The Project Gutenberg eBook, Slingshot, by Irving W. Lande, Illustrated by
Emsh
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Slingshot
Author: Irving W. Lande
Release Date: August 30, 2007 [eBook #22462]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLINGSHOT***
E-text prepared by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 22462-h.htm or 22462-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/6/22462/22462-h/22462-h.htm)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/6/22462/22462-h.zip)
SLINGSHOT
by
IRVING W. LANDE
Illustrated by Emsh
[Illustration]
_The slingshot was, I believe, one of the few
weapons of history that wasn't used in the last war.
That doesn't mean it won't be used in the next!_
"Got a bogey at three o'clock high. Range about six hundred miles."
Johnson spoke casually, but his voice in the intercom was thin with
tension.
Captain Paul Coulter, commanding Space Fighter 308, 58th Squadron, 33rd
Fighter Wing, glanced up out of his canopy in the direction indicated,
and smiled to himself at the instinctive reaction. Nothing there but the
familiar starry backdrop, the moon far down to the left. If the light
wasn't right, a ship might be invisible at half a mile. He squeezed the
throttle mike button. "Any IFF?"
"No IFF."
"O.K., let me know as soon as you have his course." Coulter squashed out
his cigar and began his cockpit check, grinning without humor as he
noticed that his breathing had deepened and his palms were moist on the
controls. He looked down to make sure his radio was snug in its pocket
on his leg; checked the thigh harness of his emergency rocket, wrapped
in its thick belly pad; checked the paired tanks of oxygen behind him,
hanging level from his shoulders into their niche in the "cradle." He
flipped his helmet closed, locked it, and opened it again. He tossed a
sardonic salute at the photograph of a young lady who graced the side of
the cockpit. "Wish us luck, sugar." He pressed the mike button again.
"You got anything yet, Johnny?"
"He's going our way, Paul. Have it exact in a minute."
Coulter scanned the full arch of sky visible through the curving panels
of the dome, thinking the turgid thoughts that always came when action
was near. His chest was full of the familiar weakness--not fear exactly,
but a tight, helpless feeling that grew and grew with the waiting.
His eyes and hands were busy in the familiar procedure, readying the
ship for combat, checking and re-checking the details that could mean
life and death, but his mind watched disembodied, yearning back to
earth.
Sylvia always came back first. Inviting smile and outstretched hands.
Nyloned knees, pink sweater, and that clinging, clinging white silk
skirt. A whirling montage of laughing, challenging eyes and tossing
sky-black hair and soft arms tightening around his neck.
Then Jean, cool and self-possessed and slightly disapproving, with
warmth and humor peeping through from underneath when she smiled. A
lazy, crinkly kind of smile, like Christmas lights going on one by one.
He wished he'd acted more grown up that night they watched the rain
dance at the pueblo. For the hundredth time, he went over what he
remembered of their last date, seeing the gleam of her shoulder, and the
angry disappointment in her eyes; hearing again his awkward apologies.
She was a nice kid. Silently his mouth formed the words. "You're a nice
kid."
_I think she loves me. She was just mad because I got drunk._
The tension of approaching combat suddenly blended with the memory,
welling up into a rush of tenderness and affection. He whispered her
name, and suddenly he knew that if he got back he was going to ask her
to marry him.
He thought of his father, rocking on the porch of the Pennsylvania farm,
pipe in his mouth, the weathered old face serene, as he puffed and
listened to the radio beside him. He wished he'd written him last night,
instead of joining the usual beer and bull session in the wardroom. He
wished--. He wished.
"I've got him, Paul. He's got two point seven miles of RV on us. Take
thirty degrees high on two point one o'clock for course to IP."
* * * * *
Automatically he turned the control wheel to the right and eased it
back. The gyros recorded the turn to course.
"Hold 4 G's for one six five seconds, then coast two minutes for initial
point five hundred miles on his tail."
"Right, Johnny. One sixty-five, then two minutes." He set the timer,
advanced the throttle to 4 G's, and stepped back an inch as the
acceleration took him snugly into the cradle. The Return-To-Station-Fuel
and Relative-Velocity-To-Station gauges did their usual double takes on
a change of course, as the ship computer recorded the new information.
He liked those two gauges--the two old ladies.
Mrs. RSF kept track of how much more fuel they had than they needed to
get home. When they were moving away from station, she dropped in
alarmed little jumps, but when they were headed home, she inched along
in serene contentment, or if they were coasting, sneaked triumphantly
back up the dial.
Mrs. RVS started to get jittery at about ten mps away from home, and
above fifteen, she was trembling steadily. He didn't blame the old
ladies for worrying. With one hour of fuel at 5 G's, you didn't fire a
single squirt unless there was a good reason for it. Most of their time
on a mission was spent free wheeling, in the anxiety-laden boredom that
fighting men have always known.
_Wish the Red was coming in across our course._ It would have taken less
fuel, and the chase wouldn't have taken them so far out. But then they'd
probably have been spotted, and lost the precious element of surprise.
He blessed the advantage of better radar. In this crazy "war," so like
the dogfights of the first world war, the better than two hundred mile
edge of American radar was more often than not the margin of victory.
The American crews were a little sharper, a little better trained, but
with their stripped down ships, and midget crewmen, with no personal
safety equipment, the Reds could accelerate longer and faster, and go
farther out. You had to get the jump on them, or it was just too bad.
The second hand hit forty-five in its third cycle, and he stood loose in
the cradle as the power died.
_Sixty-two combat missions but the government says there's no war._ His
mind wandered back over eight years in the service. Intelligence tests.
Physical tests. Psychological tests. Six months of emotional adjustment
in the screep. Primary training. Basic and advanced training. The pride
and excitement of being chosen for space fighters. By the time he
graduated, the United States and Russia each had several satellite
stations operating, but in 1979, the United States had won the race for
a permanent station on the Moon. What a grind it had been, bringing in
the supplies.
A year later the Moon station had "blown up." No warning. No survivors.
Just a brand-new medium-sized crater. And six months later, the new
station, almost completed, went up again. The diplomats had buzzed like
hornets, with accusations and threats, but nothing could be
proven--there _were_ bombs stored at the station. The implication was
clear enough. There wasn't going to be any Moon station until one
government ruled Earth. Or until the United States and Russia figured
out a way to get along with each other. And so far, getting along with
Russia was like trying to get along with an octopus.
Of course there were rumors that the psych warfare boys had some gimmick
cooked up, to turn the U. S. S. R. upside down in a revolution, the next
time power changed hands, but he'd been hearing that one for years.
Still, with four new dictators over there in the last eleven years,
there was always a chance.
Anyway, he was just a space jockey, doing his job in this screwball
fight out here in the empty reaches. Back on Earth, there was no war.
The statesmen talked, held conferences, played international chess as
ever. Neither side bothered the other's satellites, though naturally
they were on permanent alert. There just wasn't going to be any Moon
station for a while. Nobody knew what there might be on the Moon, but if
one side couldn't have it, then the other side wasn't going to have it
either.
And meanwhile, the struggle was growing deadlier, month by month, each
side groping for the stranglehold, looking for the edge that would give
domination of space, or make all-out war a good risk. They hadn't found
it yet, but it was getting bloodier out here all the time. For a while,
it had been a supreme achievement just to get a ship out and back, but
gradually, as the ships improved, there was a little margin left over
for weapons. Back a year ago, the average patrol was nothing but a
sightseeing tour. Not that there was much to see, when you'd been out a
few times. Now, there were Reds around practically every mission.
_Thirteen missions to go, after today._ He wondered if he'd quit at
seventy-five. Deep inside him, the old pride and excitement were still
strong. He still got a kick out of the way the girls looked at the
silver rocket on his chest. But he didn't feel as lucky as he used to.
Twenty-nine years old, and he was starting to feel like an old man. He
pictured himself lecturing to a group of eager kids.
_Had a couple of close calls, those last two missions._ That Red had
looked easy, the way he was wandering around. He hadn't spotted them
until they were well into their run, but when he got started he'd made
them look like slow motion, just the same. If he hadn't tried that
harebrained sudden deceleration.... Coulter shook his head at the
memory. And on the last mission they'd been lucky to get a draw. Those
boys were good shots.
* * * * *
"We're crossing his track, Paul. Turn to nine point five o'clock and
hold 4 G's for thirty-two seconds, starting on the count ...
five--four--three--two--one--go!" He completed the operation in silence,
remarking to himself how lucky he was to have Johnson. The boy loved a
chase. He navigated like a hungry hawk, though you had to admit his
techniques were a bit irregular.
Coulter chuckled at the ad lib way they operated, remembering the
courses, the tests, the procedures practiced until they could do them
backwards blindfolded. When they tangled with a Red, the Solter
co-ordinates went out the hatch. They navigated by the enemy. There were
times during a fight when he had no more idea of his position than what
the old ladies told him, and what he could see of the Sun, the Earth,
and the Moon.
And using "right side up" as a basis for navigation. He chuckled again.
Still, the service had had to concede on "right side up," in designing
the ships, so there was something to be said for it. They hadn't been
able to simulate gravity without fouling up the ships so they had to
call the pilot's head "up." There was something comforting about it.
He'd driven a couple of the experimental jobs, one with the cockpit set
on gimbals, and one where the whole ship rotated, and he hadn't cared
for them at all. Felt disoriented, with something nagging at his mind
all the time, as though the ships had been sabotaged. A couple of pilots
had gone nuts in the "spindizzy," and remembering his own feelings as he
watched the sky go by, it was easy to understand.
Anyway, "right side up" tied in perfectly with the old "clock" system
Garrity had dug out of those magazines he was always reading. Once they
got used to it, it had turned out really handy. Old Doc Hoffman, his
astrogation prof, would have turned purple if he'd ever dreamed they'd
use such a conglomeration. But it worked. And when you were in a hurry,
it worked in a hurry, and that was good enough for Coulter. He'd
submitted a report on it to Colonel Silton.
"You've got him, Paul. We're dead on his tail, five hundred miles back,
and matching velocity. Turn forty-two degrees right, and you're lined up
right on him." Johnson was pleased with the job he'd done.
Coulter watched the pip move into his sightscreen. It settled less than
a degree off dead center. He made the final corrections in course, set
the air pressure control to eight pounds, and locked his helmet.
"Nice job, Johnny. Let's button up. You with us, Guns?"
Garrity sounded lazy as a well-fed tiger. "Ah'm with yew, cap'n."
Coulter advanced the throttle to 5 G's. And with the hiss of power, SF
308 began the deadly, intricate, precarious maneuver called a combat
pass--a maneuver inherited from the aerial dogfight--though it often
turned into something more like the broadside duels of the old sailing
ships--as the best and least suicidal method of killing a spaceship. To
start on the enemy's tail, just out of his radar range. To come up his
track at 2 mps relative velocity, firing six .30 caliber machine guns
from fifty miles out. In the last three or four seconds, to break out
just enough to clear him, praying that he won't break in the same
direction. _And to keep on going._
_Four minutes and thirty-four seconds to the break._ Sixty seconds at 5
G's; one hundred ninety-two seconds of free wheeling; and then, if they
were lucky, the twenty-two frantic seconds they were out here
for--throwing a few pounds of steel slugs out before them in one
unbroken burst, groping out fifty miles into the darkness with steel and
radar fingers to kill a duplicate of themselves.
_This is the worst. These three minutes are the worst._ One hundred
ninety-two eternal seconds of waiting, of deathly silence and deathly
calm, feeling and hearing nothing but the slow pounding of their own
heartbeats. Each time he got back, it faded away, and all he remembered
was the excitement. But each time he went through it, it was worse. Just
standing and waiting in the silence, praying they weren't
spotted--staring at the unmoving firmament and knowing he was a
projectile hurtling two miles each second straight at a clump of metal
and flesh that was the enemy. Knowing the odds were twenty to one
against their scoring a kill ... unless they ran into him.
* * * * *
At eighty-five seconds, he corrected slightly to center the pip. The
momentary hiss of the rockets was a relief. He heard the muffled
yammering as Guns fired a short burst from the .30's standing out of
their compartments around the sides of the ship. They were practically
recoilless, but the burst drifted him forward against the cradle
harness.
And suddenly the waiting was over. The ship filled with vibration as
Guns opened up. _Twenty-five seconds to target._ His eyes flicked from
the sightscreen to the sky ahead, looking for the telltale flare of
rockets--ready to follow like a ferret.
_There he is!_ At eighteen miles from target, a tiny blue light
flickered ahead. He forgot everything but the sightscreen, concentrating
on keeping the pip dead center. The guns hammered on. It seemed they'd
been firing for centuries. At ten-mile range, the combat radar kicked
the automatics in, turning the ship ninety degrees to her course in one
and a half seconds. He heard the lee side firing cut out, as Garrity
hung on with two, then three guns.
He held it as long as he could. Closer than he ever had before. At four
miles he poured 12 G's for two seconds.
They missed ramming by something around a hundred yards. The enemy ship
flashed across his tail in a fraction of a second, already turned around
and heading up its own track, yet it seemed to Paul he could make out
every detail--the bright red star, even the tortured face of the pilot.
Was there something lopsided in the shape of that rocket plume, or was
he just imagining it in the blur of their passing? And did he hear a
_ping_ just at that instant, feel the ship vibrate for a second?
He continued the turn in the direction the automatics had started,
bringing his nose around to watch the enemy's track. And as the shape of
the plume told him the other ship was still heading back toward Earth,
he brought the throttle back up to 12 G's, trying to overcome the lead
his pass had given away.
Guns spoke quietly to Johnson. "Let me know when we kill his RV. Ah may
get another shot at him."
And Johnny answered, hurt, "What do you think I'm doing down
here--reading one of your magazines?"
Paul was struggling with hundred-pound arms, trying to focus the
telescope that swiveled over the panel. As the field cleared, he could
see that the plume was flaring unevenly, flickering red and orange along
one side. Quietly and viciously, he was talking to himself. "Blow!
Blow!"
* * * * *
And she blew. Like a dirty ragged bit of fireworks, throwing tiny
handfuls of sparks into the blackness. Something glowed red for a while,
and slowly faded.
_There, but for the grace of God...._ Paul shuddered in a confused
mixture of relief and revulsion.
He cut back to 4 G's, noting that RVS registered about a mile per second
away from station, and suddenly became aware that the red light was on
for loss of air. The cabin pressure gauge read zero, and his heart
throbbed into his throat as he remembered that _pinging_ sound, just as
they passed the enemy ship. He told Garrity to see if he could locate
the loss, and any other damage, and was shortly startled by a low amazed
whistle in his earphones.
"If Ah wasn't lookin' at it, Ah wouldn't believe it. Musta been one of
his shells went right around the fuel tank and out again, without
hittin' it. There's at least three inches of tank on a line between the
holes! He musta been throwin' curves at us. Man, cap'n, this is our
lucky day!"
[Illustration]
Paul felt no surprise, only relief at having the trouble located. The
reaction to the close call might not come till hours later. "This kind
of luck we can do without. Can you patch the holes?"
"Ah can patch the one where it came in, but it musta been explodin' on
the way out. There's a hole Ah could stick mah head through."
"That's a good idea." Johnson was not usually very witty, but this was
one he couldn't resist.
"Never mind, Guns. A patch that big wouldn't be safe to hold air."
* * * * *
They were about eighty thousand miles out. He set course for Earth at
about five and a half mps, which Johnson calculated to bring them in on
the station on the "going away" side of its orbit, and settled back for
the tedious two hours of free wheeling. For ten or fifteen minutes, the
interphone crackled with the gregariousness born of recent peril, and
gradually the ship fell silent as each man returned to his own private
thoughts.
Paul was wondering about the men on the other ship--whether any of them
were still alive. Eighty thousand miles to fall. That was a little
beyond the capacity of an emergency rocket--about 2 G's for sixty
seconds--even if they had them. What a way to go home! He wondered what
he'd do if it happened to him. Would he wait out his time, or just
unlock his helmet.
Guns' drawl broke into his reverie. "Say, cap'n, Ah've been readin' in
this magazine about a trick they used to use, called skip bombin'.
They'd hang a bomb on the bottom of one of these airplanes, and fly
along the ground, right at what they wanted to hit. Then they'd let the
bomb go and get out of there, and the bomb would sail right on into the
target. You s'pose we could fix this buggy up with an A bomb or an H
bomb we could let go a few hundred miles out? Stick a proximity fuse on
it, and a time fuse, too, in case we missed. Just sittin' half a mile
apart and tradin' shots like we did on that last mission is kinda hard
on mah nerves, and it's startin' to happen too often."
"Nice work if we could get it. I'm not crazy about those broadside
battles myself. You'd think they'd have found something better than
these thirty caliber popguns by now, but the odds say we've got to throw
as many different chunks of iron as we can, to have a chance of hitting
anything, and even then it's twenty to one against us. You wouldn't have
one chance in a thousand of scoring a hit with a bomb at that distance,
even if they didn't spot it and take off. What you'd need would be a
rocket that could chase them, with the bomb for a head. And there's no
way we could carry that size rocket, or fire it if we could. Some day
these crates will come with men's rooms, and we'll have a place to carry
something like that."
"How big would a rocket like that be?"
"Five, six feet, by maybe a foot. Weigh at least three hundred pounds."
It was five minutes before Guns spoke again. "Ah been thinkin', cap'n.
With a little redecoratin', Ah think Ah could get a rocket that size in
here with me. We could weld a rail to one of the gun mounts that would
hold it up to five or six G's. Then after we got away from station, Ah
could take it outside and mount it on the rail."
"Forget it, lad. If they ever caught us pulling a trick like that,
they'd have us on hydroponic duty for the next five years. They just
don't want us playing around with bombs, till the experts get all the
angles figured out, and build ships to handle them. And besides, who do
you think will rig a bomb like that, without anybody finding out? And
where do you think we'd get a bomb in the first place? They don't leave
those things lying around. Kovacs watches them like a mother hen. I
think he counts them twice a day."
"Sorry, cap'n. Ah just figured if you could get hold of a bomb, Ah know
a few of the boys who could rig the thing up for us and keep their
mouths shut."
"Well, forget about it. It's not a bad idea, but we haven't any bomb."
"Right, cap'n."
* * * * *
But it was Paul who couldn't forget about it. All the rest of the way
back to station, he kept seeing visions of a panel sliding aside in the
nose of a sleek and gleaming ship, while a small rocket pushed its
deadly snout forward, and then streaked off at tremendous acceleration.
Interrogation was brief. The mission had turned up nothing new. Their
kill made eight against seven for Doc Miller's crew, and they made sure
Miller and the boys heard about it. They were lightheaded with the
elation that followed a successful mission, swapping insults with the
rest of the squadron, and reveling in the sheer contentment of being
back safe.
It wasn't until he got back to his stall, and started to write his
father a long overdue letter, that he remembered he had heard Kovacs say
he was going on leave.
When he finished the letter, he opened the copy of "Lady Chatterley's
Lover" he had borrowed from Rodriguez's limited but colorful library. He
couldn't keep his mind on it. He kept thinking of the armament officer.
Kovacs was a quiet, intelligent kid, devoted to his work. Coulter wasn't
too intimate with him. He wasn't a spaceman, for one thing. One of those
illogical but powerful distinctions that sub-divided the men of the
station. And he was a little too polite to be easy company.
Paul remembered the time he had walked into the Muroc Base Officer's
Club with Marge Halpern on his arm. The hunger that had lain undisguised
on Kovacs' face the moment he first saw them. Marge was a striking
blonde with a direct manner, who liked men, especially orbit station
men. He hadn't thought about the incident since then, but the look in
Kovacs' eyes kept coming back to him as he tried to read.
He wasn't sure how he got there, or why, when he found himself walking
into Colonel Silton's office to ask for the leave he'd passed up at his
fiftieth mission. He'd considered taking it several times, but the
thought of leaving the squadron, even for a couple of weeks, had made
him feel guilty, as though he were quitting.
Once he had his papers, he started to get excited about it. As he
cleaned up his paper work and packed his musette, his hands were
fumbling, and his mind was full of Sylvia.
* * * * *
The vastness of Muroc Base was as incredible as ever. Row on uncounted
row of neat buildings, each resting at the top of its own hundred-yard
deep elevator shaft. A pulsing, throbbing city, dedicated to the long
slow struggle to get into space and stay there. The service crew eyed
them with studied indifference, as they writhed out of the small hatch
and stepped to the ground. They drew a helijet at operations, and headed
immediately for Los Angeles.
Kovacs had been impressed when Paul asked if he'd care to room together
while they were on leave. He was quiet on the flight, as he had been on
the way down, listening contentedly, while Paul talked combat and women
with Bob Parandes, another pilot going on leave.
They parked the helijet at Municipal Field and headed for the public PV
booths, picking up a coterie of two dogs and five assorted children on
the way. The kids followed quietly in their wake, ecstatic at the sight
of their uniforms.
Paul squared his shoulders, as befitted a hero, and tousled a couple of
uncombed heads as they walked. The kids clustered around the booths, as
Kovacs entered one to locate a hotel room, and Paul another, to call
Sylvia.
"Honey, I've been so scared you weren't coming back. Where are you? When
will I see you? Why didn't you write?..." She sputtered to a stop as he
held up both hands in defense.
"Whoa, baby. One thing at a time. I'm at the airport. You'll see me
tonight, and I'll tell you the rest then. That is, if you're free
tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that. Are
you free?"
Her hesitation was only momentary. "Well, I was going out--with a girl
friend. But she'll understand. What's up?"
He took a deep breath. "I'd like to get out of the city for a few days,
where we can take things easy and be away from the crowds. And there is
another guy I'd like to bring along."
"We could take my helijet out to my dad's cottage at--_What did you
say?_"
It was a ticklish job explaining about Kovacs, but when she understood
that he just wanted to do a friend a favor, and she'd still have Paul
all to herself, she calmed down. They made their arrangements quickly,
and switched off.
He hesitated a minute before he called Marge. She was quite a dish to
give up. Once she'd seen him with Sylvia, he'd be strictly _persona non
grata_--that was for sure. It was an unhappy thought. Well, maybe it was
in a good cause. He shrugged and called her.
She nearly cut him off when she first heard his request, but he did some
fast talking. The idea of several days at the cottage intrigued her, and
when he described how smitten Kovacs had been, she brightened up and
agreed to come. He switched off, adjusted the drape of his genuine silk
scarf, and stepped out of the booth.
Kovacs and the kids were waiting. The armament officer had apparently
been telling them of Paul's exploits. They glowed with admiration. The
oldest boy, about eleven, had true worship in his eyes. He hesitated a
moment, then asked gravely: "Would you tell us how you kill a Red, sir?"
Paul eyed the time-honored weapon that dangled from the youngster's
hand. He bent over and tapped it with his finger. His voice was warm and
confiding, but his eyes were far away.
"I think next we're going to try a slingshot," he said.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ November 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors
have been corrected without note.
***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLINGSHOT***
******* This file should be named 22462.txt or 22462.zip *******
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/6/22462
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://www.gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
[email protected]. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
[email protected]
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit:
https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
