Rocketship Galileo

Chapter 6 - DANGER IN THE DESERT

THE SPACE SUITS WERE delivered the next day, causing another break in the work, to Cargraves' annoyance. However, the boys were so excited over this evidence that they were actually preparing to walk on the face of the moon that he decided to let them get used to the suits.

The suits were modified pressurized stratosphere suits, as developed for the air forces. They looked like diving suits, but were less clumsy. The helmets were "goldfish bowls" of Plexiglas, laminated with soft polyvinyl-butyral plastic to make them nearly shatter-proof. There were no heating arrangements. Contrary to popular belief, vacuum of outer space has no temperature; it is neither hot nor cold. Man standing on the airless moon would gain or lose heat only by radiation, or by direct contact with the surface of the moon. As the moon was believed to vary from extreme sub-zero to temperatures hotter than boiling water, Cargraves had ordered thick soles of asbestos for the shoes of the suits and similar pads for the seats of the pants of each suit, so that they could sit down occasionally without burning or freezing. Overgloves of the same material completed the insulation against contact. The suits were so well insulated, as well as air-tight, that body heat more than replaced losses through radiation. Cargraves would have preferred thermostatic control, but such refinements could be left to the pioneers and colonists who would follow after. Each suit had a connection for an oxygen bottle much larger and heavier than the jump bottle of an aviator, a bottle much too heavy to carry on earth but not too heavy for the surface of the moon, where weight is only one-sixth that found on earth.

The early stratosphere suits tended to starfish and become rigid, which made the simplest movements an effort. In trying on his own suit, Cargraves was pleased to find that these suits were easy to move around in, even when he had Ross blow him up until the suit was carrying a pressure of three atmospheres, or about forty-five pounds to the square inch. The constant-volume feature, alleged for the de-Camp joints, appeared to be a reality.

Cargraves let them experiment, while seeing to it that as many field tests as possible were made to supplement the manufacturer's laboratory tests. Then the suits were turned over to Art for installation of walky-talky equipment.

The following day the doctor turned all the boys to work on the conversion of the drive mechanism. He was expecting delivery of the atomic fission element thorium; the anti-radiation shield had to be ready. This shield was constructed of lead, steel, and organic plastic, in an arrangement which his calculations indicated would be most effective in screening the alpha, beta, and gamma radiations and the slippery neutrons, from the forward part of the rocket.

Of these radiations, the gamma are the most penetrating and are much like X-rays. Alpha particles are identical with the nuclei of helium atoms; beta particles are simply electrons moving at extremely high speeds. Neutrons are the electrically uncharged particles which make up much of the mass of most atomic nuclei and are the particles which set off or trigger the mighty explosions of atomic bombs.

All of these radiations are dangerous to health and life.

The thorium drive unit was to be shielded only on the forward side, as radiations escaping to outer space could be ignored. Morrie had landed the rocket with one side facing the cabin, inside the corral. It was now necessary to jack the rocket around until the tubes pointed away from the cabin, so that radiations, after the thorium was in place, would go harmlessly out across the crater of the Doomsday Bomb and, also, so that the rocket would be in position for a captive test run with the exhaust directed away from the cabin.

The jacking-around process was done with hydraulic jacks, muscle, and sweat, in sharp contrast to the easy-appearing, powered manipulation of rockets by dolly and cradle and mobile sling, so familiar a sight on any rocket field. It took all of them until late afternoon. When it was over Cargraves declared a holiday and took them on a long-promised trip into the Doomsday Crater.

This bomb site has been pictured and described so much and the boys were so used to seeing it in the distance that the thrill of being in it was limited. Nevertheless the desolation, the utter deadness, of those miles and miles of frozen, glassy waste made their flesh creep. Cargraves marched ahead, carrying a Geiger radiation counter, of the sort used to prospect for uranium in Canada during the war. This was largely to impress the boys with the necessity for unsleeping watchfulness in dealing with radioactive elements. He did not really expect to hear the warning rattle of danger in the ear phones; the test had been made so long before that the grim lake was almost certainly as harmless as the dead streets of Hiroshima.

But it put them in the mood for the lecture he had in mind. "Now, listen, sports," he started in when they got back, "day after tomorrow the thorium arrives. From then on the holiday is over. This stuff is poison. You've got to remember that all the time."

"Sure," agreed Morrie. "We all know that."

"You know it at the tops of your minds. I want you to know it every minute, way down in your guts. We'll stake out the unshielded area between the ship and the fence. If your hat blows into that stretch, let it stay there, let it rot—but don't go after it."

Ross looked perturbed. "Wait a second, Doc. Would it really hurt anything to expose yourself for just a few seconds?"

"Probably not," Cargraves agreed, "provided that were all the dosage you ever got. But we will all get some dosage all the time, even through the shield. Radioactivity accumulates its poisonous effect. Any exposure you can possibly avoid, you must avoid. It makes your chances better when you get a dose of it accidentally. Art!"

"Uh? Yes, sir!"

"From now on you are the medical officer. You must see to it that everybody wears his X-ray film all the time- and I mean all the time -and his electroscope. I want you to change the films and develop them and check the electroscopes according to the dose in the manual. Complete charts on everything, and report to me each Friday morning—oftener if you find anything outside the limits. Got me?"

"Got you, Doc."

"Besides that, you arrange for blood counts once a week for everybody, over in town."

"I think I could learn to do a blood count myself," Art offered.

"You let the regular medic do it. You've got enough to worry about to keep all the electronic equipment purring along properly. One more thing." He looked around him, waiting to get their full attention. "If any one shows the possibility of overdosage of radiation, by film or by blood count or whatever, I will have to send him home for treatment. It won't be a case of ‘just one more chance.' You are dealing with hard facts herd—not me, but natural laws. If you make a mistake, out you go and we'll have to find somebody to take your place."

They all nodded solemnly. Art said, "Doc?"

"Suppose it's your film that shows the overdosage?"

"Me? Not likely! If it does you can kick me all the way to the gate—I'm afraid of that stuff!

"Just the same," he went on more seriously, "you run the same checks on me as on everybody else. Now let's have supper. I want you and Morrie to do the KP tonight, so that Ross can start his study period right after supper. Ross, you and I are getting up at five, so let's hit the sack early." "Okay. What's cookin'?"

"Trip into Albuquerque—shopping." He was reluctant to explain. The place had no firearms. They had seemed a useless expense—many a man has spent years in the desert without shooting off anything but his mouth, he had reasoned. As for the dreamed of trip, what could one shoot on the moon? But signs of prowlers, even in this fenced and forbidding area, had him nervous. Art's watch-dog fence was tested each night and Art slept with the low power-hum of the hot circuit in his ears; thus far there had been no new alarm. Still he was nervous.

Cargraves was awakened about three A.M. to find Art shaking his shoulder and light pouring in his eyes. "Doc! Doc! Wake up!"

"Huh? Wassamatter?"

"I got a squawk over the loudspeaker."

Cargraves was out of bed at once. They bent over the speaker. "I don't hear anything."

"I've got the volume low, but you'd hear it. There it is again—get it?" There had been an unmistakable squawk from the box. "Shall I wake the others?"

"Mmmm... no. Not now. Why did you turn on the light?"

"I guess I wanted it," Art admitted.

"I see." Cargraves hauled on trousers and fumbled with his shoes. "I want you to turn out the lights for ten seconds. I'm going out that window. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, or if you hear anything that sounds bad, wake the boys and come get me. But stay together. Don't separate for any reason." He slipped a torch in his pocket. "Okay."

"You ought not to go by yourself."

"Now, Art. I thought we had settled such matters."

"Yes, but—oh, well !" Art posted himself at the switch.

Cargraves was out the window and had cat-footed it around behind the machine shop before the light came on again. He lurked in the shadow and let his eyes get used to the darkness.

It was a moonless night, clear and desert sharp. Orion blazed in the eastern sky. Cargraves soon was able to pick out the sage bushes, the fence posts, the gloomy bulk of the ship a hundred yards away.

The padlock on the machine shop was undisturbed and the shop's windows were locked. Doing his best to take advantage of the scanty cover, he worked his way down to the ship.

The door was ajar. He could not remember whether he or Ross had been last man out. Even if it had been Ross, it was not like Ross to fail to lock the door.

He found that he was reluctant to enter the craft. He wished that he had not put off buying guns; a forty-five in his hand would have comforted him. He swung the door open and scrambled in fast, ducking quickly away from the door, where his silhouette would make a target. He crouched in the darkness, listening and trying to slow his pounding heart. When he was sure he could hear nothing, he took the flashlight, held it at arm's length away from him and switched it on.

The piloting compartment was empty. Somewhat relieved, he sneaked back through the hold, empty also, and into the drive compartment. Empty. Nothing seemed disturbed.

He left the ship cautiously, this time making sure that the door was locked. He made a wide sweep around the cabin and machine shop and tried to assure himself that no one was inside the corral. But in the starlight, fifty men might have hidden in the sage, simply by crouching down and holding still.

He returned to the cabin, whistling to Art as he approached. "About time you got back," Art complained. "I was just about to roust out the others and come and get you. Find anything?"

"No. Anything more out of the squawk box?"

"Not a peep."

"Could it have been a coyote brushing against the wire?"

"How would a coyote get through the outer fence?" Art wanted to know.

"Dig under it. There are coyotes in here. We've heard them."

"You can't tell how far a coyote is from you by its howl."

"Listen to the old desert rat! Well, leave the light on, but go back to bed. I'll be awake. I've got to be up in another hour in any case. Crawl in the sack." Cargraves settled down to a pipe and some thought.

Cargraves was too busy on the trip to Albuquerque to worry about the preceding night. Ross's style of herding his hot rod left little time to think about anything but the shortness of life and the difficulty of hanging on to his hat. But Ross poured them into the city with plenty of time for shopping.

Cargraves selected two Garand rifles, Army surplus stock at a cheap price, and added a police thirty-eight special, on a forty-five frame. His mouth watered at a fancy sporting rifle with telescopic sights, but money was getting short; a few more emergency purchases or any great delay in starting would bankrupt the firm.

He ordered a supply of army-style C-rations and K-rations for the trip. Ross remarked privately, while the clerk wrote up the order, "In most stories about space travel, they just eat pills of concentrated food. Do you think it will ever come to that?"

"Not with my money," the physicist answered. "You guys can eat pills if you want to. I want food I can get my teeth in."

"Check," said Ross.

They stopped at a nursery where Cargraves ordered three dozen young rhubarb plants. He planned to use a balanced oxygen-carbon-dioxide air-refreshing system during the stay on the moon, if possible, and the plants were to supply the plantlife half of the cycle. Enough liquid oxygen would be carted along for breathing throughout the round trip, but a "balanced aquarium" arrangement for renewing their air supply would enable them to stay on the moon as long as their food lasted.

The chemical fertilizers needed for hydroponic farming of the rhubarb were ordered also. This done, they grabbed a chocolate malt and a hamburger apiece and high-tailed it for the camp.

Morrie and Art swarmed out of the machine shop as they arrived. "Hi, Doc!

Hi, Ross! What's the good word?"

Ross showed them the guns. Art was eager to try them and Cargraves okayed it. Morrie hung back and said, "By the way, Doc, the CAB inspector was here today."

"The what?"

"The Civil Aeronautics inspector. He had a letter from you."

"From me? What did it say?"

"Why, it requested them to send an inspector to go over the rebuilt parts of the rocket and approve it for flight. I told him it wasn't ready." "What else did you say? Did you tell him it was atomic-powered?"

"No, but he seemed to know it. He knew that we planned a space flight, too. What's the pitch, Doc? I thought you were going to keep it quiet a while longer?"

"So did I," Cargraves said bitterly. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing—so help me. I decided you ought to handle it, so I played stupid. I tipped Art and he did the same. Did we do wrong?" he went on anxiously. "I know he was CAB, but it seemed to me he ought to talk to you. Do you suppose we offended him?"

"I hope you gave him apoplexy," Cargraves said savagely. "He was no CAB inspector, Morrie. He was a phony."

"Huh? Why... . But he had your letter."

"Faked. I'll bet he's been holed up somewhere outside the gate, waiting for me to be away. Did you leave him alone at any time?"

"No. Wait a minute—only once, for about five minutes. We were down at the ship and he sent me back for a flashlight. I'm sorry." The boy looked miserable.

"Forget it. It was the natural, polite thing to do. You didn't know he was phony. I wonder how he got through the gate? Did he come in a car?"

"Yes. I... Was the gate locked?"

"Yes, but he might have bulldozed the forester into letting him in." They had been moving down toward the ship as they talked. Cargraves made a quick examination of the ship, but found nothing amiss. It seemed likely that the intruder had not found what he was looking for, probably because the drive was not yet installed.

He still worried about the matter of the locked gate. "I'm going to run down to the gate," he announced, heading for the car. "Tell the boys." "I'll drive you." None of the boys approved the way Cargraves drove a car; it was one respect in which they did not look up to him. Privately, they considered his style stuffy.

"Okay. Snap it up."

Morrie ran down toward where the other two were wasting ammunition on innocent tin cans and bellowed at them. Seconds later he had the engine revved up and was ready to gun the rig when Cargraves slid into the seat beside him.

The padlock was intact, but one link of the bullchain had been hack-sawed away and replaced with wire. "So that's that," Cargraves dismissed the matter.

"Hadn't we better put on a new chain?" inquired Morrie.

"Why bother? He's still got the hacksaw."

The trip back was gloomy. Cargraves was worried. Morrie felt responsible for not having unmasked and made prisoner the impostor. In retrospect he could think of a dozen dramatic ways to have done it. Cargraves told him to keep his lip buttoned until after supper. When the dishes were out of the way, he brought the others up to date on the ominous happenings. Art and Ross took it with grave faces but without apparent excitement. "So that's how it is," Ross said. "Seems like somebody doesn't like us."

"Why that dirty so-and-so," Art said softly. "I thought he was too smooth.

I'd like to have him on the other end of one of those Garands."

"Maybe you will," Cargraves answered him soberly. "I might as well admit, fellows, that I've been worried... ."

"Shucks, we knew that when you ordered that watch-dog hook-up."

"I suppose so. I can't figure out why anybody would do this. Simple curiosity I can understand, once the fact leaked out- as it seems to have done -that we are after space flight. But whoever it is has more than curiosity eating him, considering the lengths he is willing to go to."

"I'll bet he wants to steal your space drive, Uncle Don."

"That would make a swell adventure yarn, Art; but it doesn't make sense. If he knows I've got a rocket drive, all he has to do is apply for a license to the commission and use it."

"Maybe he thinks you are holding out some secrets on the commission?"

"If he thinks so, he can post a bond for the costs and demand an examination. He wouldn't have to fake letters, or bust open gates. If he proves it on me, I go to jail."

"The point is," Morrie asserted, "not why he's snooping but what we can do to stop him. I think we ought to stand watches at night." He glanced at the two rifles.

"No," Cargraves disagreed. "Art's squawk circuit is better than a guard. You can't see enough at night. I found that out."

"Say," put in Art. "Look—I could take the pilot radar and mount it on the roof of the cabin. With it set to scan for a landing it'll pick up anything in the neighborhood."

"No," Cargraves answered, "I wouldn't want to risk jimmying up the equipment. It's more important to have it just right for the moon landing than it is to use it for prowlers."

"Oh, I won't hurt it!"

"I still think," insisted Morrie, "that getting a shot at him is the best medicine."

"So much the better," Art pointed out. "I'll spot him in the scope. You wear phones with about a thousand feet of cord and I'll coach you right up to him, in the dark. Then you got ‘im."

"Sounds good," Morrie agreed.

"Take it easy," Cargraves cautioned. "You fellows may think this is the Wild West but you will find that a judge will take a very sour attitude if you plug a man engaged in simple trespassing. You boys've read too many comic books."

"I never touch the things," Art denied fiercely. "Anyhow. Not often," he amended.

"If we can't shoot, then why did you buy the guns?" Ross wanted to know.

"Fair enough. You can shoot—but you have to be certain it's self-defense; I'll take those guns back to the shop before I'll have a bunch of wild men running around with blood in their eyes and an itch in their trigger fingers. The other use for the guns is to throw a scare into any more prowlers. You can shoot, but shoot where he isn't—unless he shoots first."

"Okay."

"Suits."

"I hope he shoots first!"

"Any other ideas?"

"Just one," Art answered. "Suppose our pal cut our power line. We've got everything on it—light, radio, even the squawk box. He could cut the line after we went to sleep and loot the whole place without us knowing it."

Cargraves nodded. "I should have thought of that." He considered it. "You and I will string a temporary line right now from the ship's batteries to your squawk box. Tomorrow we'll hook up an emergency lighting circuit." He stood up. "Come on, Art. And you guys get busy. Study hour."

"Study hour?" Ross protested. "Tonight? We can't keep our minds on books—not tonight."

"You can make a stab at it," the doctor said firmly. "Guys have been known to write books while waiting to be hanged."

The night passed quietly. Ross and Doc were down at the ship early the next morning, leaving Art and Morrie to work out an emergency lighting circuit from the battery of the car. Doc planned to have everything ready for the thorium when it arrived. He and Ross climbed into the rocket and got cheerfully to work. Cargraves started laying out tools, while Ross, whistling merrily off key, squeezed himself around the edge of the shield. Cargraves looked up just in time to see a bright, bright flash, then to be hit in the face by a thunderous pressure which threw him back against the side of the ship.