path of the rocket when we fired."
"What does spring-loaded mean?" Mrs. Brant asked.
"The bar was activated by a spring. The spring was under tension. Thesteel bar lay along one of the pieces of the frame, and was held by alatch. When the trigger withdrew the latch, the spring pushed the baracross the path of the rocket. That's what spring-loaded means in thiscase."
"Couldn't anyone have found the steel bar?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Yes, if anyone had looked for it. But once the launching tower waserected, there was no reason for anyone to go to the top for aninspection."
Scotty nodded his understanding.
"To go on, as soon as we found the bar and the spring mechanism we knewwe'd been sabotaged. But that wasn't all. Etched on the bar was a rathergood picture of a knight in armor, in the process of driving his swordthrough a rocket. Underneath was the inscription: _Homo Terrestrialis_."
_Etched on the bar was a puzzling inscription_]
"I don't get it," Rick complained.
Gordon grinned. "Neither did we. And we still don't get it. But you canbe sure we started a few balls rolling. First, Security checked everyman's file again. They missed no one. Even the security officers andguards were rechecked. Then they started a program to find out who onthe base had any talent as an artist. Nothing was found. The securitychief sent photos of the etched picture and the whole bar mechanism toevery security agency in the government, including the FBI, CentralIntelligence, and the military. He drew a blank. No one had ever heardof anyone calling himself the Earthman, and the technique wasn'tfamiliar."
The scientist paused long enough to eat a little more, then resumed.
"Meanwhile, we were getting a Viking rocket ready to launch. We checkedit from nose to fins. We didn't miss a thing. Then we posted a guardaround it, and a guard to watch the guard. We took no chances at all.The project engineer even slept near the rocket where he could keep aneye on it."
"Did anyone climb the tower?" Barby asked.
"There was no tower. A Viking rests on its fins. Anyway, it took off. Itclimbed ten miles, then went on an erratic course. We couldn't controlit. Fortunately it crashed on the Las Vegas Bombing and Gunnery Range,which is a closed military area nearby, so no one was hurt. At first wethought it was just one of those typical accidents that happen duringrocket research. Even the best-performing rockets sometimes go haywire.But when we got into the wreckage, we found the steering vanes had beentampered with, in a way that inspection couldn't have disclosed."
"Was there a picture?" Scotty asked.
"Not in or on the rocket. But when we got back to the base afterinspecting it, everyone was excited. Someone had sketched a knight inarmor with crayon right on the concrete of the launching pad."
Rick said thoughtfully, "Then you can eliminate those who went toinspect the crashed Viking."
"Unfortunately, no. We have no way of telling when the picture wasdrawn. No one was seen near the launching pad between the time therocket was fired and the discovery of the sketch on our return from thegunnery range."
"Do you think this sabotage is the work of an enemy agent?" HartsonBrant inquired.
John Gordon shrugged. "Perhaps. Yet we don't really think so. In thefirst place, an enemy agent would probably not leave a calling card. Andsecond, we're reasonably sure no agent could have gotten past thesecurity check."
There was silence while Scotty and the Brants thought over what Gordonhad said. The scientist busied himself with the excellent food, andfinally accepted a cup of coffee.
Rick voiced aloud the angles that puzzled him the most. "If not an enemyagent, then why the sabotage at all?
Who would have anything to gain butan enemy?"
"If we had the answers, we could find the saboteur," Gordon pointed out."If we knew why he calls himself 'The Earthman' we might also have alead. But as it is, we're stumped. It could be anyone on the base,including me."
"Is it you?" Barby asked in a stage whisper.
Gordon looked around, as though to make sure there were noeavesdroppers. "I don't think so," he whispered, "but I'll have to admitI haven't looked since yesterday."
"What do you want the boys to do?" Mrs. Brant asked.
The scientist became serious again. "It's a desperate hope," headmitted, "but there is always a possibility they might turn upsomething if we plant them as undercover agents. Rick and Scotty notonly have good sense, but they're lucky. Maybe they'll be lucky enoughto stumble over or sniff out a lead."
"How do we do this?" Rick wanted to know. He was definitely interestedin the job. Just the idea of witnessing a big rocket shoot was excitingenough, even without the added attraction of a saboteur to be uncovered.
"You get jobs," Gordon stated. "But you'll have to get them on your ownmerits, because if I intervened in your behalf that would be a tip-off.Only I and the Chief of Security will know about you."
"Can you trust the Chief of Security?" Barby asked.
Gordon smiled. "A fair question. All I can say is, trust must startsomewhere. If Tom Preston is the Earthman, I'll turn in my spaceman'ssuit and proton disintegrator and resign from the human race."
Rick grinned. "All right. We'll trust the Chief of Security on yoursay-so. What's the next step?"
"Well, you're not old enough to have much of a work history, so we'llhave to exaggerate your ages and the time you've worked. It will be safeenough, so far as being found out is concerned," Gordon said. "Securitymakes all reference checks, including employment, and Tom Preston willhandle your cases personally."
Dismal rubbed against Gordon's leg. The scientist slipped him a scrap ofcheese from the salad, then looked guiltily at Mrs. Brant.
"John Gordon! How many times have I told you not to feed Dismal at thetable?" she exclaimed in mock anger.
Gordon looked sheepish and hung his head. "I'm sorry. Anyway, boys, I'lladvance you funds. You fly to Las Vegas as soon as possible and apply toLomac for jobs."
"To who? I mean, to whom?"
"Lomac, Rick. The base is run by a contractor, an engineering firm bythe name of Logan and Macklin, Lomac for short. They hire all but ahandful of scientific personnel, like project directors and their chiefassistants, who come from a variety of places, including governmentagencies, universities under contract to the government, and so on."
"Do we apply in Las Vegas?" Scotty asked.
"Yes. Lomac's recruiting office is there. I'll give you the address.However, the base is some distance away, so you'll need transportation.I suggest a jeep. You can pick one up secondhand after you arrive. I'llgive you sufficient funds. Also, prepare to hang around Las Vegas for awhile. It will take at least a week to process your papers."
"Are we supposed to know you once we get there?" Rick queried.
"Only casually, because of the Spindrift connection. You know who I am,but you don't know me well because you've never worked on a project ofmine. I'll find occasion to talk with you privately as needed."
"Another question," Rick said. "Have there been any more sabotageattempts besides the two you mentioned?"
"No. Those first projects went off in fast order, but the next shootisn't scheduled for about two weeks."
Scotty asked, "What's the name of this base? You haven't told us."
Gordon looked grim. "I hope the name isn't prophetic," he said. "Thebase was named for the dry lake where the rocket pads are located:Scarlet Lake."