Chapter 11

Joe sat on the porch of Major Holt’s quarters in the area next to the Shed. It was about eight-thirty, and dark, but there was a moon. And Joe had come to realize that his personal disappointment was only his personal disappointment, and that he hadn’t any right to make a nuisance of himself about it. Therefore he didn’t talk about the thing nearest in his mind, but something else that was next nearest or farther away still. Yet, with the Shed filling up a full quarter of the sky, and a gibbous moon new-risen from the horizon, it was not natural for a young man like Joe to speak purely of earthly things.

“It’ll come,” he said yearningly, staring at the moon. “If the Platform gets up day after tomorrow, it’s going to take time to ferry up the equipment it ought to have. But still, somebody ought to land on the moon before too long.”

He added absorbedly: “Once the Platform is fully equipped, it won’t take many rocket pay loads to refill a ship’s tanks at the Platform, before it can head on out.”

Mathematically, a rocket ship that could leave the Platform with full fuel tanks should have fuel to reach the moon and land on it, and take off again and return to the Platform. The mathematical fact had a peculiar nagging flavor. When a dream is subjected to statistical analysis and the report is in its favor, a dreamer’s satisfaction is always diluted by a subconscious feeling that the report is only part of the dream. Everybody worries a little when a cherished dream shows a likelihood of coming true. Some people take firm steps to stop things right there, so a romantic daydream won’t be spoiled by transmutation into prosaic fact. But Joe said doggedly: “Twenty ferry trips to pile up fuel, and the twenty-first ship should be able to refuel and go on out. And then somebody will step out on the moon!”

He was disappointed now. He wouldn’t be the one to do it. But somebody would.

“You might try for the ferry service,” said Sally uneasily.

“I will,” said Joe grimly, “but I won’t be hoping too much. After all, there are astronomers and physics sharks and such things, who’ll be glad to learn to run rockets in order to practice their specialties out of atmosphere.”

Sally said mournfully: “I can’t seem to say anything to make you feel better!”

“But you do,” said Joe. He added grandiloquently, “But for your unflagging faith in me, I would not have the courage to bear the burdens of everyday life.”

She stamped her foot.

“Stop it!”

“All right.” But he said quietly, “You are a good kid, Sally. You know, it’s not too bright of me to mourn.”

She drew a deep breath.

“That’s better! Now, I want--”

There was a gangling figure walking down the concrete path between the trim, monotonous cottages that were officers’ quarters at the Shed.

Joe said sharply: “That’s Haney! What’s he doing here?” He called, “Haney!”

Haney’s manner took on purpose. He came across the grass--the lawns around the officers’ quarters contained the only grass in twenty miles.

“Hiya,” said Haney uncomfortably. He spoke politely to Sally. “Hiya. Uh--you want to get in on the party, Joe?”

“What kind?”

“The party Mike was talkin’ about,” said Haney. “He’s set it up. He wants me to get you and a kinda--uh--undercover tip-off to Major Holt.”

Joe stirred. Sally said hospitably: “Sit down. You’ve noticed that my father gave you full security clearance, so you can go anywhere?”

Haney perched awkwardly on the edge of the porch.

“Yeah. That’s helped with the party. It’s how I got here, as far as that goes. Mike’s on top of the world.”

“Shoot it,” said Joe.

“Y’know he’s been pretty bitter about things,” said Haney carefully. “He’s been sayin’ that little guys like him ought to be the spacemen. There’s half a dozen other little guys been working on the Platform too. They can get in cracks an’ buck rivets an’ so on. Useful. He’s had ‘em all hopped up on the fact that the Platform coulda been finished months ago if it’d been built for them, an’ they could get to the moon an’ back while full-sized guys couldn’t an’ so on. Remember?”

“I remember,” said Sally.

“They’ve all been beefin’ about it,” explained Haney. “People know how they feel. So today Mike went and talked to one or two of ‘em. An’ they started actin’ mysterious, passin’ messages back an’ forth an’ so on. Little guys, actin’ important. Security guys wouldn’t notice ‘em much. Y’don’t take a guy Mike’s size serious, unless you know him. Then he’s the same as anybody else. So the security guys didn’t pay any attention to him. But some other guys did. Some special other guys. They saw those little fellas actin’ like they were cookin’ up somethin’ fancy. An’ they bit.”

“Bit?” asked Sally.

“They got curious. So Mike an’ his gang got confidential. An’ they’re going to have help sabotagin’ the Platform when the next shift changes. The midgets gettin’ even for bein’ laughed at, see? They’re pretending their plan is that when the Platform’s sabotaged--not smashed, but just messed up so it can’t take off--the big brass will let ‘em take a ferry rocket up in a hurry, an’ get it in orbit, an’ use it for a Platform until the big Platform can be mended an’ sent up. Once they’re up there, there’s no use tryin’ to stop the big Platform. So it can go ahead.”

Joe said dubiously: “I think I see...”

“Mike and his gang of little guys are bein’ saps--on purpose. If anybody’s goin’ to pull some fast stuff, next shift change--that’s the time everybody’s got to! Last chance! Mike and his gang don’t know what’s gonna happen, but they sure know when! They’re invitin’ the real saboteurs to make fools of ‘em. And what’ll happen?”

Joe said drily: “The logical thing would be to feel sorry for the big guys who think they’re smarter than Mike.”

“Uh-huh,” said Haney, deadly serious. “Mike’s story is there’s half a dozen rocket tubes already loaded. They’re goin’ to fire those rockets between shifts. The Platform gets shoved off its base an’ maybe dented, and so on. Mike’s gang say they got the figures to prove they can go up in a ferry rocket an’ be a Platform, and the big brass won’t have any choice but to let ‘em.”

Sally said: “I don’t think they know how the big brass thinks.”

Haney and Joe said together, “No!” and Joe added: “Mike’s not crazy! He knows better! But it’s a good story for somebody who doesn’t know Mike.”

Haney said in indignation: “I came out here to ask the Major to help us. The Chief’s gettin’ a gang together, too. There’s some Indians of his tribe that work here. We can count on them for plenty of rough stuff. And there’s Joe and me. The point is that Mike’s stunt makes it certain that everything busts loose at a time we can know in advance. If the Major gives us a free hand, and then in the last five minutes takes his own measures--so they can’t leak out ahead of time and tip off the gangs we want to get--we oughta knock off all the expert saboteurs who know the weak spots in the Platform. For instance those who know that thermite in the gyros would mess everything up all over again.”

Joe said quietly: “But Major Holt has to be told well in advance about all this! That’s absolute!”

“Yeah,” agreed Haney. “But also he has got to keep quiet--not tell anybody else! There’ve been too many leaks already about too many things. You know that!”

Joe said: “Sally, see if you can get your father to come here and talk. Haney’s right. Not in his office. Right here.”

Sally got up and went inside the house. She came back with an uneasy expression on her face.

“He’s coming. But I couldn’t very well tell him what was wanted, and--I’m not sure he’s going to be in a mood to listen.”

When the Major arrived he was definitely not in a mood to listen. He was a harried man, and he was keyed up to the limit by the multiplied strain due to the imminence of the Platform’s take-off. He came back to his house from a grim conference on exactly the subject of how to make preparations against any possible sabotage incidents--and ran into a proposal to stimulate them! He practically exploded. Even if provocation should be given to saboteurs to lure them into showing their hands, this was no time for it! And if it were, it would be security business. It should not be meddled in by amateurs!

Joe said grimly: “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, but there’s a point you’ve missed. It isn’t thinkable that you’ll be able to prevent something from being tried at a time the saboteurs pick. They’ve got just so much time left, and they’ll use it! But Mike’s plan would offer them a diversion under cover of which they could pull their own stuff! And besides that, you know your office leaks! You couldn’t set up a trick like this through security methods. And for a third fact, this is the one sort of thing no saboteur would expect from your security organization! We caught the saboteurs at the pushpot field by guessing at a new sort of thinking for sabotage. Here’s a chance to catch the saboteurs who’ll work their heads off in the next twenty-four hours or so, by using a new sort of thinking for security!”

Major Holt was not an easy man to get along with at any time, and this was the worst of all times to differ with him. But he did think straight. He stared furiously at Joe, growing crimson with anger at being argued with. But after he had stared a full minute, the angry flush went slowly away. Then he nodded abruptly.

“There you have a point,” he said curtly. “I don’t like it. But it is a point. It would be completely the reverse of anything my antagonists could possibly expect. So I accept the suggestion. Now--let us make the arrangements.”

He settled down for a quick, comprehensive, detailed plan. In careful consultation with Haney, Joe worked it out. The all-important point was that the Major’s part was to be done in completely unorthodox fashion. He would take measures to mesh his actions with those of Mike, the Chief, Haney, and Joe. Each action the Major took and each order he gave he would attend to personally. His actions would be restricted to the last five minutes or less before shift-change time. His orders would be given individually to individuals, and under no circumstances would he transmit any order through anybody else. In every instance, his order would be devised to mean nothing intelligible to its recipient until the time came for obedience.

It was not an easy scheme for the Major to bind himself to. It ran counter to every principle of military thinking save one, which was that it was a good idea to outguess the enemy. At the end he said detachedly: “This is distinctly irregular. It is as irregular as anything could possibly be! But that is why I have agreed to it. It will be at least--unexpected--coming from me!”

Then he smiled without mirth and nodded to Joe and to Haney, and went striding away down the concrete walk to where his car waited.

Haney left a moment later to carry the list of arrangements to the Chief and to Mike. And Joe went into the Shed to do his part.

There was little difference in the appearance of the Shed by night. In the daytime there were long rows of windows in the roof, which let in a vague, dusky, inadequate twilight. At night those windows were shuttered. This meant that the shadows were a little sharper and the contrasts of light and shade a trifle more abrupt. All other changes that Joe could see were the normal ones due to the taking down of scaffolding and the fastening up of rocket tubes. It was clear that the shape of the Platform proper would be obscure when all its rocket tubes were fast in place.

Joe went to look at the last pushpots, and they were ready to be taken over to their own field for their flight test before use. There were extras, anyhow, beyond the number needed to lift the Platform. He found himself considering the obvious fact that after the Platform was aloft, they would be used to launch the ferry rockets, too.

Then he moved toward the center of the Shed. A whole level of scaffolding came apart and its separate elements were bundled together as he watched. Slings lowered the bundles down to waiting trucks which would carry them elsewhere. There were mixing trucks still pouring out their white paste for the lining of the rocket tubes, and their product went up and vanished into the gaping mouths of the giant wire-wound pipes.

Presently Joe went into the maze of piers under the Space Platform itself. He came to the temporary stairs he had reason to remember. He nodded to the two guards there.

“I want to take another look at that gadget we installed,” he said.

One of the guards said good-naturedly: “Major Holt said to pass you any time.”

He ascended and went along the curious corridor--it had handgrips on the walls so a man could pull himself along it when there was no weight--and went to the engine room. He heard voices. They were speaking a completely unintelligible language. He tensed.

Then the Chief grinned at him amiably. He was in the engine room and with him were no fewer than eight men of his own coppery complexion.

“Here’s some friends of mine,” he explained, and Joe shook hands with black-haired, dark-skinned men who were named Charley Spotted Dog and Sam Fatbelly and Luther Red Cow and other exotic things. The Chief said exuberantly, “Major Holt told the guards to let me pass in some Indian friends, so I took my gang on a guided tour of the Platform. None of ‘em had ever been inside before. And--”