CHAPTER 3

III

By the time the Goddard was over the North Pole where she could make radio contact with Alaska, the news was already out. For once, Tass had released the news of a catastrophe without delay. The ground radio confirmed the fact that every supply ship for the Sulky had been wiped out, and that the detonation had been so great that even ships being assembled nearby had been wrecked hopelessly. It would be three months before Russia could again reach her station.

Later news filtered in slowly. Most of it had to be picked up from the regular FM news broadcasts that filtered through the ionosphere. A couple of the scientists who had learned Russian interpreted the news from Radio Moscow on their next trip over.

Surprisingly, there were no claims of American sabotage. Then Blane wondered whether it was so surprising. With the level of fear in Russia as high as elsewhere, it would probably have been a grave mistake for the leaders to suggest that any American sabotage of territory so far inside Russia was possible. The people had to count on the invulnerability of their station for what little hope they had; how that worked when the supply ships were already ruined was more than he could guess, but he had long since given up trying to understand the devious game of propaganda being played on Earth.

At least for the moment, the disaster was not being turned into another excuse to push the seemingly inevitable war another millimeter closer to the brink. Maybe the whole affair might result in some decline of tension. Once the American ships were sent up to supply the Sulky on an emergency basis, there might be a little good will from Russia and self-satisfaction at a good deed in America. That could give a breathing spell.

Blane had almost forgotten Manners and the worry over the strange increase in radioactivity. He had sent Manners' latest figures down with a query for instructions at the first chance to do so by tight-beam radio that would not leak security, and then had let the matter drop from his mind. It was several hours later when his secretary announced that Peal and Manners were in the outer office.

Manners looked both more worried and strangely satisfied, as if he were bursting to cry his I-told-you-so. But Peal's face was drained of any emotion except surprise.

The scientist nodded. "Captain Manners' figures were quite accurate. We've got to evacuate nearby sections of the station. In a way, we're lucky—radiation travels in straight lines, and the hull curves away from it here. There is about three hundred times normal radiation in there, and it's coming from inside the warheads. It isn't lethal yet—men can work there for a few hours at a time; but at the rate it's increasing, it soon will be. Any word from Earth?"

Blane dug through his in basket, and finally located a blue slip. It was in code, but Devlin's instructions included the location of the code book. He riffled through it for phrases each decagraph covered. Situation within normal expectations—results being studied here—continue as at present—will apprise if new procedure advisable—regard as utmost top secret—invoke maximum security measures over affected personnel.

"No word," he said bitterly. Probably he wasn't even supposed to say that much, or to discuss it with the other two. But he chose to interpret the part about continuing as at present to permit the discussion to continue. He tried to focus his mind on what facts he knew. "I thought the radiation rate of the stuff in the warheads was constant, and that the casings were adequate shielding."

Peal nodded. "That's what's driving me out of my mind at the moment, Jerry. Except when it reaches critical mass, uranium-235 is supposed to have an absolutely fixed half-life; it shouldn't increase under any circumstances, and the mass of each section in those bombs can't increase to become nearer critical, either. It simply can't happen, according to any physics I ever learned. But it's doing so."

"What about the effects of cosmic rays?" Blane asked. Devlin might have learned more from Earth, and even if his story to Manners had been patently untrue, it might still offer some clue.

Peal shook his head, but somewhat doubtfully. "On Earth, they're mostly only mesons from strikes by cosmic radiation. Out here, we get only the extremely hard radiation—the shielding of the ship is too thin to affect them. Maybe they might speed up the half-life a little—but they shouldn't make it increase. I've been thinking about them, too. Meteorites show a much greater decay of uranium to lead than the ores on Earth, which might indicate some effect from cosmic radiation. But unless they somehow produce another isotope from uranium that's raising the activity, I can't figure it out. We need a top level nuclear physicist for this, and we don't have one here."

They discussed it at greater length, but without adding anything to their speculations. Blane felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, and was conscious of a vague picture in his mind of the warheads ticking away and getting set to blast spontaneously. But he put the idea aside. Earth might be a little careless of their welfare under the pressure of emergency, but right now Earth would never risk losing the station. It was only his overactive imagination.

He finally assigned Peal and Manners back to the task of studying the matter as best they could, and tried to dismiss it from his mind. There were more than enough other worries about the station. The cryogenics lab was in trouble—the group from Earth who had used the labs had badly depleted supplies and been careless about equipment that was common enough below but difficult to obtain here. The evacuation of the laboratories near the bomb bay threw severe strains on research, and Earth was demanding that some of it be speeded up. And the weather study was being crippled by the need to waste too much attention on detailed studies of every section of Russia. The whole station was on emergency orders to do twice as much as could possibly be done.

He waited for news that supplies were being sent from Johnston Island to the Sulky, but no such news appeared. Instead, the news carried details that were only rumors of some effort of the United States to force Russia to disarm the Sulky unilaterally in return for the loan of eight rocket ships and launching facilities. If such an offer had been made, it must have been turned down flatly. The next day there was not even a mention of it.

When Edwards came up again, Blane sent for him at once. The pilot had made a superb landing of his ship at Canaveral, and had then been jetted back to the Island. Normally he would have taken a long layover there before making another trip up, though he had senior pilot's right to select or refuse any flight he chose. Blane was curious about his reasons for choosing the first trip he could make.

Edwards lost no time in reporting. He hadn't stopped to remove his emergency space suit, though he'd left the helmet and the oxygen tank somewhere. He clumped in, accepted coffee, and began talking even as he shucked off the suit.

"It's a wonder they even let me fly up supplies to you," he grumbled. "Jerry, it's rough down there. They've got everything sewed up under controls. I'm surprised they didn't suspect me of plotting an orbit for the Sulky instead of here. Damn all governments that have to mess into space affairs!"

Some of the details came out slowly, with more color than clarity. But Blane gathered that they had reacted violently to the news that the government was trying to use the emergency as a means of forcing disarmament on the Russian station.

"You mean they actually did refuse help without such an agreement?" Blane asked. He hadn't wanted to believe the rumors.

Edwards nodded angrily. "They issued a ban against any efforts to help without such agreement. They most certainly did! And you can guess how that sat with us. Maybe the Sulky's full of Russians, but they're Russian spacemen! Hell, when we were building this wheel here and one worker got thrown out into space, three of their pilots came up in ships to help find him—and one did find him. Remember? Sure you do. They hated our building here, but they wouldn't let a man die in space if they could help. So we owe them a few trips."

Two of the pilots had tried to steal one of the ships fueled and supplied for the Goddard, but had been caught before they could take off. Now they were under guard, and the ships were being watched carefully. Edwards had been permitted to make the run only after a session in which it was pointed out that landing rights would be denied any ship contacting the Sulky. And the other pilots were almost in a state of revolt, with nearly all of the old-time ground force supporting them.

"The government can't stick to such a policy," Blane said doubtfully. "They can't gain anything. The Sulky must have enough supplies for existence until at least one ship can be assembled and sent up. All we'll do by holding them up is to increase the danger. They must be bluffing for a while, hoping Russia will crack, but ready to send supplies in a few days."

Edwards stared at him in surprise. "You mean you don't know?" Then he slapped his thigh in disgust. "No, of course you don't. I keep forgetting you couldn't. The Sulky couldn't reach you by radio with the Earth in between. Jerry, we got a beamed message on the Island from her when she went over one time. SOS. She's in trouble right now. Can't get help from her base, and can't wait for negotiations, so she tried calling us direct. Security clamped down on the message at once, but the radio operator's as much space as we are, so he made a dupe copy for the pilots. The day after the blowup at the base, the Sulky ran into a meteoroid big enough to rip out part of her solar boiler. She lost most of the mercury into space, and the rest isn't enough, even when she's patched. She has to operate on batteries right now, and that won't last more than another day or so."

Blane winced at the picture. A station was dependent on power for its existence. Lights, air circulation, water for balance, heat regulation, and even the growing of plants to keep the air breathable depended upon a steady supply of power. Like the Goddard, the Tsiolkovsky used a reflecting trough on top that directed the intense solar radiation onto a pipe filled with mercury which was heated to gaseous form and operated the boiler and generator. It was far cheaper and safer than atomic power.

"The government knew of that when it refused help?" he asked incredulously.

Edwards grunted. "Didn't start their extortion plans until they knew!" Then he grinned slowly. "Funny thing, Jerry, when I checked over the supplies I brought up for you, I found some of the boxes of equipment got mixed up in shipment. They're full of cans of mercury! I left them aboard the ship, figuring you wouldn't need them here."

Blane found his face muscles were trying to frown and smile at the same time, and he caught himself before he could laugh. He went to the door to make sure it was locked, and came back to his desk slowly.

In theory, it was entirely possible to reach the Sulky from the Goddard, and every pilot knew the general orbit. The Sulky and the Goddard each took two hours to circle Earth, with one an hour behind the other. If a ship took off outward with a reasonable use of power it could get into an ellipse around Earth that would take three hours to bring it back to its starting point—and by then, the opposite station would be at that point. The maneuver could be made both ways with the fuel a final stage could carry easily enough.

"You don't have fuel enough," he decided.

"Nope. But you do—out in the blasted lunar ships that are still waiting appropriations."

Blane hadn't had time to think of the lunar ships during the hectic days of commanding the station. But Edwards' statement was true enough. The ships had been nearing completion for the long-desired American exploration of the Moon a year ago when Congress had eliminated appropriations for everything not connected with the current emergency. They still trailed the station a few miles in space. The workers had all returned to Earth, but the fuel still lay in the plastic balloons. The little ferry ship used between the ships and the station was still here, too. It could be used to bring the fuel back easily, since it had been equipped with tanks for moving fuel between supply rockets and the balloons.

"It wouldn't work," he said at last. "They'd spot your ship from Earth if you took off for the Sulky. They'd even guess where you'd gone when you didn't return on schedule. They might even refuse to let you land, and they'd probably make things impossible up here, too."

"I'll take my chances—and so will you," Edwards protested.

"Not unless it's necessary. Sure, somebody's got to make the trip. But it doesn't have to be your ship. The ferry's a lot smaller, but it can handle that much cargo and fuel on such an orbit." He grinned at Edwards' stubborn expression. "Look, you know I ran it for a year while we built the station. I can still pilot it, and Austin Peal can handle the math in computing the orbit. I'll get it over to you and you can transship the mercury, then take off on schedule. Then let Earth guess what happens."

"And what will they do to you if they find out?"

"Nothing—officially. Nobody has told me officially that the policy is against offering help, so I'll proceed in terms of the older tradition. When you let slip the trouble on the Sulky and I found cans of mercury stored in the ferry, what could I do but assume the station was expected to get them to the other station?" Blane grinned, feeling sudden relief from his other worries. "Besides, I don't give a darn what they do to me. I'm only temporary boss here."

Edwards nodded. "I'll take your last reason, Jerry. Only don't bother moving the ferry. I can work it over beside my ship, and it'll make your explanation sound better. Good luck. And if you do get in a jam—all the guys will be on your side."

He went out while Blane started off to find Peal. He had doubts about involving the scientist now. The man had never been part of a real space team. Yet someone had to do the preliminary computing. He had more doubts as he tried to explain things to Peal; the man listened quietly, making no comment, and with no visible approval or disapproval.

When Blane finished, Peal stood up, nodding. "Thanks for letting me in on it, Jerry. You get the fuel and I'll have the computations off the calculator by the time you get back here."