Prelude to Space (8 page)

Very slowly, the ship was settling down through the stratosphere, losing speed minute
by minute. At little more than a thousand miles an hour, the air-scoops of the ramjets
were opened and the atomic furnaces began to glow with deadly life. Streams of burning
air were being blasted from the nozzles and in its wake the ship was leaving the familiar
reddish-brown tinge of nitric oxides. It was riding the atmosphere again, safely under
power, and could turn once more for home
.

The final test was over. Almost three hundred miles above, exchanging night and day
every forty minutes, the first fuel tank was spinning in its eternal orbit. In a few
days its companions would be launched in the same path, by the same means. They would
be lashed together, awaiting the moment when they would pour their contents into the
empty tanks of “Alpha” and speed the spaceship on the journey to the Moon
….

As Matthews put it, the “Department of Negative Publicity” had gone into forward gear
at last—and once started, it changed rapidly into top. The successful launching of
the first fuel container, and the safe return of “Beta” showed that everything that
could be checked was functioning perfectly. The now fully trained crew would be leaving
for Australia in a few days, and the need for secrecy was past.

A hilarious morning was spent at Southbank as the press reports of the first visit
to the “Nursery” came in. The science editors of the great dailies had, as usual,
produced reasonably accurate accounts: but some of the smaller papers, who had sent
along sports reporters, dramatic critics, or anyone else who happened to be handy,
had printed some truly marvelous stories. Matthews spent most of the day in a state
of mingled mirth and mortification, launching a telephonic barrage in the general
direction of Fleet Street. Dirk warned him that it would be wise to save most of his
indignation for the arrival of the transatlantic press reports.

Hassell, Leduc, Clinton, Richards and Taine promptly became the targets of almost
unparalleled curiosity. Their life-stories (thoughtfully mimeographed well in advance
by Public Relations) were promptly serialized in newspapers all over the word. Offers
of matrimony poured in by every post, descending impartially upon the married and
the unmarried men alike. Begging letters also arrived in hordes: as Richards remarked
wryly: “Everyone except life-insurance agents wants to sell us
something
.”

The affairs of Interplanetary were now moving toward their climax with the smoothness
of a military operation. In a week, the crew and all the higher staff would be leaving
for Australia. With them would go everyone else who could possibly think of a suitable
excuse. During the next few days many preoccupied expressions were to be seen around
the building. Junior clerks had a habit of suddenly discovering sick aunts in Sydney
or impecunious cousins in Canberra who required their presence immediately.

The idea of the farewell party had, it seemed, originated in the Director-General’s
mind and had been enthusiastically taken up by McAndrews, who was annoyed at not having
thought of it himself. All the headquarters staff was to be invited, as well as large
numbers of people from industry, the press, the universities, and the innumerable
organizations with which Interplanetary had dealings. After much whittling of lists
and a good deal of heartburning, just over seven hundred invitations had been sent
out. Even the Chief Accountant, still boggling at the thought of a two-thousand-pound
“hospitality” item, had been brought to heel by threats of exclusion.

There were a few who thought that these celebrations were premature and it would be
better to wait until the “Prometheus” returned. To these critics it was pointed out
that many of the workers on the project would not be returning to London after the
launch, but would be going back to their own countries. This was the last opportunity
of getting them all together. Pierre Leduc summed up the crew’s attitude when he said:
“If we come back, we’ll have enough parties then to last us the rest of our lives.
If we
don’t
, then you ought to give us a good send-off.”

The hotel selected for the bacchanalia was one of the best in London, but not one
so good that only a few of the executives and practically none of the scientists would
feel at ease. Speeches, it had been solemnly promised, would be kept to a minimum
to leave as much time as possible for the proper business. This suited Dirk, who had
a hatred for orations but a considerable fondness for banquets and buffets.

He arrived ten minutes before the official time, and found Matthews pacing up and
down the foyer, flanked by a couple of muscular waiters. He indicated them without
a smile.

“My strong-arm men,” he said. “Look carefully, and you can see the bulges in their
hip-pockets. We expect lots of gate-crashers, particularly from the section of Fleet
Street we haven’t invited. I’m afraid you’ll have to look after yourself tonight,
but the chaps with ‘Steward’ on their lapels will tell you who’s who if there’s anyone
you want to meet.”

“That’s all right,” said Dirk, checking his hat and coat. “I hope you get time to
have a snack now and then while you’re holding the fort.”

“My emergency reserves are well organized. You’ll get your drinks, by the way, from
the chaps labeled ‘Fuel Technician.’ We’ve called all the drinks after some rocket
fuel or other, so no one will know what they’ve got until they drink it—if then. But
I’ll give you a tip.”

“What’s that?”

“
Lay off the hydrazine hydrate!
”

“Thanks for the warning,” laughed Dirk. He was somewhat relieved to find, a few minutes
later, that Matthews had been pulling his leg and that no such disguises had been
employed.

The place filled rapidly in the next half-hour. Dirk did not know more than one person
in twenty, and felt a little out in the cold. Consequently he kept somewhat nearer
the bar than was altogether good for him. From time to time he nodded to acquaintances,
but most of them were too fully engaged elsewhere to join him. He was rather glad
when another equally unattached guest settled down beside him in search of company.

They got into conversation in a somewhat desultory manner, and after a while the talk
came around, inevitably, to the approaching adventure.

“By the way,” said the stranger, “I’ve not seen you around Interplanetary before.
Have you been here long?”

“Only three weeks or so,” said Dirk. “I’m on a special job for the University of Chicago.”

“Indeed?”

Dirk felt talkative, and the other seemed to show a flattering interest in his affairs.

“I’ve got to write the official history of the first voyage and the events leading
up to it. This trip is going to be one of the most important things that’s ever happened,
and it’s necessary to have a complete record for the future.”

“But surely there’ll be thousands of technical reports and newspaper accounts?”

“Quite true: but you forget that they’ll be written for contemporaries and will assume
a background which may only be familiar to present-day readers. I have to try and
stand outside of Time, as it were, and produce a record which can be read with full
understanding ten thousand years from today.”

“Phew! Some job!”

“Yes: it’s only become possible recently through the new developments in the study
of language and meaning, and the perfection of symbolic vocabularies. But I’m afraid
I’m boring you.”

To his annoyance, the other didn’t contradict him.

“I suppose,” said the stranger casually, “you’ve got to know the people round here
pretty well. I mean, you’re in rather a privileged position.”

“That’s true: they’ve looked after me excellently and helped me all they could.”

“There goes young Hassell,” said his companion. “He looks a bit worried, but so would
I in his shoes. Have you got to know the crew at all well?”

“Not yet, though I hope to do so. I’ve spoken to Hassell and Leduc a couple of times,
but that’s all.”

“Who do you think’s going to be chosen for the trip?”

Dirk was about to give his not-very-well-informed views on this subject when he saw
Matthews frantically signaling to him from the other side of the room. For a moment
alarming possibilities of sartorial disaster raced through his mind. Then a slow suspicion
dawned, and with a mumbled excuse he disengaged himself from his companion.

A few moments later, Matthews confirmed his fears.

“Mike Wilkins is one of the best—we used to work together on the
News
. But for goodness’ sake be careful what you say to him. If you’d murdered your wife
he’d get it out of you by asking leading questions about the weather.”

“Still, I don’t think there’s much I could tell him that he doesn’t know already.”

“Don’t you believe it. Before you know where you are, you’ll be featured in the paper
as ‘an important official of Interplanetary’ and I’ll be sending out the usual ineffective
disclaimers.”

“I see. How many other reporters have we got among our guests?”

“About twelve were
invited
,” said Matthews darkly. “I should just avoid all heart-to-heart talks with people
you don’t know. Excuse me now—I must go back on guard duty.”

As far as he was concerned, thought Dirk, the party was hardly going with a swing.
The Public Relations Department seemed to have an obsession about security, which
Dirk considered they had pushed to extremes. However, he could understand Matthews’
horror of unofficial interviews—he had seen some of their gruesome results.

For quite a time after this Dirk’s attention was fully occupied by an astonishingly
pretty girl who appeared to have arrived without an escort—a fact somewhat surprising
in itself. He had just, after much vacillation, decided to step into the breach when
it became all too obvious that the escort had merely been engaged on convoy duties
elsewhere. Dirk hadn’t missed his opportunity: he had never had one. He turned once
more to philosophical musings.

His spirits, however, revived considerably during dinner. The meal itself was excellent
and even the Director-General’s speech (which set a limit for all the others) only
lasted ten minutes. It was, as far as Dirk could remember, an extremely witty address
full of private jokes which produced roars of laughter in some quarters and sickly
smiles in others. Interplanetary had always been fond of laughing at itself in private,
but only recently could it afford the luxury of doing so in public.

The remaining few orations were even shorter: several speakers would clearly have
liked more time, but dared not take it. Finally McAndrews, who had acted throughout
as a very efficient Master of Ceremonies, called a toast for the success of the “Prometheus”
and her crew.

Afterwards there was much dancing to the gentle, nostalgic rhythms so popular in the
late ’70s. Dirk, who was a very bad dancer at the best of times, made several erratic
circuits with Mrs. Matthews and the wives of other officials before an increasing
lack of muscular co-ordination warned him off the field. He then sat watching the
proceedings through a benevolent glow, thinking what nice people all his friends were
and tut-tutting slightly when he noticed dancers who had obviously taken aboard just
a little too much “fuel.”

It must have been around midnight when he suddenly became aware that someone was speaking
to him. (He hadn’t been asleep, of course, but it was refreshing to close one’s eyes
now and then.) He turned sluggishly and found a tall, middle-aged man watching him
with some amusement from the next chair. To Dirk’s surprise, he was not in evening
dress and did not seem to be worried by the fact.

“I saw your fraternity badge,” said the other by way of introduction. “I’m Sigma Xi
myself. Only got back from California this evening—too late for the dinner.”

So that explained the dress, thought Dirk, feeling rather pleased with himself at
so brilliant a piece of deduction. He shook hands, glad to meet a fellow Californian—though
he couldn’t catch the name. It seemed to be something like Mason, but it didn’t really
matter.

For some time they discussed American affairs and speculated on the Democrats’ chances
of returning to power. Dirk contended that the Liberals would once again hold the
balance, and made some brilliant comments on the advantages and disadvantages of the
three-party system. Strangely enough, his companion seemed unimpressed by his wit,
and brought the conversation back to Interplanetary.

“You haven’t been here very long, have you?” he queried. “How are you getting on?”

Dirk told him, at length. He explained his job, and enlarged lavishly upon its scope
and importance. When he had finished his work, all subsequent eras and all possible
planets would realize exactly what the conquest of space had meant to the age which
had achieved it.

His friend seemed very interested, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice
about which Dirk might have to reprimand him, gently but firmly.

“How have you got on in your contacts with the technical side?” he asked.

“To tell the truth,” said Dirk sadly, “I’ve been intending to do something about this
for the last week. But I’m rather scared of scientists, you know. Besides, there’s
Matthews. He’s been very helpful, but he has his own ideas of what I should do and
I’m anxious not to hurt his feelings.”

That was a deplorably weak sort of statement, but there was a lot of truth in it.
Matthews had organized everything a little too completely.

Thinking of Alfred brought back memories, and Dirk was filled with a sudden grave
suspicion. He looked carefully at his companion, determined not to be caught again.

The fine profile and the wide, intelligent brow were reassuring, but Dirk was now
too old a hand at the game to be deceived. Alfred, he thought, would be proud of the
way he was evading definite answers to his companion’s queries. It was rather a pity,
of course, since the other was a fellow American and had come a long way in search
of a “scoop”; still, his first loyalty now was with his hosts.