The Scarlet Lake Mystery Part 13

"Pad. Work to do, and you can help. Do a good job with me and I'll give you a special reward. Check?"

"Check," Rick agreed, grinning. "What's the reward?"

"Watch Orion from the blockhouse with me. Good?"

"Plenty good," Rick said, pleased. "What's the work?"

Gee-Gee drove the way he talked, at high speed and with a flourish. Rick held his breath as the sedan skidded around a gasoline truck, then leveled off. Gee-Gee gave him a long glance and almost went off the road in consequence.

"You're fairly new, Rick. But you know about this Earthman?"

"I've heard plenty of rumors," Rick agreed, "but I can't say I know many facts about him. He's a big, noctilucent mystery to me." He thought, "Now he's got me doing it!"

"I like that," Gee-Gee said appreciatively. "High, rare, and mysterious.

Like noctilucent clouds high above the cirrus belt. I can use it."

Rick chuckled. "You were talking about the Earthman," he prompted.

"Yes. You weren't here for the first two shoots, so you are not this Earthman. And I'm not. No one knows this but me, on account of everyone suspects everyone. So far, only the Earthman knows who he is. But I'm telling you, it's not me. You don't have to believe this, of course, but, young Brant, I'm going to check every electronic circuit in Orion myself. And you're not only going to help me, you're going to check what I check. Roger?"

"Roger," Rick replied grimly. "How long will it take?"

"All night. We'll live on sandwiches and coffee and get no sleep. But when we're through, we'll both be satisfied that all electronics in Orion are correct and functioning."

"But hasn't the rocket been checked already?" Rick asked.

"Twice. Every circuit in it. The critical circuits have been checked a dozen times. But is ole Gee-Gee satisfied? Negative, young Brant.

Gee-Gee is not going to be satisfied until he personally rechecks and locks all access doors and ports himself."

Rick sat back in the seat, smiling to himself. He had no doubt that Dr.

Gerald Gould meant every word of it. If Orion failed tomorrow, it would not be the fault of the electronics department.

The sedan pulled up at the pad and Rick got out, staring at the great rocket. Myriad cables dripped from various parts of it, and he thought of Gulliver tied down by the threads of the Lilliputians. There was something magnificent about the clean, towering shape that stirred his imagination. In the jargon of the rocketeer the great missiles were called "beasts" or "birds." The former was because they sometimes acted "beastly." The latter was a tribute to their beautiful flight when they ran true.

Rick thought, "How could anyone sabotage a thing like that?"

Gee-Gee brought him back to earth. "Ever climb a gantry?"

"No, sir."

"Well, start flying, young Brant. We go to the top and work down."

Rick went. He was too excited to be afraid. The first stage was by elevator. Then he and Gee-Gee climbed thin steel rungs to the very tip of the great rocket. Not until he reached the shaky, wind-blown, postage-stamp-size platform at the top did he take time to look down.

The thin steel web was no barrier to vision. He was on top of the world, at the doorstep to s.p.a.ce, looking down on fantastic activity below. The rocket curved sweetly away below him, down to the sharp lines of the great stabilizer fins. He noted the breakaway zone where the first stage and second stage were joined. He could see, as one perched on a cloud, the tiny, busy forms of men below.

For an instant, as the nose access port yawned before him, Rick had a vision of himself in pressure suit and plastic helmet, mounting the rocket as a pilot mans his plane, antic.i.p.ating the signal for blast-off.

Gee-Gee brought him back to earth with a prosaic, "Let's get at it, boy-oh."

It was the beginning. The picturesque but highly competent and efficient electronics chief hadn't exaggerated. The fabulous world of rocketry narrowed to a maze of wiring, circuit after circuit, checking, testing, and calling for test signals from the blockhouse. Rick checked and rechecked, following closely on Gee-Gee's heels. He missed nothing, took nothing for granted. Once he snapped, "Wait a minute! You didn't check that circuit properly. Check for polarization as well as contact."

Gee-Gee looked at him in astonishment, then slowly grinned. He thrust out a grimy hand. "You're my boy, young Brant. Who taught you about polarization?"

Rick was about to say, truthfully, "My father." But he caught himself in time. "A boss I had at Spindrift."

"He taught you well, and you're right. I did goof on that one. I'll check, and you recheck."

They went at it again, inch by inch through the incredible maze of wiring in the rocket's innards. By very accurate a.n.a.logy, they were probing the rocket's brains. The circuits, like nerves, carried messages to and from the central rocket control. One would signal "_Rocket starting to yaw_," and another would reply to the servomotors that activated the gimbal-mounted motor, "_Compensate! Two degrees correction azimuth 350!_" and the great rocket would steady on course again. There was a circuit to carry the heartbeats of the monkey caged in the nose cone, and another to carry his skin temperature, and dozens more.

Rick didn't even notice when it grew dark. Sometime during the night someone thrust ham sandwiches and a cup of steaming coffee into his hands and he ate and drank without taking his eyes from Gee-Gee.

Then, what seemed only minutes later, someone yelled, "Zero minus three hours!"

Gee-Gee looked up. He glared at Rick from red-rimmed eyes. "Quick!

What's left to check?"

Rick stared at smudged, much-handled circuit diagrams through eyes that refused to focus sharply. "Only the control circuit for the pumps."

They were low on the crane now, working at the last access port. These were the electronic nerves of the great pumps that would force fuel into the rocket motor. Gee-Gee checked them, spoke into a walkie-talkie he had carried through the night, and d.i.c.k Earle's voice came back from the blockhouse. "The board is green."

Rick took over and checked again. And once more Earle's voice sounded, harsh and definite. "The board is green."

Gee-Gee slammed the access port door and locked the patented fasteners with a few turns of his screw driver. "We're done," he said flatly.

"Come on down."

Rick followed, jumping to the ground from the lowest platform. He looked around, dazed. The sky was pink in the east. It was dawn. Where had the night gone? He stared amazed at grotesque figures that waited, silent, patient, like beings from another world. Then he realized it was the fueling crew dressed in protective clothing, swathed like strange coc.o.o.ns in plastic that would keep their vulnerable human skins from the harm of corrosive liquid and fumes.

Gee-Gee led him to the blockhouse, and the walk across the barren plain cleared the mists from Rick's head. He knew, as clearly and finally as anyone can ever know anything, that the electronic circuits were all in order and functioning.

The ma.s.sive door of the blockhouse was open. Inside were two dozen men, each with his own place and his own job. Rick knew some of them by sight, but he knew few names. This was the Orion crew. He looked at them with respect. They had made the great rocket on which he had worked all night. They had created it from sketches on paper, followed it through all the stages of construction until now it was ready.

A loud-speaker crackled, then boomed, "The time is now zero minus ninety minutes."

They were the fastest ninety minutes Rick had ever spent. He was enthralled by the activity in the blockhouse, and, careful to keep out of the way, he walked from station to station. Now and then he looked through the thick gla.s.s ports, and he saw the green mist of boron hydride as fuel throbbed slowly into the rocket's tanks.

A thin, bald scientist in a scarlet sports s.h.i.+rt picked up a microphone and spoke into it. "Tracking stations, report your readiness. Stand by.

Lathrop Wells, report."

A loud-speaker over his head replied instantly. "Lathrop Wells ready and tracking."

Tonopah, Indian Springs, Mercury, Death Valley Junction, Shorty's Well, Chloride Cliff, Jubilee Pa.s.s: All ready and tracking. Then:

"Careless Mesa."

Big Mac's voice boomed forth. "Careless Mesa ready and tracking."

The time: "Zero minus thirty minutes!"