The elevator climbed into place presently and three cadets poured across. Two were carrying sandbags, one had five lead weights. They strapped the sandbags to the' vacant couch, and clamped the weights to its sides. 'One thirty-two mass,' announced one of the cadets.
'Get going,' snapped the pilot and turned back to the board.
'Don't blow your tubes, Harry,' advised the cadet addressed. Matt was amazed, then decided the pilot must be a cadet, too. The three left, taking with them the boy; the hatch door shut with a whish.
'Stand by to raise!' the pilot called out, then looked down to check his passengers. 'Passengers secure, nineteen,' he called to the tower. 'Is that confounded elevator clear?'
There was silence as the seconds trickled away.
The ship shivered. A low roar, muffled almost below audibility, throbbed in Mart's head. For a moment he felt slightly heavy, the feeling passed, then he was pressed strongly against the pads.
Matt was delighted to find that three gravities were not bad, flat on his back as he was. The minute and a half under power stretched out; there was nothing to hear but the muted blast of the reactor, nothing to see but the sky through the pilot's port above.
But the sky was growing darker. Already it was purple; as he watched it turned black. Fascinated, he watched the stars come out.
'Stand by for free fall!' the pilot called out, using an amplifier. 'You'll find sick kits under each pillow. If you need 'em, put 'em on. I don't want to have to scrape it off the port.'
Matt fumbled with heavy fingers under his head, found the kit. The sound of the jet died away, and with it the thrust that had kept them pinned down. The pilot swung out of his rest and floated, facing them. 'Now look, sports - we've got six minutes. You can unstrap, two at a time and come up for a look-see. But get this: Hang oh tight. Any man who starts floating free, or skylarking, gets a down check.' He pointed to a boy. 'You-and the next guy.'
The 'next guy' was Matt. His stomach was complaining and he felt so wretched that he did not really want the privilege offered-but his face was at stake; he clamped his jaws, swallowed the saliva pouring into his mouth, and unstrapped.
Free, he clung to one strap, floating loosely, and tried to get his bearings. It was curiously upsetting to have no up-and-down; it made everything swim- he had trouble focusing his eyes. 'Hurry up there!' he heard the pilot shout, 'or you'll miss your turn.'
'Coming, sir.'
'Hang on-I'm going to turn the ship.' The pilot unclutched his gyros and cut in his processing flywheels. The ship turned end over end. By the time Matt worked his way to the control station, moving like a cautious and elderly monkey, the rocket was pointed toward Earth.
Matt stared out at the surface, nearly a hundred miles below and still receding. The greens and browns seemed dark by contrast with the white dazzle of clouds. Off to the left and right he could see the inky sky, stabbed with stars. 'That's the Base, just below,' the pilot was saying. 'Look sharp and you can make out Hayworth Hall, maybe, by its shadow.'
It did not seem 'just below' to Matt; it seemed 'out'- or no direction at all. It was disquieting. 'Over there-see? -is the crater where Denver used to be. Now look south-that brown stretch is Texas; you can see the Gulf beyond it.'
'Sir,' asked Matt, 'can we see Des Moines from here?'
'Hard to pick out. Over that way-let your eye slide down the Kaw River till it strikes the Missouri, then up river. That dark patch-that's Omaha and Council Bluffs. Des Moines is between there and the horizon.' Matt strained his eyes, trying to pick out his home. He could not be sure- but he did see that he was staring over the bulge of the Earth at a curved horizon; he was seeing the Earth as round. 'That's all,' ordered the pilot. 'Back to your bunks. Next pair!'
He was glad to strap a belt across his middle. The remaining four minutes or so stretched endlessly; he resigned himself to never getting over space sickness. Finally the pilot chased the last pair back, swung ship jet toward Earth, and shouted, 'Stand by for thrust-we're about to ride her down on her tail!'
Blessed weight pressed down on him and his stomach stopped complaining. The ninety seconds of deceleration seemed longer; it made him jumpy to know that the Earth was rushing up at them and not be able to see it. But at last there came a slight bump and his weight dropped suddenly to normal. 'Grounded,' announced the pilot, 'and all in one piece. You can unstrap, sports.'
Presently a truck arrived, swung a telescoping ladder up to the hatch, and 'they climbed down. On the way back they passed a great unwieldy tractor, crawling out to retrieve the rocket. Someone stuck his head out of the tractor. 'Hey! Harry-why didn't you land it in Kansas?'
Their pilot waved at the speaker. 'Be grateful I didn't!'
Matt was free until mess; he decided to return to the observation trench; he still wanted to see a ship land on its jet. He had seen winged landings of commercial stratosphere rockets, but never a jet landing.
Matt had just found a vacant spot at the trench when a shout went up-a ship was coming in. It was a ball of flame, growing in the sky, and then a
pillar of flame, streaking down in front of him. The streamer of fire brushed the ground, poised like a ballet dancer, and died out. The ship was down.
He turned to a candidate near him. 'How long till the next one?'
'They've come in about every five minutes. Stick around.'
Presently a green flare went up from the control tower and he looked around, trying to spot the ship about to take off, when another shout caused him to turn back. There again was a ball of fire in the sky, growing.
Unbelievably, it went out. He stood there, stupefied- to hear a cry of 'Down! Down, everybody! Flat on your faces!' Before he could shake off his stupor, someone tackled him and threw him.
He was rocked by a sharp shock, on top of it came the roar of an explosion. Something snatched at his breath.
He sat up and looked around. A cadet near him was peering cautiously over the parapet. 'Allah the Merciful,' he heard him say softly.
'What happened?'
'Crashed in. Dead, all dead.' The cadet seemed to see him for the first time. 'Get back to your quarters,' he said sharply.
'But how did it happen?'
'Never mind-this is no time for sightseeing.' The cadet moved down the line, clearing out spectators.
IV FIRST MUSTER
MATT'S BOOM WAS EMPTY, which was a relief. He did not want to see Burke, nor anyone. He sat down and thought about it.
Eleven people-just like that. All happy and excited and then-crrumpl-not enough left to cremate. Suddenly he himself was back up .in the sky- He broke off the thought, trembling.
- At the end of an hour he had made up his mind that the Patrol was not for him. He had thought of it, he realized, through a kid's bright illusions- Captain Jenks of the Space Patrol, The Young Rocketeers, stuff like that. Well, those books were all right-for kids-but he wasn't hero material, he had to admit.
Anyhow, his stomach would never get used to free fall. Right now it tightened up when he thought about it.
By the time Burke returned he was calm and, if not happy, at least he was not unhappy, for his mind was at rest.
Burke came in whistling. He stopped when he saw Matt. 'Well, junior, still here? I thought the bumps would send you home.'
'No.'
'Didn't you get dropsick?'
'Yes.' Matt waited and tried to control his temper. 'Didn't you?'
Burke chuckled. 'Not likely. I'm no groundhog, junior.
'Call me 'Matt.''
