Chapter 2 Up from Earth

They ran breathlessly across the field, past the scurrying men and women, past the radar tower and the toolsheds, past the blasting pits that stretched out like a row of oversized dimples. When they reached the steel-wire fence enclosing the three-stage, an Air Force captain with a Colt .45 strapped to his hip stepped out of a small guard booth, blocking their path.

“Let’s slow down,” he barked.

“We’ve got to get on that ship, sir,” Ted blurted.

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers, handing them to the captain. “My friend’s a lubber, sir,” he said. “First time on the milk run.”

The captain nodded briefly. “There’s a first time for everyone,” he said, his voice dry.

A slow flush crept around Ted’s neck, shoved its way up into his face. He fumbled in his pockets, dug out his identification shield and his authorization papers.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “I just didn’t...”

“That’s all right.” The captain turned his scrutiny to the papers, examining them carefully. He lifted his hat, held it in his hand as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He sighed, replaced his hat, and gave one last look at the papers. “These look all right,” he said. He pointed to the portable elevator rig standing in place beside the tall rocket. “Just take the lift up to the control cabin.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ted said, pocketing his papers.

The captain nodded. “Nice trip.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ted restrained the urge to run to the lift. Instead, he kept his pace down to a very fast walk, Jack beside him all the way. He glanced up once to look at the rocket, fully expecting it to leap into the air without him at almost any moment.

When they reached the skeletal structure of the lift, a corporal triggered the electronic lock on the gate, and the door slid back soundlessly. They stepped into the car, their backs to the rocket.

“All set?” the corporal asked, a tired expression on his face.

“Full jets,” Jack answered.

“My,” the corporal said dryly, “ain’t you salty?” He yawned and swung a Z-shaped handle over to the left. The quiet hum of machinery reached Ted’s ears. The corporal pressed a button to slide the door of the car shut. “Hold your hats,” he said.

Almost imperceptibly, the car began to rise in the open shaft. Slowly, the ground dropped from beneath them as the car began its long climb. Behind them was the blue-black hull of the three-stage, so close that Ted could have reached out to touch it. The corporal looked up once, and his features were already blurred by the distance. The guard booth was smaller now, a carton set alongside the fence. The lift kept climbing, higher, higher, and Ted could see the entire field now, the blasting pits looking like tarnished pennies on a white canvas. The radar tower had become a miniature stack of toothpicks, and the ground crew moved over the concrete like white ants. The sky spread out around them, and Ted could see the ocean, green waves lashing the white, endless stretch of the beach.

“Pretty high,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.

Jack grinned. “If you think this is high, wait until we reach the Station.”

The lift was slowing. It glided to a smooth stop beside the air-lock door in the nose of the rocket. When they had passed through the lock and secured the toggles on the inner door, Jack led Ted to a ladder and started climbing.

“This way, lubber,” he said, not unpleasantly.

Ted followed Jack up the ladder, his nerves jangling against each other. They were going up to the control room, he knew, the room he’d seen a hundred times in diagrams and slide projections at the Academy. Jack disappeared through a circular opening in the overhead, and Ted followed him up. When they had passed through the hatch, Jack dropped the hatch cover, turning the wheel that would hold it tight to the deck.

“It’s about time,” a deep voice said.

“Hi, George,” Jack called. He took Ted’s elbow, steering him over to the four men clustered around one of the radar panels. The man Jack had called George looked at his watch and frowned. Ted noticed the double silver bars of an Air Force captain on the wings of his collar, and he wondered about Jack’s familiarity.

“Fellows,” Jack said, “I’d like you to meet Ted Baker. He’s going up to the Station for his senior year.”

The Air Force captain took a step toward Ted and extended his hand. He was short, with black hair curling over his high forehead. His eyes were brown, and they glittered with lively intelligence. He had a somewhat long, slender nose that curved gently down to his full lips. He gave Ted the impression of an eager cocker spaniel. Ted took his hand, returning the captain’s firm grip.

“My name’s Merola,” the captain said. “George Merola. I’m pilot and navigator of the Moon rocket.” He paused. “I suppose Jack has told you all about our little trip?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m also supposed to be in charge of this jet-propelled apartment house, so perhaps we’d best make ready for blastoff.”

Ted smiled, liking the man instantly.

“All right,” Merola said, “let’s get to the couches on the double.”

As if to lend urgency to his order, the loud-speaker on the bulkhead of the ship rasped, “Blastoff in six minutes. Repeat. Blastoff in six minutes.”

“Turn off that darned speaker, Jack,” Merola said. “Makes me jumpy, calling off the time like a cuckoo clock.”

Jack moved to the bulkhead speaker and clicked the toggle.

Ted stood by anxiously, hearing the thrum of the engines as they warmed up. He knew the ship was automatically set now, like a gigantic time bomb, and that she’d blast off in six minutes whether the men inside were ready or not.

“Dr. Phelps,” Merola called, “take Couch One on the starboard side. Dan, you take Two, Starboard.”

Two men moved from the control panel simultaneously, and Ted wondered which was which. He imagined the older man to be the doctor, but he wasn’t at all sure.

“Dr. Phelps is an M.D.,” Merola said. “Dan Forbes is our engineer.”

The men smiled and nodded as they passed, walking to the couches.

“Jack, you’ll take Three, Starboard. Dr. Gehardt, Two, Port. Ted, Three, Port. I’ll be in One, Port.”

Ted moved quickly to the port side of the ship, climbed up to the third couch. The couches were bolted to the bulkheads, one over the other, three on the starboard side, and three on the port side. Each couch was covered with thick foam rubber, enough to absorb the tremendous thrust of acceleration. Ted lay back, then looked across the cabin to where Jack lay in the top couch on the starboard side.

“Tighten your safety belts,” Merola said. “What time is it on the chrono, Jack?”

“1456, prime one,” Jack answered.

“That gives us about four minutes,” Merola replied. “Check rear radar, Dan.”

Ted couldn’t see the engineer too clearly, but he knew he was swinging an instrument panel in place over his couch and flicking on the rear radar switches.

“Rear radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Forward radar.”

Ted heard a series of clicks, looked up to see a wide expanse of cloudless sky on the radar panel over his head.

“Forward radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Focus rear radar and hold,” Merola ordered.

Ted kept watching the screen overhead as Dan fiddled with his dials. The blurred picture merged into sharp intensity, and Ted saw the panorama of the field below. Figures scurried away from the blasting pit, moving out beyond the wire fence. Two first-aid trucks, red crosses on their sides, pulled up beyond the fence. A mechanic in greasy coveralls waved his arms over his head, crossing them.

“Time, Jack,” Merola called.

“1457, prime three,” Jack replied.

“We’ve got a few minutes,” Merola said. He leaned his head out of his couch and looked up. “You all right, Baker?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Scared?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You understand how this baby works?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone who doesn’t?” Merola asked.

“I hate to sound stupid,” a voice cut in. There was the faint trace of a German accent clinging to the otherwise excellent English, and Ted imagined the voice belonged to Dr. Gehardt.

“No trouble at all,” Merola said. “You’re not expected to understand the workings of a rocket ship.”

In explanation, he called up to Ted, “Dr. Gehardt is our geologist, Baker.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted replied.

“It’s simple, Doc,” Merola went on. “In order to reach the Space Station’s orbit, we’d need a cut-off speed of 17,500 miles per hour. We can’t do that with one rocket, so we’ve piled three rockets on top of each other — a sort of piggy-back arrangement. Got that?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied. Ted smiled as he remembered the many lectures he’d listened to on this identical subject.

“There are fifty-one rocket motors in the first stage of this baby,” Merola continued. “That’s our tail section. Our middle section has thirty-four rocket motors, and our nose has five. We’re in the nose now, Doc. The nose is the only section that will reach the Station.”

“I do not quite understand,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“About a minute and a half now,” Jack interrupted.

“We drop the first stage, the tail section, eighty-four seconds after blastoff. By that time, its fifty-one motors will have consumed 5,250 tons of fuel. In other words, when we drop the tail section, we’ll be losing seventy-five per cent of our overall original weight.”

“I see,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“The motors of the second stage begin blasting automatically after the first stage is dropped. They’ll burn 770 tons of fuel, and we’ll drop the entire second stage after one hundred and twenty-four additional seconds.”

“That leaves just us in the nose section,” Jack said.

“And the nose section will take us to the Station,” Merola concluded.

“Better watch that clock,” Dan advised.

“One minute,” Jack said.

“A few last words of warning,” Merola said, clearing his throat. “You may black out. If you do, don’t worry about it. The ship is controlled by automatic gyropilot for the entire trip, and there’s nothing any of us have to do. If you don’t black out, you’re going to feel darned uncomfortable — but that’ll pass too. Whatever happens, don’t get excited. Every maneuver this ship will make has been timed precisely, and the instruments were thoroughly checked before blastoff. There’s the slightest possibility that something may go haywire, but I wouldn’t put money on it.

“About blacking out,” he added, “if you feel you’re going to lose consciousness, don’t fight it. Just let it come. You’ll think a ten-ton truck is resting on your chest when we start to accelerate, but don’t let it worry you.”

He stopped abruptly. “Any questions?”

“Yes, Captain,” Dan Forbes cracked, “if I’m a good boy, will you give me the popcorn concession on the Moon?”

Merola laughed, and then asked, “What’s your rank, Forbes?”

“First Lieutenant, sir,” Forbes snapped.

“You are now a Second Lieutenant,” Merola said with mock severity.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, sir.”

Merola laughed again and said, “Seriously, if there are no questions, you’d better check your belts again and then relax. I think we’re about ready to...”

A violent shudder shoved its way through the ship. Ted gripped the sides of the couch and swallowed the hot ball of lead in his throat. In the radar screen overhead, he could see the entire launching site, devoid of any humans or machines now.

“Here we go,” Jack said.

“Bon voyage,” Forbes whispered.

At first, Ted wasn’t even aware they were moving. He heard the tremendous roar from somewhere far below him, a sound like a cageful of tigers bellowing for their noonday meal. He saw the red-yellow gleam of the tail jets against the blasting pit, in the radar screen overhead. And then the ground began to drop away slowly, very slowly, until he could see the entire pit, scorched black from the heat of the exhaust.

He was vaguely disappointed. He had expected to scream away from the Earth like a frightened banshee. Instead, for the first few seconds, there was just the slow, slow climb — almost as slow as the lift that had carried him to the nose section.

And then, quite without warning, the rocket lurched ahead like an unleashed thunderbolt, its tail jets streaking fire, its nose slashing through the air as it roared up into the clouds.