The Project Gutenberg eBook of Down to Earth
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Title: Down to Earth
Author: Harry Harrison
Illustrator: Lutjens
Release date: December 16, 2023 [eBook #72431]
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1963
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN TO EARTH ***
DOWN TO EARTH
By HARRY HARRISON
Illustrated by LUTJENS
_Whatever goes up must come down.
Including moon rockets. But there's no
law saying what they must come down to._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories November 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Illustration]
"Gino ... Gino ... help me! For God's sake, do something!"
The tiny voice scratched in Gino Lombardi's earphone, weak against the
background roar of solar interference. Gino lay flat in the lunar dust,
half buried by the pumice-fine stuff, reaching far down into the cleft
in the rock. Through the thick fabric of his suit he felt the edge
crumbling and pulled hastily back. The dust and pieces of rock fell
instantly, pulled down by the light lunar gravity and unimpeded by any
trace of air. A fine mist of dust settled on Glazer's helmet below,
partially obscuring his tortured face.
"Help me, Gino--get me out of here," he said, stretching his arm up
over his head.
"No good--" Gino answered, putting as much of his weight onto the
crumbling lip of rock as he dared, reaching far down. His hand was
still a good yard short of the other's groping glove. "I can't reach
you--and I've got nothing here I can let down for you to grab. I'm
going back to the Bug."
"Don't leave ..." Glazer called, but his voice was cut off as Gino slid
back from the crevice and scrambled to his feet. Their tiny helmet
radios did not have enough power to send a signal through the rock;
they were good only for line-of-sight communication.
Gino ran as fast as he could, long gliding jumps one after the other
back towards the Bug. It did look more like a bug here, a red beetle
squatting on the lunar landscape, its four spidery support legs sunk
into the dust. He cursed under his breath as he ran: what a hell of
an ending for the first moon flight! A good blast off and a perfect
orbit, the first two stages had dropped on time, the lunar orbit was
right, the landing had been right--and ten minutes after they had
walked out of the Bug Glazer had to fall into this crevice hidden
under the powdery dust. To come all this way--through all the multiple
hazards of space--then to fall into a hole.... There was just no
justice.
* * * * *
At the base of the ship Gino flexed his legs and bounded high up
towards the top section of the Bug, grabbing onto the bottom of the
still open door of the cabin. He had planned his moves while he
ran--the magnetometer would be his best bet. Pulling it from the rack
he yanked at its long cable until it came free in his hand, then
turned back without wasting a second. It was a long leap back to the
surface--in Earth gravitational terms--but he ignored the apparent
danger and jumped, sinking knee deep in the dust when he landed. The
row of scuffled tracks stretched out towards the slash of the lunar
crevice and he ran all the way, chest heaving in spite of the pure
oxygen he was breathing. Throwing himself flat he skidded and wriggled
like a snake, back to the crumbling lip.
"Get ready, Glazer," he shouted, his head ringing inside the helmet
with the captive sound of his own voice. "Grab the cable...."
The crevice was empty. More of the soft rock had crumbled away and
Glazer had fallen from sight.
For a long time Major Gino Lombardi lay there, flashing his light into
the seemingly bottomless slash in the satellite's surface, calling on
his radio with the power turned full on. His only answer was static,
and gradually he became aware of the cold from the eternally chilled
rocks that was seeping through the insulation of his suit. Glazer was
gone, that was all there was to it.
After this Gino did everything that he was supposed to do in a
methodical, disinterested way. He took rock samples, dust samples,
meter readings, placed the recording instruments exactly as he had been
shown and fired the test shot in the drilled hole. Then he gathered
the records from the instruments and when the next orbit of the Apollo
spacecraft brought it overhead he turned on the cabin transmitter and
sent up a call.
"Come in Dan.... Colonel Danton Coye, can you hear me...?"
"Loud and clear," the speaker crackled. "Tell me you guys, how does it
feel to be walking on the moon?"
"Glazer is dead. I'm alone. I have all the data and photographs
required. Permission requested to cut this stay shorter than planned.
No need for a whole day down here."
For long seconds there was a crackling silence, then Dan's voice came
in, the same controlled, Texas drawl.
"Roger, Gino--stand by for computer signal, I think we can meet in the
next orbit."
* * * * *
The moon takeoff went as smoothly as the rehearsals had gone in the
mock-up on Earth, and Gino was too busy doing double duty to have time
to think about what had happened. He was strapped in when the computer
radio signal fired the engines that burned down into the lower portion
of the Bug and lifted the upper half free, blasting it up towards the
rendezvous in space with the orbiting mother ship. The joined sections
of the Apollo came into sight and Gino realized he would pass in front
of it, going too fast: he made the course corrections with a sensation
of deepest depression. The computer had not allowed for the reduced
mass of the lunar rocket with only one passenger aboard. After this,
matching orbits was not too difficult and minutes later Gino was
crawling through the entrance of the command module and sealing it
behind him. Dan Coye stayed at the controls, not saying anything until
the cabin pressure had stabilized and they could remove their helmets.
"What happened down there, Gino?"
"An accident--a crack in the lunar surface, covered lightly, sealed
over by dust. Glazer just ... fell into the thing. That's all. I tried
to get him out, I couldn't reach him. I went to the Bug for some wire,
but when I came back he had fallen deeper ... it was...."
Gino had his face buried in his hands, and even he didn't know if he
was sobbing or just shaking with fatigue and strain.
"I'll tell you a secret, I'm not superstitious at all," Dan said,
reaching deep into a zippered pocket of his pressure suit. "Everybody
thinks I am, which just goes to show you how wrong everybody can be.
Now I got this mascot, because all pilots are supposed to have mascots,
and it makes good copy for the reporters when things are dull." He
pulled the little black rubber doll from his pocket, made famous on
millions of TV screens, and waved it at Gino. "Everybody knows I
always tote my little good-luck mascot with me, but nobody knows just
what kind of good luck it has. Now _you_ will find out, Major Gino
Lombardi, and be privileged to share my luck. In the first place this
bitty doll is not rubber, which might have a deleterious effect on the
contents, but is constructed of a neutral plastic."
In spite of himself, Gino looked up as Dan grabbed the doll's head and
screwed it back.
"Notice the wrist motion as I decapitate my friend, within whose bosom
rests the best luck in the world, the kind that can only be brought to
you by sour mash one-hundred and fifty proof bourbon. Have a slug." He
reached across and handed the doll to Gino.
"Thanks, Dan." He raised the thing and squeezed, swallowing twice. He
handed it back.
"Here's to a good pilot and a good joe, Eddie Glazer," Dan Coye said
raising the flask, suddenly serious. "He wanted to get to the moon and
he did. It belongs to him now, all of it, by right of occupation."
He squeezed the doll dry and methodically screwed the head back on
and replaced it in his pocket. "Now let's see what we can do about
contacting control, putting them in the picture, and start cutting an
orbit back towards Earth."
* * * * *
Gino turned the radio on but did not send out the call yet. While they
had talked their orbit had carried them around to the other side of
the moon and its bulk successfully blocked any radio communication with
Earth. They hurtled their measured arc through the darkness and watched
another sunrise over the sharp lunar peaks: then the great globe of
the Earth swung into sight again. North America was clearly visible
and there was no need to use repeater stations. Gino beamed the signal
at Cape Canaveral and waited the two and a half seconds for his signal
to be received and for the answer to come back the 480,000 miles from
Earth. The seconds stretched on and on, and with a growing feeling of
fear he watched the hand track slowly around the clock face.
"They don't answer...."
"Interference, sunspots ... try them again," Dan said in a suddenly
strained voice.
The control at Canaveral did not answer the next message, nor was there
any response when they tried the emergency frequencies. They picked up
some aircraft chatter on the higher frequencies, but no one noticed
them or paid any attention to their repeated calls. They looked at
the blue sphere of Earth, with horror now, and only after an hour of
sweating strain would they admit that, for some unimaginable reason,
they were cut off from all radio contact with it.
"Whatever happened, happened during our last orbit around the moon. I
was in contact with them while you were matching orbits," Dan said,
tapping the dial of the ammeter on the radio. "There couldn't be
anything wrong...?"
"Not at this end," Gino said grimly. "But something has happened down
there."
"Could it be ... a war?"
"It might be. But with _whom_ and why? There's nothing unusual on the
emergency frequencies and I don't think...."
"_Look!_" Dan shouted hoarsely, "The lights--where are the lights?"
In their last orbit the twinkling lights of the American cities had
been seen clearly through their telescope. The entire continent was now
black.
"Wait, see South America--the cities are lit up there, Gino. What could
possibly have happened at home while we were in that orbit?"
"There's only one way to find out. We're going back. With or without
any help from ground control."
They disconnected the lunar Bug and strapped into their acceleration
couches in the command module while they fed data to the computer.
Following its instructions they jockeyed the Apollo into the correct
attitude for firing. Once more they orbited the airless satellite
and at the correct instant the computer triggered the engines in the
attached service module. They were heading home.
With all the negative factors taken into consideration, it was not that
bad a landing. They hit the right continent and were only a few degrees
off in latitude, though they entered the atmosphere earlier than they
liked. Without ground control of any kind it was an almost miraculously
good landing.
* * * * *
As the capsule screamed down through the thickening air its immense
velocity was slowed and the airspeed began to indicate a reasonable
figure. Far below, the ground was visible through rents in the cloud
cover.
"Late afternoon," Gino said. "It will be dark soon after we hit the
ground."
"At least it will still be light. We could have been landing in Peking
at midnight, so let's hear no complaints. Stand by to let go the
parachutes."
The capsule jumped twice as the immense chutes boomed open. They opened
their face-plates, safely back in the sea of air once more.
"Wonder what kind of reception we'll get?" Dan asked, rubbing the
bristle on his big jaw.
With the sharp crack of split metal a row of holes appeared in the
upper quadrant of the capsule: air whistled in, equalizing their lower
pressure.
"Look!" Gino shouted, pointing at the dark shape that hurtled by
outside. It was egg-shaped and stub-winged, black against the afternoon
sun. Then it twisted over in a climbing turn and for a long moment its
silver skin was visible to them as it arched over and came diving down.
Back it came, growing instantly larger, red flames twinkling in its
wing roots.
Grey haze cut off the sunlight as they fell into a cloud. Both men
looked at each other: neither wanted to speak first.
"A jet," Gino finally said. "I never saw that type before."
"Neither did I--but there was something familiar--Look, you saw the
wings didn't you? You saw...?"
"If you mean did I see black crosses on the wings, yes I did, but
I'm not going to admit it! Or I wouldn't if it wasn't for those new
air-conditioning outlets that were just installed in our hull. Do you
have any idea what it means?"
"None. But I don't think we'll be too long finding out. Get ready for
the landing--just two thousand feet to go."
* * * * *
The jet did not reappear. They tightened their safety harness and
braced themselves for the impact. It was a bumping crash and the
capsule tilted up on its side, jarring them with vibration.
"Parachute jettisons," Dan Coye ordered, "We're being dragged."
Gino had hit the triggers even as Dan spoke. The lurching stopped and
the capsule slowly righted itself.
"Fresh air," Dan said and blew the charges on the port. It sprang away
and thudded to the ground. As they disconnected the multiple wires
and clasps of their suits hot, dry air poured in through the opening,
bringing with it the dusty odor of the desert.
Dan raised his head and sniffed. "Smells like home. Let's get out of
this tin box."
Colonel Danton Coye went first, as befitted the commander of the First
American Earth-Moon Expedition. Major Gino Lombardi followed. They
stood side by side silently, with the late afternoon sun glinting on
their silver suits. Around them, to the limits of vision, stretched the
thin tangle of greyish desert shrub, mesquite, cactus. Nothing broke
the silence nor was there any motion other than that caused by the
breeze that was carrying away the cloud of dust stirred up by their
landing.
"Smells good, smells like Texas," Dan said, sniffing.
"Smells awful, just makes me thirsty. But ... Dan ... what happened?
First the radio contact, then that jet...."
"Look, our answer is coming from over there," the big officer said,
pointing at a moving column of dust rolling in from the horizon. "No
point in guessing, because we are going to find out in five minutes."
It was less than that. A large, sand-colored half-track roared up,
followed by two armored cars. They braked to a halt in the immense
cloud of their own dust. The half-track's door slammed open and a
goggled man climbed down, brushing dirt from his tight black uniform.
"_Hande hoch!_" he ordered, waving their attention to the leveled guns
on the armored cars. "Hands up and keep them that way. You are my
prisoners."
They slowly raised their arms as though hypnotized, taking in every
detail of his uniform. The silver lightning bolts on the lapels, the
high, peaked cap--the predatory eagle clasping a swastika.
"You're--you're a _German_!" Gino Lombardi gasped.
"Very observant," the officer observed humorlessly. "I am Hauptmann
Langenscheidt. You are my prisoners. You will obey my orders. Get into
the _kraftwagen_."
"Now just one minute," Dan protested. "I'm Col. Coye, USAF and I would
like to know what is going on here...."
"Get in," the officer ordered. He did not change his tone of voice, but
he did pull his long-barreled Luger from its holster and leveled it at
them.
"Come on," Gino said, putting his hand on Dan's tense shoulder. "You
outrank him, but he got there fustest with the mostest."
They climbed into the open back of the half-track and the captain sat
down facing them. Two silent soldiers with leveled machine-pistols
sat behind their backs. The tracks clanked and they surged forward:
stifling dust rose up around them.
* * * * *
Gino Lombardi had trouble accepting the reality of this. The moon
flight, the landing, even Glazer's death he could accept, they were
things that could be understood. But this...? He looked at his watch,
at the number twelve in the calendar opening.
"Just one question, Langenscheidt," he shouted above the roar of the
engine. "Is today the twelfth of September?"
His only answer was a stiff nod.
"And the year--of course it is--1971?"
"Yes, of course. No more questions. You will talk to the _Oberst_, not
to me."
They were silent after that, trying to keep the dust out of their eyes.
A few minutes later they pulled aside and stopped while the long, heavy
form of a tank transporter rumbled by them, going in the opposite
direction. Evidently the Germans wanted the capsule as well as the men
who had arrived in it. When the long vehicle had passed the half-track
ground forward again. It was growing dark when the shapes of two large
tanks loomed up ahead, cannons following them as they bounced down the
rutted track. Behind these sentries was a car park of other vehicles,
tents and the ruddy glow of gasoline fires burning in buckets of sand.
The half-track stopped before the largest tent and at gunpoint the two
astronauts were pushed through the entrance.
An officer, his back turned to them, sat writing at a field desk. He
finished his work while they stood there, then folded some papers and
put them into a case. He turned around, a lean man with burning eyes
that he kept fastened on his prisoners while the captain made a report
in rapid German.
"That is most interesting, Langenscheidt, but we must not keep our
guests standing. Have the orderly bring some chairs. Gentlemen permit
me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Schneider, commander of the 109th
Panzer division that you have been kind enough to visit. Cigarette?"
The colonel's smile just touched the corners of his mouth, then
instantly vanished. He handed over a flat package of Player's
cigarettes to Gino, who automatically took them. As he shook one out he
saw that they were made in England--but the label was printed in German.
"And I'm sure you would like a drink of whisky," Schneider said,
flashing the artificial smile again. He placed a bottle of _Ould
Highlander_ on the table before them, close enough for Gino to read the
label. There was a picture of the highlander himself, complete with
bagpipes and kilt, but he was saying _Ich hätte gern etwas zu trinken
WHISKEY!_
The orderly pushed a chair against the back of Gino's legs and he
collapsed gratefully into it. He sipped from the glass when it was
handed to him--it was good scotch whisky. He drained it in a single
swallow.
* * * * *
The orderly went out and the commanding officer settled back into his
camp chair, also holding a large drink. The only reminder of their
captivity was the silent form of the captain near the entrance, his
hand resting on his holstered gun.
"A most interesting vehicle that you gentlemen arrived in. Our
technical experts will of course examine it, but there is a question--"
"I am Colonel Danton Coye, United States Air Force, serial number...."
"Please, colonel," Schneider interrupted. "We can dispense with the
formalities...."
"Major Giovanni Lombardi, United States Air Force," Gino broke in, then
added his serial number. The German colonel flickered his smile again
and sipped from his drink.
"Do not take me for a fool," he said suddenly, and for the first time
the cold authority in his voice matched his grim appearance. "You will
talk for the Gestapo, so you might just as well talk to me. And enough
of your childish games. I know there is no American Air Force, just
your Army Air Corps that has provided such fine targets for our fliers.
Now--what were you doing in that device?"
"That is none of your business, Colonel," Dan snapped back in the same
tones. "What I would like to know is, just what are German tanks doing
in Texas?"
A roar of gunfire cut through his words, sounding not too far away.
There were two heavy explosions and distant flames lit up the entrance
to the tent. Captain Langenscheidt pulled his gun and rushed out of the
tent while the others leaped to their feet. There was a muffled cry
outside and a man stepped in, pointing a bulky, strange looking pistol
at them. He was dressed in stained khaki and his hands and face were
painted black.
"_Verdamm_ ..." the colonel gasped and reached for his own gun: the
newcomer's pistol jumped twice and emitted two sighing sounds. The
panzer officer clutched his stomach and doubled up on the floor.
"Don't just stand there gaping, boys," the intruder said, "get moving
before anyone else wanders in here." He led the way from the tent and
they followed.
They slipped behind a row of parked trucks and crouched there while a
squad of scuttle-helmeted soldiers ran by them towards the hammering
guns. A cannon began firing and the flames started to die down. Their
guide leaned back and whispered.
"That's just a diversion--just six guys and a lot of noise--though they
did get one of the fuel trucks. These krautheads are going to find it
out pretty quickly and start heading back here on the double. So let's
make tracks--_now!_"
* * * * *
He slipped from behind the trucks and the three of them ran into
the darkness of the desert. After a few yards the astronauts were
staggering, but they kept on until they almost fell into an arroyo
where the black shape of a jeep was sitting. The motor started as they
hauled themselves into it and, without lights, it ground up out of the
arroyo and bumped through the brush.
"You're lucky I saw you come down," their guide said from the front
seat. "I'm Lieutenant Reeves."
"Colonel Coye--and this is Major Lombardi. We owe you a lot of
thanks, lieutenant. When those Germans grabbed us, we found it almost
impossible to believe. Where did they come from?"
"Breakthrough, just yesterday from the lines around Corpus. I been
slipping along behind this division with my patrol, keeping San Antone
posted on their movements. That's how come I saw your ship, or whatever
it is, dropping right down in front of their scouts. Stars and stripes
all over it. I tried to reach you first, but had to turn back before
their scout cars spotted me. But it worked out. We grabbed the tank
carrier as soon as it got dark and two of my walking wounded are riding
it back to Cotulla where we got some armor and transport. I set the
rest of the boys to pull that diversion and you know the results. You
Air Corps jockeys ought to watch which way the wind is blowing or
something, or you'll have all your fancy new gadgets falling into enemy
hands."
"You said the Germans broke out of Corpus--Corpus Christi?" Dan asked.
"What are they doing there--how long have they been there--or where did
they come from in the first place?"
"You flyboys must sure be stationed in some hideaway spot," Reeves
said, grunting as the jeep bounded over a ditch. "The landings on the
Texas side of the Gulf were made over a month ago. We been holding
them, but just barely. Now they're breaking out and we're managing to
stay ahead of them." He stopped and thought for a moment. "Maybe I
better not talk to you boys too much until we know just what you were
doing there in the first place. Sit tight and we'll have you out of
here inside of two hours."
* * * * *
The other jeep joined them soon after they hit a farm road and the
lieutenant murmured into the field radio it carried. Then the two
cars sped north, past a number of tank traps and gun emplacements and
finally into the small town of Cotulla, straddling the highway south
of San Antonio. They were led into the back of the local supermarket
where a command post had been set up. There was a lot of brass and
armed guards about, and a heavy-jawed one star general behind the desk.
The atmosphere and the stares were reminiscent in many ways of the
German colonel's tent.
"Who are you two, what are you doing here--and what is that _thing_ you
rode down in?" the general asked in a no-nonsense voice.
Dan had a lot of questions he wanted to ask first, but he knew better
than to argue with a general. He told about the moon flight, the loss
of communication, and their return. Throughout the general looked at
him steadily, nor did he change his expression. He did not say a word
until Dan was finished. Then he spoke.
"Gentlemen, I don't know what to make of all your talk of rockets,
moon-shots, Russian sputniks or the rest. Either you are both mad or I
am, though I admit you have an impressive piece of hardware out on that
tank carrier. I doubt if the Russians have time or resources now for
rocketry, since they are slowly being pulverized and pushed back across
Siberia. Every other country in Europe has fallen to the Nazis and
they have brought their war to this hemisphere, have established bases
in Central America, occupied Florida and made more landings along the
Gulf coast. I can't pretend to understand what is happening here so I'm
sending you off to the national capitol in Denver in the morning."
* * * * *
In the plane next day, somewhere over the high peaks of the Rockies,
they pieced together part of the puzzle. Lieutenant Reeves rode with
them, ostensibly as a guide, but his pistol was handy and the holster
flap loose.
"It's the same date and the same world that we left," Gino explained,
"but some things are _different_. Too many things. It's all the same
up to a point, then changes radically. Reeves, didn't you tell me that
President Roosevelt died during his first term?"
"Pneumonia, he never was too strong, died before he had finished a year
in office. He had a lot of wild-sounding schemes but they didn't help.
Vice-president Garner took over, but it didn't seem the same when John
Nance said it as when Roosevelt had said it. Lots of fights, trouble
in congress, depression got worse, and things didn't start getting
better until about '36 when Landon was elected. There were still a lot
of people out of work, but with the war starting in Europe they were
buying lots of things from us, food, machines, even guns."
"Britain and the allies, you mean?"
"I mean everybody, Germans too, though that made a lot of people here
mad. But the policy was no-foreign-entanglements and do business with
anyone who's willing to pay. It wasn't until the invasion of Britain
that people began to realize that the Nazis weren't the best customers
in the world, but by then it was too late."
"It's like a mirror image of the world--a warped mirror," Dan said,
drawing savagely on his cigarette. "While we were going around the moon
something happened to change the whole world to the way it would have
been if history had been altered some time in the early thirties."
"World didn't change, boys," Reeves said, "it's always been just the
way it is now. Though I admit the way you tell it it sounds a lot
better. But it's either the whole world or you, and I'm banking on the
simpler of the two. Don't know what kind of an experiment the Air Corps
had you two involved in but it must have addled your grey matter."
"I can't buy that," Gino insisted. "I know I'm beginning to feel like
I have lost my marbles, but whenever I do I think about the capsule we
landed in. How are you going to explain that away?"
"I'm not going to try. I know there are a lot of gadgets and things
that got the engineers and the university profs tearing their hair out,
but that doesn't bother me. I'm going back to the shooting war where
things are simpler. Until it is proved differently I think that you are
both nuts, if you'll pardon the expression, sirs."
* * * * *
The official reaction in Denver was basically the same. A staff car,
complete with MP out-riders, picked them up as soon as they had landed
at Lowry Field and took them directly to Fitzsimmons Hospital. They
were taken directly to the laboratories and what must have been a good
half of the giant hospital's staff took turns prodding, questioning
and testing them. They were encouraged to speak--many times with
lie-detector instrumentation attached to them--but none of their
questions were answered. Occasional high-ranking officers looked on
gloomily, but took no part in the examination. They talked for hours
into tape recorders, answering questions in every possible field from
history to physics, and when they tired were kept going on benzedrine.
There was more than a week of this in which they saw each other only by
chance in the examining rooms, until they were weak from fatigue and
hazy from the drugs. None of their questions were answered, they were
just reassured that everything would be taken care of as soon as the
examinations were over. When the interruption came it was a welcome
surprise, and apparently unexpected. Gino was being probed by a drafted
history professor who wore oxidized captain's bars and a gravy-stained
battlejacket. Since his voice was hoarse from the days of prolonged
questioning, Gino held the microphone close to his mouth and talked in
a whisper.
"Can you tell me who was the Secretary of the Treasury under Lincoln?"
the captain asked.
"How the devil should I know? And I doubt very much if there is anyone
else in this hospital who knows--besides you. And do you know?"
"Of course--"
The door burst open and a full colonel with an MP brassard looked in. A
very high-ranking messenger boy: Gino was impressed.
"I've come for Major Lombardi."
"You'll have to wait," the history-captain protested, twisting his
already rumpled necktie. "I've not finished...."
"That is not important. The major is to come with me at once."
They marched silently through a number of halls until they came to
a dayroom where Dan was sprawled deep in a chair smoking a cigar. A
loudspeaker on the wall was muttering in a monotone.
"Have a cigar," Dan called out, and pushed the package across the table.
"What's the drill now?" Gino asked, biting off the end and looking for
a match.
"Another conference, big brass, lots of turmoil. We'll go in in a
moment as soon as some of the shouting dies down. There is a theory now
as to what happened, but not much agreement on it even though Einstein
himself dreamed it up...."
"Einstein! But he's dead...."
"Not now he isn't, I've seen him. A grand old gent of over ninety, as
fragile as a stick but still going strong. He ... say, wait--isn't that
a news broadcast?"
* * * * *
They listened to the speaker that one of the MP's had turned up.
"... in spite of fierce fighting the city of San Antonio is now in
enemy hands. Up to an hour ago there were still reports from the
surrounded Alamo where units of the 5th Cavalry have refused to
surrender, and all America has been following this second battle of
the Alamo. History has repeated itself, tragically, because there now
appears to be no hope that any survivors...."
"Will you gentlemen please follow me," a staff officer broke in, and
the two astronauts went out after him. He knocked at a door and opened
it for them. "If you please."
"I am very happy to meet you both," Albert Einstein said, and waved
them to chairs.
He sat with his back to the window, his thin, white hair catching the
afternoon sunlight and making an aura about his head.
"Professor Einstein," Dan Coye said, "can you tell us what has
happened? What has changed?"
"Nothing has changed, that is the important thing that you must
realize. The world is the same and you are the same, but you have--for
want of a better word I must say--_moved_. I am not being clear. It is
easier to express in mathematics."
"Anyone who climbs into a rocket has to be a bit of a science fiction
reader, and I've absorbed my quota," Dan said. "Have we got into one
of those parallel worlds things they used to write about, branches of
time and all that?"
"No, what you have done is _not_ like that, though it may be a help to
you to think of it that way. This is the same _objective_ world that
you left--but not the same _subjective_ one. There is only one galaxy
that we inhabit, only one universe. But our awareness of it changes
many of its aspects of reality."
"You've lost me," Gino sighed.
"Let me see if I get it," Dan said. "It sounds like you are saying that
things are just as we think we see them, and our thinking keeps them
that way. Like that tree in the quad I remember from college."
"Again not correct, but an approximation you may hold if it helps
you to clarify your thinking. It is a phenomenon that I have long
suspected, certain observations in the speed of light that might be
instrumentation errors, gravitic phenomena, chemical reactions. I have
suspected something, but have not known where to look. I thank you
gentlemen from the bottom of my heart for giving me this opportunity
at the very end of my life, for giving me the clues that may lead to a
solution to this problem."
"Solution...." Gino's mouth opened. "Do you mean there is a chance we
can go back to the world as we knew it?"
"Not only a chance--but the strongest possibility. What happened to
you was an accident. You were away from the planet of your birth, away
from its atmospheric envelope and, during parts of your orbit, even
out of sight of it. Your sense of reality was badly strained, and your
physical reality and the reality of your mental relationships changed
by the death of your comrade. All these combined to allow you to return
to a world with a slightly different aspect of reality from the one
you have left. The historians have pinpointed the point of change. It
occurred on the seventeenth of August, 1933, the day that President
Roosevelt died of pneumonia."
"Is that why all those medical questions about my childhood?" Dan
asked. "I had pneumonia then, I was just a couple of months old, almost
died, my mother told me about it often enough afterwards. It could have
been at the same time. It isn't possible that I lived and the president
died...?"
Einstein shook his head. "No, you must remember that you both lived
in the world as you knew it. The dynamics of the relationship are far
from clear, though I do not doubt that there is some relationship
involved. But that is not important. What is important is that I think
I have developed a way to mechanically bring about the translation
from one reality aspect to another. It will take years to develop it
to translate matter from one reality to a different order, but it is
perfected enough now--I am sure--to return matter that has already been
removed from another order."
* * * * *
Gino's chair scraped back as he jumped to his feet. "Professor--am I
right in saying, and I may have got you wrong, that you can take us and
pop us back to where we came from?"
Einstein smiled. "Putting it as simply as you have, major ... the
answer is _yes_. Arrangements are being made now to return both of you
and your capsule as soon as possible. In return for which we ask you a
favor."
"Anything, of course," Dan said, leaning forward.
"You will have the reality-translator machine with you, and microcopies
of all our notes, theories and practical conclusions. In the world that
you come from all of the massive forces of technology and engineering
can be summoned to solve the problem of mechanically accomplishing what
you both did once by accident. You might be able to do this within
months, and that is all the time that there is left."
"Exactly what do you mean?"
"We are losing the war. In spite of all the warning we were not
prepared, we thought it would never come to us. The Nazis advance on
all fronts. It is only a matter of time until they win. We can still
win, but only with your atom bombs."
"You don't have atomic bombs now?" Gino asked.
Einstein sat silent for a moment before he answered. "No, there was no
opportunity. I have always been sure that they could be constructed,
but have never put it to the test. The Germans felt the same, and at
one time even had a heavy water project that aimed towards controlled
nuclear fission. But their military successes were so great that they
abandoned it along with other far-fetched and expensive schemes such
as the hollow-globe theory. I myself have never wanted to see this
hellish thing built, and from what you have told about it, it is worse
than my most terrible dream. But I have approached the President about
it, when the Nazi threat was closing in, but nothing was done. Too
expensive. Now it is too late. But perhaps it isn't. If _your_ America
will help us, the enemy will be defeated. And after that, what a wealth
of knowledge we shall have once our worlds are in contact. Will you do
it?"
"Of course," Dan Coye said. "But the brass will take a lot of
convincing. I suggest some films be made of you and others explaining
some of this. And enclose some documents, anything that will help
convince them what has happened."
"I can do something better," Einstein said, taking a small bottle from
a drawer of the table. "Here is a recently developed drug, and the
formula, that has proved effective in arresting certain of the more
violent forms of cancer. This is an example of what I mean by the
profit that can accrue when our two worlds can exchange information."
Dan pocketed the precious bottle as they turned to leave. With a sense
of awe they gently shook hands with the frail old man who had been
dead many years in the world they knew, to which they would be soon
returning.
* * * * *
The military moved fast. A large jet bomber was quickly converted
to carry one of the American solid-fuel rocket missiles. Not yet
operational, it was doubtful if they ever would be at the rate of the
Nazi advance. But given an aerial boost by the bomber it could reach up
out of the ionosphere--carrying the payload of the moon capsule with
its two pilots. Clearing the fringes of the atmosphere was essential to
the operation of the instrument that was to return them to what they
could only think of as their own world. It seemed preposterously tiny
to be able to change worlds.
"Is that _all_?" Gino asked when they settled themselves back into
the capsule. A square case, containing records and reels of film, was
strapped between their seats. On top of it rested a small grey metal
box.
"What do you expect--an atom smasher?" Dan asked, checking out the
circuits. The capsule had been restored as much as was possible to the
condition it was in the day it had landed. The men wore their pressure
suits. "We came here originally by accident, by just thinking wrong or
something like that, if my theory's correct."
"It isn't--but neither is mine, so we can't let it bug us."
"Yeah, I see what you mean. The whole crazy business may not be simple,
but the mechanism doesn't have to be physically complex. All we have to
do is throw the switch, right?"
"Roger. The thing is self-powered. We'll be tracked by radar, and
when we hit apogee in our orbit they'll give us a signal on our usual
operating frequency. We throw the switch--and drop."
"Drop right back to where we came from, I hope."
"Hello there cargo," a voice crackled over the speaker. "Pilot here.
We are about to take off. All set?"
"In the green, all circuits," Dan reported, and settled back.
The big bomber rumbled the length of the field and slowly pulled itself
into the air, heavily under the weight of the rocket slung beneath its
belly. The capsule was in the nose of the rocket and all the astronauts
could see was the shining skin of the mother ship. It was a rough
ride. The mathematics had indicated that probability of success would
be greater over Florida and the south Atlantic, the original re-entry
target. This meant penetrating enemy territory. The passengers could
not see the battle being fought by the accompanying jet fighters, and
the pilot of the converted bomber did not tell them. It was a fierce
battle and at one point almost a lost one: only a suicidal crash by one
of the escort fighters prevented an enemy jet from attacking the mother
ship.
"Stand by for drop," the radio said, and a moment later came the
familiar sensation of free fall as the rocket cropped clear of the
plane. Pre-set controls timed the ignition and orbit. Acceleration
pressed them into their couches.
* * * * *
A sudden return to weightlessness was accompanied by the tiny
explosions as the carrying-rocket blasted free the explosive bolts
that held it to the capsule. For a measureless time their inertia
carried them higher in their orbit while gravity tugged back. The radio
crackled with a carrier wave, then a voice broke in.
"Be ready with the switch ... ready to throw it ... NOW!"
Dan flipped the switch and nothing happened. Nothing that they could
perceive in any case. They looked at each other silently, then at the
altimeter as they dropped back towards the distant Earth.
"Get ready to open the chute," Dan said heavily, just as a roar of
sound burst from the radio.
"Hello Apollo, is that you? This is Canaveral control, can you hear me?
Repeat--can you hear me? Can you answer ... in heaven's name, Dan, are
you there ... are you there...?"
The voice was almost hysterical, bubbling over itself. Dan flipped the
talk button.
"Dan Coye here--is that you, Skipper?"
"Yes--but how did you get there? Where have you been since.... Cancel,
repeat cancel that last. We have you on the screen and you will hit in
the sea and we have ships standing by...."
The two astronauts met each other's eyes and smiled. Gino raised his
thumb up in a token of victory. They had done it. Behind the controlled
voice that issued them instructions they could feel the riot that
must be breaking after their unexpected arrival. To the observers on
Earth--_this_ Earth--they must have vanished on the other side of the
moon. Then reappeared suddenly some weeks later, alive and sound long
days after their oxygen and supplies should have been exhausted. There
would be a lot to explain.
It was a perfect landing. The sun shone, the sea was smooth, there was
scarcely any cross wind. They resurfaced within seconds and had a clear
view through their port over the small waves. A cruiser was already
headed their way, only a few miles off.
"It's over," Dan said with an immense sigh of relief as he unbuckled
himself from the chair.
"Over!" Gino said in a choking voice. "Over? Look--look at the flag
there!"
The cruiser turned tightly, the flag on its stern standing out proudly
in the air. The red and white stripes of Old Glory, the fifty white
stars on the field of deepest blue.
And in the middle of the stars, in the center of the blue rectangle,
lay a golden crown.
THE END
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