Where I Wasn't Going Part 16

"I think," said Is.h.i.+e, "we'd best put a switch on our magnetic field so that we can reverse the field and the thrust."

"Why?" asked Mike.

"Because," Is.h.i.+e explained, "when we reach the top of our course northward, then the thrust of the Confusor and Earth's gravity come into conflict, moving our entire orbit off-center and bringing us closer to the pole. In not too many orbits, that eccentricity in our orbit might pull us into the Van Allen belt. We can't afford that.

Now, if we reverse the thrust at the right time, our orbit will be enlarged and we stay out of troubled s.p.a.ces."

Mike was still puzzled. "I don't see how that works," he said. "Why wouldn't we just go off in a spiral on our present thrust?"

"The acceleration of Earth is a much greater influence," Is.h.i.+e tried to make it clear, "than our little mosquito here. As long as they work together, things go well. But when Earth dictates that we will now swing south, be it ever so few degrees south, our mosquito is overpowered and can only drag us clear to Earth-center on a closing spiral, which would eventually lead us to crash somewhere in the southern hemisphere, a good many orbits from now.

"I hope," he said, "reversing the magnetic field will indeed reverse our little mosquito's thrust." He moved toward the Confusor.

"Hold it," said Mike. "The displacement in orbit won't be very much, at least on the first few go-arounds, will it? and if we switch it now, somebody'll start getting suspicious of this magneto-ionic effect. The effect that's doing all this. A sudden reversal might not be in its character, if it had a character. And anyhow, we don't want to give another jerk on Hot Rod. We might jerk something loose this time. We've already wiped out Thule Base--and there's no use adding scalps to an already full belt."

"O.K.," said Is.h.i.+e. "Then now, I think it is time that we presented our formal drawings to the captain; and I think that when we present them we will suggest that we start work immediately on construction, even while he is checking out our drawings through his experts, so that the project will not be delayed."

On the bridge, the captain received the drawings with relief.

"Thank you, gentlemen. If these prove out, you may have saved the satellite by the rapidity of your work. Dr. Kimball calculated that our present acceleration will take us dangerously close to the Van Allen belt in about three orbits, and I need not tell you what that would mean."

Is.h.i.+e spoke up immediately. "In that case, captain, perhaps Mr.

Blackhawk and I had better start construction on this device immediately, without waiting for you to complete the check-out. That may save us invaluable time."

"Of course," said the captain. "What a.s.sistance will you need?"

"Of the greatest priority," replied Is.h.i.+e gravely, "is access to the machine shop. The solar flare should be about wearing itself out."

"Oh ... of course. It may be." The captain's face was slightly red as he realized he had not thought to check this point. "Bessie, ask the computer...."

"Yes, sir," she answered quickly, and returned shortly. "The computer says the radiation count is down to ten M.R. above normal."

"It's a fairly low reading, even if it is above the Cow's normal-safe mark. That reading could go on for hours, which we may not have,"

commented Is.h.i.+e. "Perhaps we could disregard so narrow a differential...."

"In your opinion, doctor," the captain asked, "would it be safe to return the personnel to the rim? Of course, I would have to return the entire s.h.i.+p to normal conditions in order to give the machine shop or any other part of the rim its normal six-foot s.h.i.+elding," he added, "so please consider your answer carefully."

"I think you would be quite safe to do so, captain. Considering the fact that otherwise we may go into the Van Allen belt, I think it should be done without question."

To himself, Mike chortled gleefully. This grave, pedantic physicist was about as unlike the co-conspirator with whom he had worked for the past nearly ten hours as was possible. "The guy's a genius at a lot of things," he thought to himself. "Puts on the social mock-up expected of him like you'd put on a suit of clothes--and takes it off just as completely," he added as an afterthought.

The return to the rim was slower than had been the evacuation--but it was complete within twenty minutes of the decision to return the satellite to normal.

In the machine shop, Paul and Tombu, with Is.h.i.+e and Mike, were gathering the materials they'd need for the odd construction--Paul singing to himself as he worked.

_"I got in the shuttle, thought it went to the Base;_ _I'd learned my trade; there I'd take my place_ _Safely on Earth; but I found me in s.p.a.ce--_ _I'd went where I wasn't going!"_

"What's that song?" asked Is.h.i.+e of the s.p.a.ceman.

"Oh, that's just 'The s.p.a.ceman's Lament.' You make it up as you go along." His voice grew louder, taking the minor, wailing key at a volume the others could hear.

_"I got on the wheel, thought I'd stay for the ride--_ _I'd found a funny suit in which to hide--_ _But I went through a closet--and I was outside!_ _I'd went where I wasn't going!"_

Tombu and Mike joined happily in the chorus, bawling it out at the top of their lungs as they began the work that would make the big Confusor.

_"Oh ... there's a sky-trail leading from here to there_ _And another yonder showing--_ _But when I get to the end of the run_ _It'll be where I wasn't going!"_

Meanwhile, facsimile copies of the official drawings had been made for the other interested scientists aboard, and also sent by transfax to U.N. headquarters for distribution among Earth's top-level scientists.

They were innocent enough in concept, and sufficiently complex in design to require a great deal of study by these conservative individuals who would never risk a hasty guess as to the consequences of even so simple an action as sneezing at the wrong time.

Major Steve Elbertson awoke with a start, to see a medic's eyes inches from his own. For a moment, fearing himself under physical attack, he struck out convulsively, and then as the face withdrew he sat up slowly.

He was slightly nauseous; very dizzy; and his instincts told him that he needed a gallon of coffee as soon as he could get it. Then the medic's voice penetrated.

"Please, sir, you must rest. No excitement."

Almost, he was persuaded. It would be so easy to relax; to give someone else the responsibility. But the concept of responsibility brought him struggling up again.

Hot Rod was a dangerous weapon. He could not act irresponsibly.

"How long was I out?" he muttered.

The medic glanced at the clock. "Just over nineteen hours, sir."

"Wha-at? You dared to keep me off duty that long? I must report for duty at once."

"Please, sir. No excitement. You must rest. Just a moment and I'll call Dr. Green." With that the medic turned and fled.

As Dr. Green approached, Steve Elbertson was already on his feet, swaying dizzily, white as a sheet, but perhaps the latter was more from anger than from anything else.

"Major Elbertson. You received a severe dose of radiation. You are under my personal supervision and will return to bed at once."

"Is the flare over?" Elbertson asked the question, although already vaguely aware that the s.h.i.+p was again spinning, that he was standing on the floor fairly firmly, and that, therefore, the emergency must be over.

"Yes."

"In that case, sir, my duty is to my post on Hot Rod."

"Hot Rod's out of commission and so are you. I cannot be responsible for the consequences if you do not follow my orders."

"Explain that, please. About Hot Rod, I mean."

"Why, it was struck by a meteor shortly after the flare last night. I think I heard someone say that it burned out Thule Base before they managed to turn it off."