For Us, The Living

XIV

Perry was very poor company for the next couple of weeks. He threw himself into the study of the arts of rocketry and astronautics, determined to make up quickly his century-and-a-half handicap in technical knowledge. He could easily be persuaded to quit his studies and enter a sky car, but he always insisted on setting the controls for the Moon Rocket Station. This suited neither Diana nor Olga. In time they became reconciled to his single-minded enthusiasm and compromised by insisting that he take regular exercise and eat his meals on time.

Perry found that catching up was not so much of a job as he had feared. In engineering matters he had the simple empirical point of view and consequently was not disturbed by changes in theory. The mathematics of ballistics and astronautics were simpler, rather than more complicated, than the ballistic formulae that he had once used in predicting fall of shot. In particular the Siacci-Vernet method of variable exponents was a much simpler description of the action of a moving body in a gaseous medium than the cumbersome empirical formulae used by Siacci himself. Metallurgic chemistry and explosive chemistry naturally were enormously advanced over his day, but with the advance of knowledge, theory was, as usual, simpler, and he soon found himself able to understand and appreciate the technical publications of the day. He looked for and failed to find any description of the use in rockets of the high explosives of his own day. He made a mental note of this for it seemed possible that he might have some things to teach these latter day engineers.

Late in April Perry received a call from Cathcart. To Perry's surprise, he had a business proposition. Cathcart related that he'd been hired to give technical advice in the recording of an historical adventure drama laid in the United States during Perry's period. Several scenes called for airfighting of the contemporary type and neither Cathcart nor the producer were satisfied with the laboratory process shots. So Cathcart was calling from Hollywood to see if Perry thought he could fly a museum piece airplane. Perry considered, then asked what sort of a plane it was. Cathcart didn't know, but switched to the hangar circuit and let Perry see for himself. It was a Douglas light bomber with a Pratt-Whitney engine, probably 750 horsepower. Perry estimated a top speed of around 250 miles per hour. She'd land pretty hot. He looked the plane over and nodded.

"If she's in shape or can be put in shape, I'll fly her down a rain pipe and out the spout."

A few hours later, he was in Hollywood running loving hands over the controls of the plane. His preliminary inspection had been both pleasing and disappointing. Pleasing, for the craft was in essentially good shape, and disappointing because so much would need to be done before it would fly. Perry condemned the wing fabric and the controls. The metal structures would need to be rayed and tested, and portions would probably need to be replaced. Worst of all no gasoline was available and it was necessary for him to dig out old technical publications and explain what was needed to the young chemical engineer assigned to the job. The Smithsonian Institute, which had lent the plane in the first place, located a parachute which served as a pattern for a new one. Perry packed it himself, there being no one else alive who knew how. Before the plane was ready to fly, Perry had acquired a local reputation as a miracle man, as Cathcart had guarded the secret of the source of Perry's knowledge. The day arrived when he climbed into the cockpit, buckled his safety belt and started his engine. He taxied around the field and, satisfied, pulled back the stick and took off. The roar was startling after the mild whir of a sky car, but it was good to feel the wind pressure burn his cheeks, good to feel the power under the throttle. He turned and passed back over the field, swooping low. Tiny figures ran about and waved. He knew that they were cheering. He took the old crate up a couple of thousand feet and tried her out, loops, inverted flight, flipper turns, spin, falling leaf. She responded like a well trained horse. Finally he returned, landed and taxied back to the hangar. The engine coughed and was quiet. He was pulled out of his seat, pounded on the back and escorted inside by a cheering, red-faced throng.

Two weeks later he made an early start for Tahoe with a pleasant sense of accomplishment. The actual work had been easy and safe as houses in his opinion. Any military pilot of his day performed incredibly harder assignments as a matter of routine. But his associates had regarded his skill as phenomenal and had treated him with great respect. Several rocket pilots had come out from the port to watch him work and he had had the pleasure of taking several of them up on joy hops. The thing that amazed them the most was his admission that he could not pilot rockets. He was assured that he would have no difficulty at all in acquiring the coveted shooting star of a licensed pilot. To add to his general satisfaction he carried a credit draft in his belt that would raise his account to several times its previous level. He thought of the times he had risked his neck in over-sea patrol for ten dollars a day more or less, and chuckled. The law of supply and demand had been in his favor. They had forced the money on him.

The sky car purred along and his thoughts turned to Diana. She would be glad to see him and he to see her. Rehearsals for her new series had prevented them from seeing much of each other while he was in Hollywood, and a stereoscopic televue visit was not the same thing. No, not in several important respects. He smiled to himself. She probably wasn't at Tahoe. However she might be home. Home to Perry was the cottage in the High Sierras. Why not drop in and see?—Surprise her if she was there.

He located their canyon, got his bearings from the waterfall and found the little roof and landing flat. He set the car down gently and proceeded through the hangar and down the steps. He spoke to the door and paused while it glided silently back. He stepped inside and peered around. At first he saw no one, then his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He stood very still for a long moment while his heart pounded and blood throbbed in his ears. Then he backed slowly out, being careful that his sandals made no noise. He tiptoed quickly upstairs and took off at once. Some miles away he hovered in the air and took stock. This was what he had feared. This was what they expected him to tolerate peacefully. Well, at least he had managed not to break his parole and not to make a bloody ass of himself by making a scene. Now what? Where do we go from here? 'Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?' The only dignified thing to do was to go away and not bother Diana further. Fortunately he had enough credit to do as he liked. He'd enter as a cadet at Goddard Field as soon as he was released from Tahoe and in due course he'd have his shooting star and get a job as a rocket pilot. Maybe Hedrick could be persuaded to let him go at once. That was best. It'd be lonely not to see Olga regularly. It'd be twice as lonely not seeing Diana. It'd be just plain awful and he might as well admit it. Not to mention Captain Kidd. Who got the custody of the cat in these cases? He'd never cared much for cats, but he had grown fond of this old scoundrel with his swearing and demands for service. And the way he had of kneading biscuits on your stomach, with his motor running like an electric fan. Yes, he'd miss Captain Kidd. As he mused Perry gradually realized that there was no anger in his heart, no red rage, no black hatred. He didn't even hate Bernard. Not that he ever expected to like the fellow. Men of that artistic sort just weren't his kind. But he realized that he no longer felt any righteous urge to beat up on the beggar. All he felt was a deep regret that a circumstance had come to pass whereby he had to break off matters with Diana. He wished now that he hadn't thought of surprising her. Well, anyhow nobody knew but himself. Say! Nobody knew but him and he wasn't jealous anymore. He sat very quietly and considered this amazing fact. Could it be that he had fallen out of love with Diana? He considered this. No. Diana was just as dear to him as ever. She raised his blood pressure just as much. He wanted her here right now, with her arms around him. No, it was simply that he no longer needed to hold her prisoner and snarl at anyone who approached. Somehow he felt even more sure and certain of his love for her, and her love for him.

Then nothing need be changed. He could just ignore the whole thing. A great weight was lifted from his mind. He laughed aloud, then unlocked the controls, and pulled back on the stick.

Twenty minutes later he opened the door of his little cottage at Tahoe. He strode in, whistling merrily, unstrapped his belt and chucked it in a corner. Olga was lying on the couch, reading. She looked up, laid her book aside and spoke.

"Hello, bright eyes. What are you so happy about? Come here. I want to count your arms and legs. Hmm—Seems to be all in place. Perhaps your head is gone, but you wouldn't miss it. Have you had your fill of playing tag with clouds in that outlandish contraption? I've a good mind to recommend you for a restrained ward."

He picked her up, held her in the air, and planted a smacking kiss on her mouth. Then he sat down, swinging her about so that she landed on his lap.

"There now, wench! You and I can talk. Do you miss me?"

She twisted and squirmed. "Perry! Put me down. Is this any way to treat your attending physician?"

He held her tightly. "No side issues, please. I want to talk about you and me. Tell me, strumpet, do you feel hot and bothered when I'm around. Like this for example." He rubbed his cheek against her arm.

"Hot and bothered! What an expression! Perry, what in the world do you mean by this? You're supposed to be in love with Diana."

He grinned at her. "Yes, and suffering from pathological jealousy. Yeah, I know all about that—but you see I've just discovered that I'm cured."

She twisted in his lap and looked at him squarely. "Do you mean that you find you aren't in love with Diana anymore?"

"On the contrary, I love her devotedly, but I just discovered that I no longer suffer from possessive jealousy. That's why I was whistling when I came in. Then I caught sight of you and recalled that I had been wanting to do something for a long time, so I did it. But you haven't answered my question. Fair maid, do I arouse your primitive passions?"

"I'm not a maid and that's a hell of a way to make love."

"You get the idea. How about it? Speak up."

"Well, now that you mention it, it always seems a little warm in your neighborhood."

He kissed her again before replying, "Then come on. What are we waiting for?"

"Perry, you devil, must you be so brash about it?"

"I thought you modern psychiatrists didn't believe in fancy words for simple ideas?"

"Words aren't important, but no woman ever objects to a little tenderness."

"Okay." He proceeded to demonstrate tenderness in caressing. "Is that better?"

"Much better."

He swung her around onto the couch and stretched out beside her. She gave a little gasp. "No, Perry. Be good. It's too soon after breakfast."

"Then hold your breath while I count ten thousand by twos."

"You're incorrigible." She sighed, and her eyes closed.

The next morning Perry awoke feeling crowded and cramped. He discovered that he was hemmed in on a fairly narrow couch by two large objects. When his eyes focused he found that Olga's head rested on his right shoulder and that Diana's head lay on his left. Gently he attempted to disentangle himself. Diana opened her eyes and smiled sleepily, then spoke, "Hello, darling."

"Hello. If I were back in 1939, I'd light a Murad."

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. When did you get in?"

It was Olga who answered. "Late last night. I was awake but you were snoring so beautifully that we decided not to disturb you. So we whispered very discreetly across your manly chest."

Perry decided not to push the matter further. Apparently the girls had settled things in some feminine fashion beyond his comprehension. He decided to let well enough alone.

Diana stretched and yawned. "I'm starved. Anybody want breakfast? I'll order it."

After breakfast Perry announced that he was going to try to locate Master Hedrick. He had told the women about his intention of entering at Goddard Field, and wished to push ahead with his plans.

Hedrick received him with his usual courtesy. Perry recounted what he had been doing, then broached the subject of taking rocket training. Hedrick nodded his approval.

"But you see, sir, if I go to Goddard Field, I'll need to stay there continuously, three months at least. I can't check back here every day or two. Now I feel that I'm cured and fully adjusted to modern life. Certainly I don't suffer from sexual jealousy. Don't you think I'm cured?"

"Certainly you are cured, my boy. The last several association tests you've taken showed it conclusively."

"You've known for some time I was cured?"

"Yes indeed. Yes indeed. In fact I reported to the court that you had been discharged as readjusted over three weeks ago. But I couldn't tell you. You had to find it out for yourself."

"Well, I'll be damned!"

Hedrick smiled. "I think not, son."