The luck appeared to be running out, and with nothing as gallant and spectacular as a doomed and flaming rocket. Cargraves sweated in a phone booth until after five o'clock, East Coast time, and then another hour until it was past five in Chicago as well before he admitted that dynamometers of the size he needed were not to be had on short notice.
He blamed himself for having slipped up, while neglecting to credit himself with having planned to obtain the instruments from the Denver firm for reasons of economy; he had expected to get them second-hand. But blaming himself comforted him.
Morrie noted his long face as he climbed into the heavily loaded little car. "No soap, eh?"
"No soap. Let's get back to camp."
They sped along the desert road in worried silence for several minutes. Finally Morrie spoke up. "How about this, Doc? Make a captive run on the ground with the same yoke and frame you planned to use, but without dynamometers."
"What good would that do? I have to know what the thrust is."
"I'm getthig to that. We put a man inside. He watches the accelerometer—the pendulum accelerometer of course; not the distance-integrating one. It reads in g's. Figure the number of gravities against the gross weight of the ship at the time and you come out with your thrust in pounds."
Cargraves hesitated. The boy's mistake was so obvious and yet so easy to make that he wished to point it out without hurting his pride. "It's a clever plan, except that I would want to use remote control—there's always the chance that a new type of atomic-fission power plant will blow up. But that's not the hitch; if the ship is anchored to the ground, it won't be accelerating no matter how much thrust is developed."
"Oh!" said Morrie. "Hmm. I sure laid an egg on that one, Doc."
"Natural mistake."
After another five miles Morrie spoke again. "I've got it, Doc. The Galileo has to be free to move to show thrust on the accelerometer. Right? Okay, I'll test-fly it. Hold it, hold it," he went on quickly, "I know exactly what you are going to say: you won't let any one take a risk if you can help it. The ship might blow up, or it might crash. Okay, so it might. But it's my job. I'm not essential to the trip; you are. You have to have Ross as flight engineer; you have to have Art for the radar and radio; you don't have to have a second pilot. I'm elected."
Cargraves tried to make his voice sound offhand. "Morrie, your analysis does your heart credit, but not your head. Even if what you said is true, the last part doesn't quite add up. I may be essential, if the trip is made. But if the test flight goes wrong, if the power pile blows, or if the ship won't handle and crashes, then there won't be any trip and I'm not essential."
Morrie grinned. "You're sharp as a tack, Doc."
"Tried to frame me, eh? Well, I may be old and feeble but I'm not senile. Howsoever, you've given me the answer.
"We skip the captive run and test-fly it. I test-fly it." Morrie whistled, "When?"
"Just as soon as we get back."
Morrie pushed the accelerator down to the floor boards; Cargraves wished that he had kept quiet until they reached the camp.
Forty minutes later he was handing out his final instructions. "Drive outside the reservation and find some place at least ten miles away where you can see the camp and where you can huddle down behind a road cut or something. If you see a Hiroshima mushroom, don't try to come back. Drive on into town and report to the authorities." He handed Ross a briefcase. "In case I stub my toe, give this stuff to your father. He'll know what to do with it. Now get going. I'll give you twenty minutes. My watch says seven minutes past five."
"Just a minute, Doc."
"What is it, Morrie?" His tones showed nervous irritability. "I've polled the boys and they agree with me. The Galileo is expendable but you aren't. They want you left around to try it again."
"That's enough on that subject, Morrie."
"Well, I'll match you for it."
"You're on thin ice, Morrie!"
"Yes, sir." He climbed in the car. The other two squeezed in beside him.
"So long!"
"Good luck!"
He waved back at them as they drove away, then turned toward the open door of the Galileo. He was feeling suddenly very lonely.
The boys found such a spot and crouched down behind a bank, like soldiers in a trench. Morrie had a small telescope; Art and Ross were armed with the same opera glasses they had used in their model rocket tests. "He's closed the door," announced Morrie.
"What time is it?"
"I've got five twenty-five."
"Any time now. Keep your eyes peeled." The rocket was tiny even through the opera glasses; Morrie's view was slightly better. Suddenly he yelled, "That's it! Geronimo!"
The tail jet, bright silver even in the sun light, had flared out. The ship did not move. "There go his nose jets!" Red and angry, the aniline-and-nitric reached out in front. The Galileo, being equipped with nose and belly maneuvering jets, could take off without a launching platform or catapult. He brought his belly jets into play now; the bow of the Galileo reared up, but the opposing nose and tail jets kept her nailed to one spot.
"He's off!" The red plumes from the nose were suddenly cut and the ship shot away from the ground. It was over their heads almost before they could catch their breaths. Then it was beyond them and shooting toward the horizon. As it passed over the mountains, out of sight, the three exhaled simultaneously. "Gosh!" said Art, very softly.
Ross started to run.
"Hey, where y' going?"
"Back to the camp! We want to be there before he is!"
"Oh!" They tore after him.
Ross set a new high in herding the rig back to the camp site, but his speed did not match their urgency. Nor were they ahead of time. The Galileo came pouring back over the horizon and was already braking on her nose jets when the car slammed to a stop.
She came in at a steep dive, with the drive jet already dead. The nose jets splashed the ground on the very spot where she had taken off. He kicked her up with the belly jets and she pancaked in place. Morrie shook his head. "What a landing!" he said reverently.
Cargraves fell out of the door into a small mob. The boys yelled and pounded him on the back.
"How did she behave? How did she handle?"
"Right on the button! The control of the drive jet is laggy, but we expected that. Once she's hot she doesn't want to cool off. You have to get rid of your head of ‘steafli.'(<-- SeaGull/Zopharnal - Is this right?) I was half way to Oklahoma City before I could slow down enough to turn and come back."
"Boy, oh boy! What a ship!"
"When do we start?"
Cargraves' face sobered. "Does staying up all night to pack suit you?"
"Does it! Just try us!"
"It's a deal. Art, get in the ship and get going with the radio. Get the Associated Press station at Salt Lake. Get the United Press. Call up the radio news services. Tell them to get some television pick-ups out here. The lid is off now. Make them realize there is a story here."
"On my way!" He scrambled up into the ship, then paused in the door. "Say—what if they don't believe me?"
"Make them believe you. Tell them to call Doctor Larksbee at the commission for confirmation. Tell them that if they miss they'll be scooped on the biggest story since the war. And say—call up Mr. Buchanan on the forestry frequency. He's kept his mouth shut for us; he ought to be in on it."
By midnight the job was practically complete and Cargraves insisted that they take turns lying down, two at a time, not to sleep, but just to keep from starting the trip completely tired out. The fuel tanks for the belly and nose jets were topped off and the specially installed reserve tanks were filled. The tons of zinc which served the main drive were already aboard as well as an equal weight of powdered reserve. The food was aboard; the carefully rationed water was aboard. (Water was no problem; the air-conditioner would scavenge the vapor of their own exhalations.) The liquid oxygen tanks were full. Cargraves himself had carried aboard the two Garands, excusing it to himself on the pretext that they might land in some wild spot on the return trip... that, despite the fact they had ripped the bindings from their few books in order to save space and weight.