Human Error Part 1

Human Error.

by Raymond F. Jones.

[Sidenote: _The government was spending a billion dollars to convince the human race that men ought to be ashamed to be men--instead of errorless, cybernetics machines. But they forgot that an errorless man is a dead man...._]

During its three years' existence, the first Wheel was probably the subject of more amateur astronomical observations than any other single object in the heavens. Over three hundred reports came in when a call was issued for witnesses to the accident that destroyed the s.p.a.ce station.

It was fortunately on the night side of Earth at the time, and in a position of bright illumination by the sun. Two of the observers had movie cameras attached to their ten-inch mirrors. The film in one of these was inadequate, but the other carried a complete record of the incident from the moment of the _Griseda's_ first approach, through the pilot's fumbling attempt to correct course, and the final collision.

The scene was lost for a few seconds as the wreckage drifted out of the field. The observer had been watching through a small pilot scope, however, and had wits enough to pan by hand so that he got most of the remaining fall that was visible above his horizon as the locked remnants of the Wheel and the _Griseda_ began their slow, spiral course to Earth.

By the time this scene was finished, word of the disaster was already flas.h.i.+ng to Government centers. Joe McCauley, radio operator aboard the Wheel, had been talking with Ed Harris on the _Griseda_. As a matter of routine, all their conversation was taped, and some of this was recovered from the crash and played back at the investigation.

"--and get this," Ed was saying, "my kid had his fifth birthday just last week, and I've got him working through quadratic equations already.

You've got to go some to beat that one."

"Doesn't mean a thing," said Joe. "You know how these infant brain boxes burn out. Better take him fis.h.i.+ng and forget that stuff for a while.

Hey--what the devil's going on? You got a truck driver in the control room? I just saw you out the port and it looks like you're right on top of us!"

"Jeez, I dunno. It's been like that ever since we cleared Lunaport.

Sometimes I think this guy c.u.mmins trained in a truck the way he--h.e.l.l, he's comin' up on the wrong side of the Wheel! I relayed the orders to go to the east turret. Acknowledged them himself--"

"Ed! I can see you outside the port--we're going to hit!"

The words were ripped by the shattering, grinding roar of colliding metal. Then a moment later the blast of an exploding fuel tank.

"Ed!"

"Joe--yeah, I'm here. Lights gone. Emergency power still on. Take the emergency band if you've still got a rig. I'll stand by--"

Joe switched over without comment and called s.p.a.ce Command Base on the emergency channel, which was always monitored. "Wheel just rammed by _Griseda_," he said. "Possible loss of orbital velocity. Extent of damage unknown."

Lieutenant James, on duty at the Base, had just returned from a three day leave and was scarcely settled in the routine of his post once more.

He glanced automatically at the radar tracking screen and his face paled at the sight of the irregular figure there, slightly out of the centering circle. It was no gag.

"You're dropping," he said. "Orbital velocity must be down. Can you correct?"

"I haven't been able to contact the bridge," said Joe. "Alert all Command and have crash point computed. Stand by."

It developed that the bridge was entirely gone, along with a full thirty percent of the station. Captain West had been spared, however, being on inspection in the other sector of the station. He came on at once as Joe McCauley managed to get the communication lines repatched.

"Emergency red!" he called. "All stations report!"

One by one, the surviving crew chiefs reported conditions in their sectors. And when they were finished, they all knew their chance of survival was microscopic. Captain West ordered: "Communicate with Base.

Request plotting of crash point."

"Done, sir," Joe answered.

"Command post will be established in the radio room. Emergency steering procedure will be started on command. Man all taxi craft."

It was all on the tapes that were salvaged. Everything was done that desperate men could humanly do.

At Base, its Commander, General Oglethorpe, was in the communications and tracking room by the time Joe McCauley had established contact with Captain West.

He picked up the mike at the table. "Plug me in to the station," he commanded the Lieutenant.

He got Joe first, but the radio operator put Captain West on as soon as he arrived in the radio room. "h.e.l.lo, Frank," said General Oglethorpe in a quiet voice.

"Yes, Jack--" Captain West answered. "I'm glad you're there. Does it look pretty bad?"

"Orbital velocity is down two percent. You've been falling for eight minutes."

"That's pretty bad. I've got all steering stations manned, but only thirty percent of them are still operable. We're using the taxis to give a push too. But we haven't been able to dislodge the _Griseda_. Its inertia takes almost half our available energy."

"Couldn't you get a blast from the _Griseda's_ tubes to put you in orbit?"

"Adler's got a crew out there working on it. But his controls are gone, besides his fuel tanks being opened. And even if we could get their rockets operating it's doubtful we could get the right direction of thrust. Our hope is in our own rockets, and in breaking the s.h.i.+p away from the station."

But the closer the ma.s.sed wreckage dropped toward Earth, the higher were its requirements for orbital velocity. While the crews worked at their desperate tasks General Oglethorpe sat with his eyes on the tracking scope, and the voice of his friend in his ear. He listened to Captain West's measured commands to the men in the station and to those working to free the s.h.i.+p. General Oglethorpe heard the repeated reports of failure to free the _Griseda_. He listened to West's orders to transfer fuel from the s.h.i.+p to the station as the latter's supply ran low. He watched the continued deviation of the spot on the tracking scope.

Then he turned as a lieutenant came up behind him with a sheet of calculations. "Present rate of fall indicates a crash point in the San Francis...o...b..y region, sir."

The General gripped the paper, his face tightening. West said, "Did I hear correctly, Jack? The San Francisco area?"

"Yes."

"We'll have to try to keep it from happening there. I'll order the rockets shut off now. We'll save enough fuel to try to do some last minute steering as we approach Earth."

"No!" General Oglethorpe cried. "Use it now! Its effect will be the same as later. Blow the chambers apart! Get back in orbit!"

"We can't make it," West said quietly. "We've gained forward velocity, but I'll bet your computers will show us better than four percent below requirements at this...o...b..t. Spot our crash as accurately as possible on free fall from our present position. We'll save remaining fuel for last minute steering in case we're near a city."

The General was silent then as he heard the responses come back from the men who manned the rockets and who knew that with the closing of their fuel valves their own lives had also come to an end.

"We'll want testimony account for the investigation," Oglethorpe said finally. "Get the responsible officers on the circuit--but you first, Frank--"

There was a moment of silence before Captain Frank West began speaking in changed tones. "What is there to say?" he asked, finally. "You won't need to hold an investigation. I can tell you all you need to know--all you'll ever find out at least,--right now. Your decision will be the same one so many hundreds and thousands of investigating boards have made in the past: Pilot Error.

"_Human_ error! That's what killed the first Wheel, and the _Griseda_. I don't know why it happened. Adler doesn't. Neither does any other man up here with us. Those who were with c.u.mmins in the control room are dead, but they didn't know any more than we do.

"We spent a million dollars training that man, c.u.mmins. We believed he was the best we could produce. We measured his reflexes and his intelligence and his blood composition until we thought we knew the function and capability of every molecule in his body. And then, in just one split second, he makes the decision of a moron, fumbling when he needed to be precise."

"Just what did he do?" Oglethorpe asked gently.