Earthbound (Winston Science Fiction Book 1) (16 page)

“Will they have room for us?”

“I expect so, provided you’re ready to travel. Excuse me, son. I’m going in to take a look at your friend.”

Ceres Base, in the asteroids, was a large dome-city on Ceres, the largest planetoid of them all. Actually, the Solar Patrol base there was a huge, glorified lighthouse which charted courses above and below the Belt for freighters and passenger liners. Once in a long while and for very special circumstances, a course might be plotted through the fringes of the Belt itself, but that was only when speed seemed imperative, and even then it was regarded as a highly dangerous journey.

The dome itself was of thick, tough quartzite in three layers, and because it was not uncommon for a stray meteor to blast a jagged hole in the outermost one, crews of space-suited figures could be seen scurrying all over it with their repair kits. Below the dome was pressure and an Earth atmosphere and a good-sized city.

Ships came in through an airlock atop the dome, and within the past fifteen minutes Roger Gorham had come down in his battered life-rocket. Now he stood, fidgeting, in the commanding officer’s quarters, and Colonel Tomilson was speaking:

“So one of you managed to get out of that wreck, eh? Frankly, that’s more than we could have hoped for. We’ve been following the ship by radar, and it’s in a lot of trouble. The thick of the swarm, Cadet Gorham. We don’t hold out much hope for rescuing your friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Roger said stiffly.

“So am I. What’s your friend’s name — MacDougal? Well, he’s in for it. He’s in the deepest part of the Belt right now, and it will be impossible to get a ship through to him for — umm-mm — six weeks. By then, the chances are a hundred to one it will be too late.

“It might happen today; it might happen in a month. MacDougal has enough air and plenty of food from what you tell me, but he can’t fight that swarm with a derelict ship. Six weeks from now, and section seventeen — that’s where he is now, section seventeen — in six weeks, that section will thin out some, but until then it would be suicide for anyone to go in after him. A rescue ship would have to plot its own orbit as it went along, with changes necessary every few seconds. It would be murder.

“It won’t be quite so bad in six weeks, as I’ve said, but even then I’ll have to ask for volunteers. I wouldn’t order any man out there, although I daresay there have been several volunteers already. Well, in six weeks, but it will be a miracle if MacDougal’s ship hasn’t fallen to pieces by then. A meteor half the size of this room would do it, and a smaller one could be just as bad. A speck the size of a pea could penetrate the hull and get rid of all his air, unless MacDougal wears his spacesuit all the time.

“We’re trying to contact him by radio, so we can at least tell him that. So far, no answer. Could be that he’s already dead —”

“No,” said Roger. “Our radio conked out when we were hit, but MacDougal didn’t think it was hopeless, sir. He’s trying to repair it.”

“We’ll keep a twenty-four-hour watch, of course. If he does repair it, we’ll radio him instructions, though a lot of good that will do. I wish I had those pirates here, right now. I’d — never mind, Gorham! You’re excused.”

“Yes, sir,” and Roger saluted smartly before he left the room.

For a long time Colonel Tomilson stared from his window, stared up past the transparent dome and into the black sky above it, studded with the thousand-thousand tiny specks which made up the Belt. “That poor kid,” he said. “That poor kid. . . .”

Joe and Pete left Little America. The supply plane had taken them to Tierra del Fuego, where it was snowing, but it was nothing like the storm on the Antarctic continent. There they changed to a private plane which, in a few hours, had deposited them in Buenos Aires. Ushuaia Joe had made his report, and now he stood talking with Pete in the United States Government Liaison Building.

“I guess that clears up the mess for us, Pete. They’re getting an armed expedition ready. In two, three days it’ll leave for Antarctica, and inside of a week they’ll have Fairchild and his playmates in custody. It still leaves a lot to do — they’ll have to round up the pirate sabotage ships and things like that, but it shouldn’t take long.

“As for you, well, your story checks with the little they know, so you’re cleared of everything as far as we’re concerned.”

Pete nodded. “Everything’s straightened out for me, except for the local police in White Sands. I was involved in a sort of involuntary jailbreak up there, and that will need some explaining.”

Joe smiled. “You know, you were flirting with criminal actions yourself all along, but you just did stay on the side of the law. Except for some sabotage; but since it kept a spaceship out of pirate hands, I don’t think they’ll hold that against you. I guess you learned your lesson, though. There are authorities for things like this, Pete. When something happens, you report to them. You don’t waste any time about it, because you can get into a lot of hot water if you do.

“Hey! It’s late. Your plane leaves for the U.S. in half an hour. We’d better grab a taxi and get on over to the airport.”

Soon after that, they solemnly shook hands, and Pete climbed the gangplank into the waiting jet liner. He’d always remember Ushuaia Joe, although he would not remember him the way he last saw him — in a double-breasted overcoat, with polished shoes and a slouch hat. No,, Ushuaia Joe was a man in furs, an Indian, someone who managed to survive in Tierra del Fuego and in Antarctica too, because he belonged on the frontier.

Several hours later, Pete stepped out of the jet plane in White Sands. It was autumn in the Northern Hemisphere, and now, just before twilight, a cool breeze stirred in restlessly from the north. Not that it ever became really cold in New Mexico — but then, what would be cold after Antarctica?

Whistling to himself, Pete took the commuters’ bus, got off in his old neighborhood. He walked along smiling, and people looked at him queerly on the street. He knew he should have called his folks to inform them of his coming, but somehow he thought they’d enjoy it better this way. And he would, too.

By the time he spotted the neat, whitewashed fence a block ahead of him in the gathering dusk, he was running, and breathlessly he pushed the gate in and ran up the walk. He climbed the three steps to the porch, realizing idly that the glider would need a paint-job soon. And then he rang the bell.

Four or five seconds passed, then, from within the house, he heard footsteps. A slow, heavy tread. Big Pete!

The door swung in, and his father stood there looking at him, tall and handsome, distinguished, his hair graying at the temples. At first there was no expression on his face, none whatever — but after a moment, he began to smile. He was smiling all the way across, from ear to ear, and Pete was smiling too.

“Son! You were gone. We didn’t know what —”

“I’m home to stay, Pop!”

“Come inside. Come inside. Mother! Mother — you’re in for a shock. Look who’s here . . .”

His mother came down the stairs from the second floor. She hugged him and held him against her, until Big Pete cleared his throat. “Pete must be tired,” he said, “and he’ll have a lot to tell us, so if you can get your hands off him long enough for him to get washed —”

And then they all were laughing — they laughed and joked and talked all the way through dinner about little things. Sometimes they just sat and looked at one another.

Afterwards, Mrs. Hodges was busy with the dishes in the kitchen, and Pete had promised to help her dry them, but Big Pete, who wasn’t laughing any longer, led him into the living room.

“It’s a shame about your friend Garr,” he said abruptly.

“Garr? What about Garr”

“Didn’t you know? There was a patrol ship disabled by some pirates. I read it in the paper —”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “I knew about it when it happened. I’ll tell you everything later. But what about Garr?” He did not know why, but he could feel his heart beginning to race. He was frightened; he was afraid to hear Big Pete go on with it.

“Garr was aboard that ship. He’s still on it. But now it’s a derelict Out in the asteroids. I don’t have to tell you what that means, son.”

“Garr! Garr on that ship? Pop, it’s all my fault!”

Chapter 15 — Balked!

“Don’t you see,” Pete said again, after he had told his father everything that had happened, “it’s all my fault!”

Big Pete’s answer was a tired smile. “That’s quite a story you tell. Taken down to the bottom of the world by a bunch of pirates, but thanks to your Indian friend, you managed to get out of it okay. Wait, let me finish. You’ve been through enough to hold a man for a lifetime, and I mean that. So the result is that you’re all keyed up, and you’re blaming yourself for something, which . . .”

“It is my fault!” Pete cut in bitterly. “If I hadn’t gone down there with them, they would not have risked bringing their ships in. I was the one who could get them down safely, don’t you see? Because I was there they could try it, and because they tried it, Garr’s on a derelict ship in the Swarm.”

Big Pete shook his head firmly. “You’re forgetting one thing. Even if what you say is true, still it wasn’t your idea to go down there. They forced you. They drugged you, took you against your will to Antarctica.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s my fault.”

“You need some sleep, son. And after that you need a good long rest. Then we can talk about this again.”

“No!” Pete cried. “There isn’t time. Are they doing anything for Garr?”

Big Pete shrugged. “What can they do?”

“Well, they can send out an expedition.”

“In the Swarm? Now? It would be suicide. The papers say they’ll have to wait six weeks, until the Swarm thins out. The asteroid belt revolves around the sun; you know that. But it doesn’t revolve in one continual stream, and at times sections of it thin out. In six weeks section 17 — Garr’s section — will thin out. But meanwhile, a ship trying to get through to him would be like a man trying to walk through a storm without being touched by a single raindrop, when the touch of a raindrop is death. No, Pete. They’ll have to wait.”

“Well, what about Garr? He’s out there without the power to move, and your raindrops are falling all around him.”

“I know how you feel, Pete. But there isn’t a thing that can be done.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Pete told his father slowly. “Something can be done. Someone can take a ship out to the asteroids and rescue Garr.”

“The Patrol has forbidden it until six weeks have passed.”

“Still, someone can do it. It would have to be someone who can plot orbits in his head as he goes along, someone who can keep one eye on the radar screen and the other on his orbit. It would have to be me!”

In the morning, Pete went with his father to the police station. By that time, reports were trickling in from South America, and the officer in charge was more than willing to let Pete retain his freedom. He did suggest, however that Pete remain in town until the whole business was straightened out.

After that, a happy Big Pete excused himself and went about his affairs for the day. Pete strolled aimlessly down toward the Spaceport, not knowing what to do. Garr had to be rescued, and Pete, with his ability to plot quick orbits, thought he could do it. But the Patrol had placed a sanction on all such attempts, and, what was worse, Pete could not take a ship up anyway. He was earthbound. . . .

Someone had to rescue Garr! Someone — and the more he thought about it, the more Pete knew he was that person.

He remembered the tower quite well. As he entered, a uniformed guard with a vaguely familiar face smiled a greeting at him. He took the elevator up to the top level, found himself confronted by a receptionist that he did not remember.

“Yes, sir?” the woman demanded.

“I — I’d like to see Captain Saunders.”

“He’s an extremely busy man. Have you an appointment?”

“No. But tell him Pete Hodges is here. I think he’ll see me.”

The woman spoke briefly into a machine on her desk, then smiled up at him. “Through that door, sir.”

And a moment later: “Pete! It sure is good to see you.”

“Hello, Captain Saunders.”

“Reports are coming in from Buenos Aires and Tierra del Fuego, telling how you set the stage for capturing those pirates. Pete, I’ve got to hand it to you; you had us all fooled. Sit down, son, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’d like your old job back, it’s still waiting for you.”

“I didn’t come here for that.”

“No? What then?”

“You remember Garr MacDougal?”

“Yes, of course. A shame about Garr —”

“It’s only a shame if no one does anything about it!” Pete cried. “I think I can get through to him, Captain Saunders. I know I’d like to try.”

“You think what?”

“That I can get through to him.”

“How?”

“You know the way I plot orbits. It should give me more than a fighting chance.”

“The Patrol says no, Pete. No one can try. Not for six weeks.”

“I know that. But everyone, including the Patrol, realizes that Garr won’t have a chance to stay alive out there for six weeks. It’s a miracle if he’s lasted this long.”

“So you want to try?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t. It’s against orders.”

“I said I know that,” Pete insisted. “But one scout ship, just a small one, that’s all you have to risk. And one man. Me.”

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the authority.”

“Forget it this one time. Let me go. Please.”

“You’re earthbound, Pete. Don’t forget that part of it either. You couldn’t take a ship up even if it had nothing to do with the asteroids.”

“Well, I could go as a passenger! I could plot orbits for the pilot.”

Captain Saunders shook his head. “In that case, it would be two men, not one. Also, if that collarbone of yours is rebroken, your pilot would be helpless.”

“That wasn’t my idea, sir. I really wanted to go myself. I can do the job myself. I know I can.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. No. I can’t give you clearance. I’d like to, but I can’t.”