Space Tug Part 21

Joe said: "It did work out pretty fortunately. It's lucky the Chief and I were out practicing, but now we can take off when a rocket's reported, any time."

Brown cleared his throat. "I can thank you personally," he said unhappily, "and I do. But--really this situation is intolerable! How can I report this affair? I can't suggest commendation, or a promotion, or--anything! I don't even know how to refer to you! I am going to ask you, Mr. Kenmore, to put through a request that your status be clarified. I would imagine that your status would mean a rank--hm--about equivalent to a lieutenant junior grade in the Navy."

Joe grinned.

"I have--ah--prepared a draft you might find helpful," said Brown earnestly. "It's necessary for something to be done. It's urgent! It's important!"

"Sorry," said Joe. "The important thing to me is getting ready to load up the Platform with supplies from Earth. Excuse me."

He went out of the office. He made his way to the quarters a.s.signed himself and his crew. Mike greeted him with reproachful eyes. Joe waved his hand.

"Don't say it, Mike! The answer is yes. See that the tanks are refilled, and new rockets put in place. Then you and Haney go out and practice.

But no farther than ten miles from the Platform. Understand?"

"No!" said Mike rebelliously. "It's a dirty trick!"

"Which," Joe a.s.sured him, "I commit only because there's a robot s.h.i.+p from Bootstrap coming up any time now. And we'll need to pick it up and tow it here."

He went to the control-room to see if he could get a vision connection to Earth.

He got the beam, and he got Sally on the screen. A report of the attack on the Platform had evidently already gone down to Earth. Sally's expression was somehow drawn and haunted. But she tried to talk lightly.

"Derring-do and stuff, Joe?" she asked. "How does it feel to be a victorious warrior?"

"It feels rotten," he told her. "There must have been somebody in the rocket we blew up. He felt like a patriot, I guess, trying to murder us; But I feel like a butcher."

"Maybe you didn't do it," she said. "Maybe the Chief's bombs----"

"Maybe," said Joe. He hesitated. "Hold up your hand."

She held it up. His ring was still on it. She nodded. "Still there. When will you be back?"

He shook his head. He didn't know. It was curious that one wanted so badly to talk to a girl after doing something that was blood-stirring--and left one rather sickish afterward. This business of s.p.a.ce travel and even s.p.a.ce battle was what he'd dreamed of, and he still wanted it. But it was very comforting to talk to Sally, who hadn't had to go through any of it.

"Write me a letter, will you?" he asked. "We can't tie up this beam very long."

"I'll write you all the news that's allowed to go out," she a.s.sured him.

"Be seeing you, Joe."

Her image faded from the screen. And, thinking it over, he couldn't see that either of them had said anything of any importance at all. But he was very glad they'd talked together.

The first robot s.h.i.+p came up some eight hours later--two revolutions after the television call. Mike was ready hours in advance, fidgeting.

The robot s.h.i.+p started up while the Platform was over the middle of the Pacific. It didn't try to make a spiral approach as all other s.h.i.+ps had done. It came straight up, and it started from the ground. No pushpots.

Its take-off rockets were monsters. They pushed upward at ten gravities until it was out of atmosphere, and then they stepped up to fifteen.

Much later, the robot turned on its side and fired orbital speed rockets to match velocity with the Platform.

There were two reasons for the vertical rise, and the high acceleration.

If a robot s.h.i.+p went straight up, it wouldn't pa.s.s over enemy territory until it was high enough to be protected by the Platform. And--it costs fuel to carry fuel to be burned. So if the rockets.h.i.+p could get up speed for coasting to orbit in the first couple of hundred miles, it needn't haul its fuel so far. It was economical to burn one's fuel fast and get an acceleration that would kill a human crew. Hence robots.

The landing of the first robot s.h.i.+p at the Platform was almost as matter-of-fact as if it had been done a thousand times before. From the Platform its dramatic take-off couldn't be seen, of course. It first appeared aloft as a pip on a radar screen. Then Mike prepared to go out and hook on to it and tow it in. He was in his s.p.a.ce suit and in the landing lock, though his helmet faceplate was still open. A loudspeaker boomed suddenly in Brown's voice: "_Evacuate airlock and prepare to take off!_"

Joe roared: "Hold that!"

Brown's voice, very official, came: "_Withhold execution of that order.

You should not be in the airlock, Mr. Kenmore. You will please make way for operational procedure._"

"We're checking the s.p.a.ce wagon," snapped Joe. "That's operational procedure!"

The loudspeaker said severely: "_The checking should have been done earlier!_"

There was silence. Mike and Joe, together, painstakingly checked over the very many items that had to be made sure. Every rocket had to have its firing circuit inspected. The tanks' contents and pressure verified.

The air connection to Mike's s.p.a.ce suit. The air pressure. The device that made sure that air going to Mike's s.p.a.ce suit was neither as hot as metal in burning sunlight, nor cold as the chill of a shadow in s.p.a.ce.

Everything checked. Mike straddled his red-painted mount. Joe left the lock and said curtly:

"Okay to pump the airlock. Okay to open airlock doors when ready. Go ahead."

Mike went out, and Joe watched from a port in the Platform's hull. The drone from Earth was five miles behind the Platform in its...o...b..t, and twenty miles below, and all of ten miles off-course. Joe saw Mike scoot the red s.p.a.ce wagon to it, stop short with a sort of c.o.c.ky self-a.s.surance, hook on to the tow-ring in the floating s.p.a.ce-barge's nose, and blast off back toward the Platform with it in tow.

Mike had to turn about and blast again to check his motion when he arrived. And then he and Haney--Haney in the other s.p.a.ce wagon--nudged at it and tugged at it and got it in the great s.p.a.celock. They went in after it and the lock doors closed.

Neither Mike nor Haney were out of their s.p.a.ce suits when Kent brought Joe a note. A note was an absurdity in the Platform. But this was a formal communication from Brown.

"_From: Lt. Comdr. Brown

To: Mr. Kenmore

Subject: Cooperation and courtesy in rocket recovery vehicle launchings.

1. There is a regrettable lack of coordination and courtesy in the launching of rocket-recovery vehicles (s.p.a.ce wagons) in the normal operation of the Platform.

2. The maintenance of discipline and efficiency requires that the commanding officer maintain overall control of all operations at all times.

3. Hereafter when a s.p.a.ce vehicle of any type is to be launched, the commanding officer will be notified in writing not less than one hour before such launching.

4. The time of such proposed launching will be given in such notification in hours and minutes and seconds, Greenwich Mean Time.

5. All commands for launching will be given by the commanding officer or an officer designated by him._"

Joe received the memo as he was in the act of writing a painstaking report on the maneuver Mike had carried out. Mike was radiant as he discussed possible improvements with later and better equipment. After all, this had been a lucky landing. For a robot to end up no more than 30 miles from its target, after a journey of 4,000 miles, and with a difference in velocity that was almost immeasurable--such good fortune couldn't be expected as a regular thing. The s.p.a.ce wagons were tiny. If they had to travel long distances to recover erratic s.h.i.+ps coming up from Earth----

Joe forgot all about Lieutenant Commander Brown and his memo when the mail was distributed. Joe had three letters from Sally. He read them in the great living compartment of the Platform with its sixty-foot length and its carpet on floor and ceiling, and the galleries without stairs outside the sleeping cabins. He sat in a chair with thigh grips to hold him in place, and he wore a gravity simulation harness. It was necessary. The regular crew of the Platform, by this time, couldn't have handled s.p.a.ce wagons in action against enemy manned rockets. Joe meant to stay able to take acceleration.

It was just as he finished his mail that Brent came in.

"Big news!" said Brent. "They're building a big new s.h.i.+p of new design--almost half as big as the Platform. With concreted metal they can do it in weeks."

"What's it for?" demanded Joe.