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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23160-h.zip b/23160-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..574082b --- /dev/null +++ b/23160-h.zip diff --git a/23160-h/23160-h.htm b/23160-h/23160-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8a83a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/23160-h/23160-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1226 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Solomon's Orbit, by William Carroll + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {visibility: hidden; width: 33%; margin: 1em auto; clear: both;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .trans1 {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + + img {border: none} + + p.cap:first-letter {font-size: 200%; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: .7em;} + + .illo {font-size: smaller; margin-bottom: 3em; text-align: center;} + .tease {font-size: larger; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon's Orbit, by William Carroll + +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: Solomon's Orbit + +Author: William Carroll + +Illustrator: Schoenherr + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23160] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON'S ORBIT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 426px;"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="426" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + +<h1><big>Solomon's Orbit</big></h1> + +<p class="tease">There will, sooner or later, be problems<br /> +of "space junk," and the right to dump in space.<br /> +But not like this...!</p> + +<h2>by William Carroll</h2> + +<p class="illo">Illustrated by Schoenherr</p> + + +<p>"Comrades," said the senior technician, +"notice the clear view of +North America. From here we +watch everything; rivers, towns, +almost the people. And see, our +upper lens shows the dark spot of +a meteor in space. Comrades, the +meteor gets larger. It is going to +pass close to our wondrous +machine. Comrades ... Comrades ... turn +to my channel. It is no +meteor—it is square. The accursed +Americans have sent up a house. +Comrades ... an ancient automobile +is flying toward our space +machine. Comrades ... it is going +to—Ah ... the picture is +gone."</p> + +<p>Moscow reported the conversation, +verbatim, to prove their space +vehicle was knocked from the sky +by a capitalistic plot. Motion pictures +clearly showed an American +automobile coming toward the +Russian satellite. Russian astronomers +ordered to seek other strange +orbiting devices reported: "We've +observed cars for weeks. Have been +exiling technicians and photographers +to Siberia for making jokes +of Soviet science. If television +proves ancient automobiles are +orbiting the world, Americans are +caught in obvious attempt to ridicule +our efforts to probe mysteries +of space."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Confusion was also undermining +American scientific study of the +heavens. At Mount Palomar the +busy 200-inch telescope was +photographing a strange new object, +but plates returned from the +laboratory caused astronomers to +explode angrily. In full glory, the +photograph showed a tiny image of +an ancient car. This first development +only affected two photographers +at Mount Palomar. They were +fired for playing practical jokes on +the astronomers. Additional exposures +of other newfound objects +were made. Again the plates were +returned; this time with three little +old cars parading proudly across the +heavens as though they truly belonged +among the stars.</p> + +<p>The night the Russian protest +crossed trails with the Palomar +report, Washington looked like a +kid with chicken pox, as dozens +of spotty yellow windows marked +midnight meetings of the nation's +greatest minds. The military denied +responsibility for cars older than +1942. Civil aviation proved they +had no projects involving motor +vehicles. Central Intelligence swore +on their classification manual they +were not dropping junk over Cuba +in an attempt to hit Castro. Disgusted, +the President established a +civilian commission which soon +located three more reports.</p> + +<p>Two were from fliers. The pilot +of Flight 26, New York to Los +Angeles, had two weeks before +reported a strange object rising +over Southern California about ten +the evening of April 3rd. A week +after this report, a private pilot +on his way from Las Vegas claimed +seeing an old car flying over Los +Angeles. His statement was ignored, +as he was arrested later +while trying to drink himself silly +because no one believed his story.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, at the approximate +times both pilots claimed sighting +unknown objects, radar at Los +Angeles International recorded +something rising from earth's surface +into the stratosphere. Within +hours after the three reports met, +in the President's commission's +office, mobile radar was spotted on +Southern California hilltops in +twenty-four-hour watches for unscheduled +flights not involving +aircraft.</p> + +<p>Number Seven, stationed in the +Mount Wilson television tower +parking lot, caught one first. "Hey +fellows," came his excited voice, +"check 124 degrees, vector 62 now ... rising ... 124 +degrees ... vector 66 ... rising—"</p> + +<p><i>Nine</i> and <i>Four</i> caught it moments +later. Then <i>Three</i>, Army long-range +radar, picked it up. "O.K., we're +on. It's still rising ... leaving +the atmosphere ... gone. Anyone +else catch it?" Negative responses +came from all but <i>Seven</i>, +<i>Nine</i> and <i>Four</i>. So well spread were +they, that within minutes headquarters +had laid four lines over +Southern California. They crossed +where the unsuspecting community +of Fullerton was more or less sound +asleep, totally unaware of the +making of history in its back yard.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="cap">The history of what astronomers +call Solomon's Orbit had its beginning +about three months ago. +Solomon, who couldn't remember +his first name, was warming tired +bones in the sun, in front of his +auto-wrecking yard a mile south of +Fullerton. Though sitting, he was +propped against the office; a tin +shed decorated like a Christmas tree +with hundreds of hub caps dangling +from sagging wooden rafters. The +back door opened on two acres of +what Solomon happily agreed was +the finest junk in all California. +Fords on the left, Chevys on the +right, and across the sagging back +fence, a collection of honorable +sedans whose makers left the business +world years ago. They were +known as Solomon's "Classics."</p> + +<p>The bright sun had Solomon's +tiny eyes burrowed under a shaggy +brow which, added to an Einstein-like +shock of white hair, gave him +the appearance of a professor on +sabbatical. Eyes closed, Solomon +was fondling favorite memories, +when as a lad he repaired steam +tractors and followed wheat across +central plains of the United States. +Happiness faded as the reverie was +broken by spraying gravel signaling +arrival of a customer's car.</p> + +<p>"There's Uncle Solomon, Dad," +a boy's voice was saying. "He gives +us kids good deals on hot-rod parts. +You've just gotta take a look at +his old cars, 'cause if you want +a classic Uncle Solomon would +make you a good deal, too. I just +know he would."</p> + +<p>"Sure, Son, let's go in and see +what he's got," replied a man's +voice. As Solomon opened his eyes, +the two popped into reality. Heaving +himself out of the sports car +bucket seat that was his office +chair, Solomon stood awaiting approach +of the pair.</p> + +<p>"Mr Solomon, Georgie here +tells me you have some fine old +cars for sale?"</p> + +<p>"Sure have. Sure have. They're +in back. Come along. I'll show you +the short cuts." Without waiting +for a reply, Solomon started, head +bent, white hair blowing; through +the office, out the back door and +down passages hardly wide enough +for a boy, let alone a man. He disappeared +around a hearse, and surfaced +on the other side of a convertible, +leading the boy and his +father a chase that was more a +guided tour of Solomon's yard than +a short cut. "Yes, sir, here they +are," announced Solomon over his +shoulder. Stepping aside he made +room for the boy and his father to +pass, between a couple of Ford +Tudors.</p> + +<p>Three pair of eyes, one young, +one old, the other tired, were faced +by two rows of hulks, proud in the +silent agony of their fate. Sold, +resold and sold again, used until +exhaustion set in, they reached +Solomon's for a last brave stand. +No matter what beauties they were +to Solomon's prejudiced eyes; missing +fenders, rusted body panels, +broken wheels and rotted woodwork +bespoke the utter impossibility +of restoration.</p> + +<p>"See, Dad, aren't they great?" +Georgie gleefully asked. He could +just imagine shaking the guys at +school with the old Packard, after +Dad restored it.</p> + +<p>"Are you kidding?" Georgie's +Dad exploded, "Those wrecks +aren't good for anything but shooting +at the moon. Let's go." Not +another word did he say. Heading +back to the car parked outside +Solomon's office, his footsteps were +echoed by those of a crestfallen boy. +Solomon, a figure of lonely dejection +in the gloom overshadowing his +unloved old cars, was troubled with +smog causing his eyes to water as +tired feet aimlessly found their way +back to his seat in the sun.</p> + +<p>That night, to take his mind off +worrisome old cars, Solomon began +reading the previous Sunday's +newspaper. There were pictures of +moon shots, rockets and astronauts, +which started Solomon to thinking; +"So, my classics are good only for +shooting at the moon. This thing +called an ion engine, which creates +a force field to move satellites, +seems like a lot of equipment. Could +do it easier with one of my old +engines, I bet."</p> + +<p>As Solomon told the people in +Washington several months later, +he was only resting his eyes, thinking +about shop manuals and parts +in the back yard. When suddenly he +figured there was an easier way to +build a satellite power plant. But, +as it was past his bedtime, he'd +put one together tomorrow.</p> + +<p>It was late the next afternoon +before Solomon had a chance to +try his satellite power plant idea. +Customers were gone and he was +free of interruption. The engine +of his elderly Moreland tow-truck +was brought to life by Solomon +almost hidden behind the huge +wooden steering wheel. The truck +lumbered carefully down rows of +cars to an almost completely +stripped wreck holding only a +broken engine. In a few minutes, +Solomon had the engine waving +behind the truck while he reversed +to a clear space near the center of +his yard.</p> + +<p>Once the broken engine was +blocked upright on the ground, +Solomon backed his Moreland out +of the way, carried a tray of tools +to the engine and squatted in the +dirt to work. First, the intake +manifold came off and was bolted +to the clutch housing so the carburetor +mounting flange faced skyward. +Solomon stopped for a minute +to worry. "If it works," he +thought, "when I get them nearer +each other, it'll go up in my face." +Scanning the yard he thought of +fenders, doors, wheels, hub caps +and ... that was it. A hub cap +would do the trick.</p> + +<p>At his age, running was a senseless +activity, but walking faster +than usual, Solomon took a direct +route to his office. From the ceiling +of hub caps, he selected a small cap +from an old Chevy truck. Back at +the engine, he punched a hole in +the cap, through which he tied a +length of strong twine. The cap was +laid on the carburetor flange and +stuck in place with painter's masking +tape. He then bolted the +exhaust manifold over the intake +so the muffler connection barely +touched the hub cap. Solomon +stood up, kicked the manifolds +with his heavy boots to make sure +they were solid and grunted with +satisfaction of a job well done.</p> + +<p>He moved his tray of tools away +and trailed the hub cap twine behind +the solid body of a big old +Ford station wagon. He'd read of +scientists in block houses when +they shot rockets and was taking +no chances. Excitement glistened +Solomon's old eyes as what blood +pressure there was rose a point or +two with happy thoughts. If his +idea worked, he would be free of +the old cars, yet not destroy a single +one. Squatting behind the station +wagon, to watch the engine, Solomon +gingerly pulled the twine to +eliminate slack. As it tightened, he +tensed, braced himself with a free +hand on the wagon's bumper, and +taking a deep breath, jerked the +cord. Tired legs failed and Solomon +slipped backward when the hub +cap broke free of the tape and sailed +through the air to clang against +the wagon's fender. Lying on his +back, struggling to rise, Solomon +heard a slight swish as though a +whirlwind had come through the +yard. The scent of air-borne dust +bit his nostrils as he struggled +to his feet.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Deep in the woods behind Solomon's +yard two boys were hunting +crows. Eyes high, they scanned +branches and horizons for game. +"Look, there goes one," the +younger cried as a large dark object +majestically rose into the sky and +rapidly disappeared into high +clouds.</p> + +<p>"Yup, maybe so," said the other. +"But it's flying too high for us."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="cap">"I must be a silly old man," Solomon +thought, scanning the cleared +space behind his tow truck where +he remembered an engine. There +was nothing there, and as Solomon +now figured it, never had been. +Heart heavy with belief in the +temporary foolishness of age, Solomon +went to the hub cap, glittering +the sun where it lit after bouncing +off the fender. It was untied from +the string, and in the tool tray, +before Solomon realized he'd not +been daydreaming. In the cleared +area, were two old manifold +gaskets, several rusty nuts, and dirt +blown smooth in a wide circle +around greasy blocks on which he'd +propped the now missing engine.</p> + +<p>That night was a whirlwind of +excitement for Solomon. He had +steak for dinner, then sat back to +consider future success. Once the +classic cars were gone, he could use +the space for more profitable Fords +and Chevys. All he'd have to do +would be bolt manifolds from spare +engines on a different car every +night, and he'd be rid of it. All he +used was vacuum in the intake +manifold, drawing pressure from +the outlet side of the exhaust. The +resulting automatic power flow +raised anything they were attached +to. Solomon couldn't help but +think, "The newspapers said scientists +were losing rockets and space +capsules, so a few old cars could get +lost in the clouds without hurting +anything."</p> + +<p>Early the next morning, he +towed the oldest hulk, an Essex, to +the cleared space. Manifolds from +junk engines were bolted to the +wheels but this time carburetor +flanges were covered by wooden +shingles because Solomon figured +he couldn't afford to ruin four salable +hub caps just to get rid of his +old sedans. Each shingle was taped +in place so they could be pulled +off in unison with a strong pull on +the twine. The tired Essex was +pretty big, so Solomon waited until +bedtime before stumbling through +the dark to the launching pad in +his yard. Light from kitchen +matches helped collect the shingle +cords as he crouched behind the +Ford wagon. He held the cords +in one calloused hand, a burning +match in the other so he could +watch the Essex. Solomon tightened +his fist, gave a quick tug to +jerk all shingles at the same time, +and watched in excited satisfaction +as the old sedan rose in a soft +swish of midsummer air flowing +through ancient curves of four +rusty manifold assemblies.</p> + +<p>Day after day, only a mile from +Fullerton, Solomon busied himself +buying wrecked cars and selling +usable parts. Each weekday night—Solomon +never worked on Sunday—another +old car from his back lot +went silently heavenward with the +aid of Solomon's unique combination +of engine vacuum and exhaust +pressure. His footsteps were +light with accomplishment as he +thought, "In four more days, +they'll all be gone."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>While the Fullerton radar net +smoked innumerable cigarettes and +cursed luck ruining the evening, +Solomon scrambled two eggs, enjoyed +his coffee and relaxed with +a newly found set of old 1954 Buick +shop manuals. As usual, when the +clock neared ten, he closed his +manuals and let himself out the +back door.</p> + +<p>City lights, reflected in low +clouds, brightened the way Solomon +knew well. He was soon kneeling +behind the Ford wagon without +having stumbled once. Only two +kitchen matches were needed to +collect the cords from a big Packard, +handsome in the warmth of a +moonless summer night. With a +faint "God Bless You," Solomon +pulled the shingles and watched +its massive hulk rise and disappear +into orbit with his other orphans.</p> + +<p>If you'd been able to see it all, +you'd have worried. The full circle +of radar and communications crews +around Fullerton had acted as +though the whole town were going +to pussyfoot away at sundown. +<i>Nine</i> was hidden in a curious farmer's +orange grove. <i>Seven</i> was tucked +between station wagons in the back +row of a used car lot. <i>Four</i> was +assigned the loading dock of a +meat-packing plant, but the night +watchman wouldn't allow them to +stay. They moved across the street +behind a fire station. <i>Three</i> was too +big to hide, so it opened for business +inside the National Guard +Armory.</p> + +<p>They all caught the Packard's +takeoff. Degree lines from the four +stations around Fullerton were +crossed on the map long before +Solomon reached his back door. +By the time bedroom lights were +out and covers under his bristly +chin, a task force of quiet men was +speeding on its way to surround +four blocks of country land; including +a chicken ranch, Solomon's +junk yard and a small frame house. +Dogs stirred, yapping at sudden +activity they alone knew of, then +nose to tail, returned to sleep when +threats of intrusion failed to materialize.</p> + +<p>The sun was barely up when the +chicken farmer was stopped a block +from his house, Highway patrolmen +slowly inspected his truck +from front to back, while three cars +full of civilians, by the side of the +road, watched every move. Finding +nothing unusual, a patrolman reported +to the first civilian car then +returned to wave the farmer on +his way. When the widow teacher +from the frame house, started for +school, she too, was stopped. +After a cursory inspection the +patrolman passed her on. Two of +the three accounted for. What of +the third?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="cap">Quietly a cavalcade formed, converged +in Solomon's front yard and +parked facing the road ready for +quick departure. Some dozen civilians +muddied shoes and trousers +circling the junk yard, taking stations +so they could watch all +approaches. Once they were in +position, a Highway patrolman and +two civilians went to Solomon's +door.</p> + +<p>His last cup of coffee was almost +gone as Solomon heard the noise +of their shoes, followed by knuckles +thumping his front door. Wondering +who could be in such a hurry, +so early in the morning, he pulled +on boots and buttoned a denim +jacket as he went to answer. +"Hello," said Solomon to the +patrolman, while opening the door. +"Why you bother me so early? +You know I only buy cars from +owners."</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Solomon, we're not +worried about your car buying. +This man, from Washington, wants +to ask you a few questions."</p> + +<p>"Sure, come in," Solomon replied.</p> + +<p>The questions were odd: Do you +have explosives here? Can you weld +metal tanks? What is your education? +Were you ever an engineer? +What were you doing last night? +To these, and bewildering others, +Solomon told the truth. He had +no explosives, couldn't weld, didn't +finish school and was here, in bed, +all night.</p> + +<p>Then they wanted to see his cars. +Through the back door, so he'd +not have to open the office, Solomon +led the three men into his +yard. Once inside, and without asking +permission, they began searching +like a hungry hound trailing +a fat rabbit. Solomon's eyes, blinking +in the glare of early morning +sun, watched invasion of his privacy. +"What they want?" he wondered. +He'd broken no laws in all +the years he'd been in the United +States. "For what do they bother +a wrecking yard?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>His depressing thoughts were +rudely shattered by a hail from the +larger civilian, standing at the +back of Solomon's yard. There, +three old cars stood in an isolated +row. "Solomon, come here a moment," +he shouted. Solomon +trudged back, followed by the +short civilian and patrolman who +left their curious searching to follow +Solomon's lead. When he +neared, the tall stranger asked, "I +see where weeds grew under other +cars which, from the tracks, have +been moved out in the past few +weeks. How many did you have?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty; but these are all I have +left," Solomon eagerly replied, +hoping at last he'd a customer for +the best of his old cars. "They make +classic cars, if you'd take the time +to fix them up. That one, the Hupmobile, +is the last—"</p> + +<p>"Who bought the others?" the +big man interrupted.</p> + +<p>"No one," quavered Solomon, +terror gripping his throat with a +nervous hand. Had he done wrong +to send cars into the sky? Everyone +else was sending things up. Newspapers +said Russians and Americans +were racing to send things into the +air. What had he done that was +wrong? Surely there was no law +he'd broken. Wasn't the air free, +like the seas? People dumped things +into the ocean.</p> + +<p>"Then where did they go?" +snapped his questioner.</p> + +<p>"Up there," pointed Solomon. +"I needed the space. They were too +good to cut up. No one would buy +them. So I sent them up. The +newspapers—"</p> + +<p>"You did what?"</p> + +<p>"I sent them into the sky," +quavered Solomon. So this is what +he did wrong. Would they lock +him up? What would happen to his +cars? And his business?</p> + +<p>"How did you ... no! Wait a +minute. Don't say a word. Officer, +go and tell my men to prevent +anyone from approaching or leaving +this place." The patrolman +almost saluted, thought better of +it, and left grumbling about being +left out of what must be something +big.</p> + +<p>Solomon told the civilians of +matching vacuum in intake manifolds +to pressure from exhaust +manifolds. A logical way to make +an engine that would run on pressure, +like satellite engines he'd +read about in newspapers. It +worked on a cracked engine block, +so he'd used scrap manifolds to +get rid of old cars no one would +buy. It hadn't hurt anything, had +it?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Well, no, it hadn't. But as you +can imagine, things happened +rather fast. They let Solomon get +clean denims and his razor. Then +without a bye-your-leave, hustled +him to the Ontario airport where +an unmarked jet flew him to +Washington and a hurriedly arranged +meeting with the President. +They left guards posted inside the +fence of Solomon's yard, so they'll +cause no attention while protecting +his property. A rugged individual +sits in the office and tells buyers +and sellers alike, that he is Solomon's +nephew. "The old man had +to take a trip in a hurry." Because +he knows nothing of the business, +they'll have to wait until Solomon +returns.</p> + +<p>Where's Solomon now? Newspaper +stories have him in Nevada +showing the Air Force how to +build gigantic intake and exhaust +manifolds, which the Strategic Air +Command is planning to attach +to a stratospheric decompression +test chamber. They figure if they +can throw it into the sky, they can +move anything up to what astronomers +now call Solomon's Orbit, +where at last count, sixteen of the +seventeen cars are still merrily +circling the earth. As you know, +one recently hit the Russian television +satellite.</p> + +<p>The Russians? We're told they're +still burning their fingers trying +to orbit a car. They can't figure +how to control vacuum and pressure +from the manifolds. Solomon +didn't tell many people about the +shingles he uses for control panels, +and the Russians think control +is somehow related to kitchen +matches a newspaper reporter found +scattered behind a station wagon in +Solomon's junk yard.</p> + + + + +<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Analog Science Fact Science Fiction</i> November 1962. +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.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon's Orbit, by William Carroll + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON'S ORBIT *** + +***** This file should be named 23160-h.htm or 23160-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/6/23160/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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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: Solomon's Orbit + +Author: William Carroll + +Illustrator: Schoenherr + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23160] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON'S ORBIT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + + Solomon's Orbit + + There will, sooner or later, be problems + of "space junk," and the right to dump in space. + But not like this...! + + by William Carroll + + Illustrated by Schoenherr + + +"Comrades," said the senior technician, "notice the clear view of North +America. From here we watch everything; rivers, towns, almost the +people. And see, our upper lens shows the dark spot of a meteor in +space. Comrades, the meteor gets larger. It is going to pass close to +our wondrous machine. Comrades ... Comrades ... turn to my channel. It +is no meteor--it is square. The accursed Americans have sent up a house. +Comrades ... an ancient automobile is flying toward our space machine. +Comrades ... it is going to--Ah ... the picture is gone." + +Moscow reported the conversation, verbatim, to prove their space vehicle +was knocked from the sky by a capitalistic plot. Motion pictures clearly +showed an American automobile coming toward the Russian satellite. +Russian astronomers ordered to seek other strange orbiting devices +reported: "We've observed cars for weeks. Have been exiling technicians +and photographers to Siberia for making jokes of Soviet science. If +television proves ancient automobiles are orbiting the world, Americans +are caught in obvious attempt to ridicule our efforts to probe mysteries +of space." + + * * * + +Confusion was also undermining American scientific study of the heavens. +At Mount Palomar the busy 200-inch telescope was photographing a strange +new object, but plates returned from the laboratory caused astronomers +to explode angrily. In full glory, the photograph showed a tiny image of +an ancient car. This first development only affected two photographers +at Mount Palomar. They were fired for playing practical jokes on the +astronomers. Additional exposures of other newfound objects were made. +Again the plates were returned; this time with three little old cars +parading proudly across the heavens as though they truly belonged among +the stars. + +The night the Russian protest crossed trails with the Palomar report, +Washington looked like a kid with chicken pox, as dozens of spotty +yellow windows marked midnight meetings of the nation's greatest minds. +The military denied responsibility for cars older than 1942. Civil +aviation proved they had no projects involving motor vehicles. Central +Intelligence swore on their classification manual they were not dropping +junk over Cuba in an attempt to hit Castro. Disgusted, the President +established a civilian commission which soon located three more reports. + +Two were from fliers. The pilot of Flight 26, New York to Los Angeles, +had two weeks before reported a strange object rising over Southern +California about ten the evening of April 3rd. A week after this report, +a private pilot on his way from Las Vegas claimed seeing an old car +flying over Los Angeles. His statement was ignored, as he was arrested +later while trying to drink himself silly because no one believed his +story. + +Fortunately, at the approximate times both pilots claimed sighting +unknown objects, radar at Los Angeles International recorded something +rising from earth's surface into the stratosphere. Within hours after +the three reports met, in the President's commission's office, mobile +radar was spotted on Southern California hilltops in twenty-four-hour +watches for unscheduled flights not involving aircraft. + +Number Seven, stationed in the Mount Wilson television tower parking +lot, caught one first. "Hey fellows," came his excited voice, "check 124 +degrees, vector 62 now ... rising ... 124 degrees ... vector 66 ... +rising--" + +_Nine_ and _Four_ caught it moments later. Then _Three_, Army long-range +radar, picked it up. "O.K., we're on. It's still rising ... leaving the +atmosphere ... gone. Anyone else catch it?" Negative responses came from +all but _Seven_, _Nine_ and _Four_. So well spread were they, that +within minutes headquarters had laid four lines over Southern +California. They crossed where the unsuspecting community of Fullerton +was more or less sound asleep, totally unaware of the making of history +in its back yard. + + * * * * * + +The history of what astronomers call Solomon's Orbit had its beginning +about three months ago. Solomon, who couldn't remember his first name, +was warming tired bones in the sun, in front of his auto-wrecking yard a +mile south of Fullerton. Though sitting, he was propped against the +office; a tin shed decorated like a Christmas tree with hundreds of hub +caps dangling from sagging wooden rafters. The back door opened on two +acres of what Solomon happily agreed was the finest junk in all +California. Fords on the left, Chevys on the right, and across the +sagging back fence, a collection of honorable sedans whose makers left +the business world years ago. They were known as Solomon's "Classics." + +The bright sun had Solomon's tiny eyes burrowed under a shaggy brow +which, added to an Einstein-like shock of white hair, gave him the +appearance of a professor on sabbatical. Eyes closed, Solomon was +fondling favorite memories, when as a lad he repaired steam tractors and +followed wheat across central plains of the United States. Happiness +faded as the reverie was broken by spraying gravel signaling arrival of +a customer's car. + +"There's Uncle Solomon, Dad," a boy's voice was saying. "He gives us +kids good deals on hot-rod parts. You've just gotta take a look at his +old cars, 'cause if you want a classic Uncle Solomon would make you a +good deal, too. I just know he would." + +"Sure, Son, let's go in and see what he's got," replied a man's voice. +As Solomon opened his eyes, the two popped into reality. Heaving himself +out of the sports car bucket seat that was his office chair, Solomon +stood awaiting approach of the pair. + +"Mr Solomon, Georgie here tells me you have some fine old cars for +sale?" + +"Sure have. Sure have. They're in back. Come along. I'll show you the +short cuts." Without waiting for a reply, Solomon started, head bent, +white hair blowing; through the office, out the back door and down +passages hardly wide enough for a boy, let alone a man. He disappeared +around a hearse, and surfaced on the other side of a convertible, +leading the boy and his father a chase that was more a guided tour of +Solomon's yard than a short cut. "Yes, sir, here they are," announced +Solomon over his shoulder. Stepping aside he made room for the boy and +his father to pass, between a couple of Ford Tudors. + +Three pair of eyes, one young, one old, the other tired, were faced by +two rows of hulks, proud in the silent agony of their fate. Sold, resold +and sold again, used until exhaustion set in, they reached Solomon's for +a last brave stand. No matter what beauties they were to Solomon's +prejudiced eyes; missing fenders, rusted body panels, broken wheels and +rotted woodwork bespoke the utter impossibility of restoration. + +"See, Dad, aren't they great?" Georgie gleefully asked. He could just +imagine shaking the guys at school with the old Packard, after Dad +restored it. + +"Are you kidding?" Georgie's Dad exploded, "Those wrecks aren't good for +anything but shooting at the moon. Let's go." Not another word did he +say. Heading back to the car parked outside Solomon's office, his +footsteps were echoed by those of a crestfallen boy. Solomon, a figure +of lonely dejection in the gloom overshadowing his unloved old cars, was +troubled with smog causing his eyes to water as tired feet aimlessly +found their way back to his seat in the sun. + +That night, to take his mind off worrisome old cars, Solomon began +reading the previous Sunday's newspaper. There were pictures of moon +shots, rockets and astronauts, which started Solomon to thinking; "So, +my classics are good only for shooting at the moon. This thing called an +ion engine, which creates a force field to move satellites, seems like a +lot of equipment. Could do it easier with one of my old engines, I bet." + +As Solomon told the people in Washington several months later, he was +only resting his eyes, thinking about shop manuals and parts in the back +yard. When suddenly he figured there was an easier way to build a +satellite power plant. But, as it was past his bedtime, he'd put one +together tomorrow. + +It was late the next afternoon before Solomon had a chance to try his +satellite power plant idea. Customers were gone and he was free of +interruption. The engine of his elderly Moreland tow-truck was brought +to life by Solomon almost hidden behind the huge wooden steering wheel. +The truck lumbered carefully down rows of cars to an almost completely +stripped wreck holding only a broken engine. In a few minutes, Solomon +had the engine waving behind the truck while he reversed to a clear +space near the center of his yard. + +Once the broken engine was blocked upright on the ground, Solomon backed +his Moreland out of the way, carried a tray of tools to the engine and +squatted in the dirt to work. First, the intake manifold came off and +was bolted to the clutch housing so the carburetor mounting flange faced +skyward. Solomon stopped for a minute to worry. "If it works," he +thought, "when I get them nearer each other, it'll go up in my face." +Scanning the yard he thought of fenders, doors, wheels, hub caps and ... +that was it. A hub cap would do the trick. + +At his age, running was a senseless activity, but walking faster than +usual, Solomon took a direct route to his office. From the ceiling of +hub caps, he selected a small cap from an old Chevy truck. Back at the +engine, he punched a hole in the cap, through which he tied a length of +strong twine. The cap was laid on the carburetor flange and stuck in +place with painter's masking tape. He then bolted the exhaust manifold +over the intake so the muffler connection barely touched the hub cap. +Solomon stood up, kicked the manifolds with his heavy boots to make sure +they were solid and grunted with satisfaction of a job well done. + +He moved his tray of tools away and trailed the hub cap twine behind the +solid body of a big old Ford station wagon. He'd read of scientists in +block houses when they shot rockets and was taking no chances. +Excitement glistened Solomon's old eyes as what blood pressure there was +rose a point or two with happy thoughts. If his idea worked, he would be +free of the old cars, yet not destroy a single one. Squatting behind the +station wagon, to watch the engine, Solomon gingerly pulled the twine to +eliminate slack. As it tightened, he tensed, braced himself with a free +hand on the wagon's bumper, and taking a deep breath, jerked the cord. +Tired legs failed and Solomon slipped backward when the hub cap broke +free of the tape and sailed through the air to clang against the wagon's +fender. Lying on his back, struggling to rise, Solomon heard a slight +swish as though a whirlwind had come through the yard. The scent of +air-borne dust bit his nostrils as he struggled to his feet. + + * * * + +Deep in the woods behind Solomon's yard two boys were hunting crows. +Eyes high, they scanned branches and horizons for game. "Look, there +goes one," the younger cried as a large dark object majestically rose +into the sky and rapidly disappeared into high clouds. + +"Yup, maybe so," said the other. "But it's flying too high for us." + + * * * * * + +"I must be a silly old man," Solomon thought, scanning the cleared space +behind his tow truck where he remembered an engine. There was nothing +there, and as Solomon now figured it, never had been. Heart heavy with +belief in the temporary foolishness of age, Solomon went to the hub +cap, glittering the sun where it lit after bouncing off the fender. It +was untied from the string, and in the tool tray, before Solomon +realized he'd not been daydreaming. In the cleared area, were two old +manifold gaskets, several rusty nuts, and dirt blown smooth in a wide +circle around greasy blocks on which he'd propped the now missing +engine. + +That night was a whirlwind of excitement for Solomon. He had steak for +dinner, then sat back to consider future success. Once the classic cars +were gone, he could use the space for more profitable Fords and Chevys. +All he'd have to do would be bolt manifolds from spare engines on a +different car every night, and he'd be rid of it. All he used was vacuum +in the intake manifold, drawing pressure from the outlet side of the +exhaust. The resulting automatic power flow raised anything they were +attached to. Solomon couldn't help but think, "The newspapers said +scientists were losing rockets and space capsules, so a few old cars +could get lost in the clouds without hurting anything." + +Early the next morning, he towed the oldest hulk, an Essex, to the +cleared space. Manifolds from junk engines were bolted to the wheels but +this time carburetor flanges were covered by wooden shingles because +Solomon figured he couldn't afford to ruin four salable hub caps just to +get rid of his old sedans. Each shingle was taped in place so they could +be pulled off in unison with a strong pull on the twine. The tired Essex +was pretty big, so Solomon waited until bedtime before stumbling through +the dark to the launching pad in his yard. Light from kitchen matches +helped collect the shingle cords as he crouched behind the Ford wagon. +He held the cords in one calloused hand, a burning match in the other so +he could watch the Essex. Solomon tightened his fist, gave a quick tug +to jerk all shingles at the same time, and watched in excited +satisfaction as the old sedan rose in a soft swish of midsummer air +flowing through ancient curves of four rusty manifold assemblies. + +Day after day, only a mile from Fullerton, Solomon busied himself buying +wrecked cars and selling usable parts. Each weekday night--Solomon never +worked on Sunday--another old car from his back lot went silently +heavenward with the aid of Solomon's unique combination of engine vacuum +and exhaust pressure. His footsteps were light with accomplishment as he +thought, "In four more days, they'll all be gone." + + * * * + +While the Fullerton radar net smoked innumerable cigarettes and cursed +luck ruining the evening, Solomon scrambled two eggs, enjoyed his coffee +and relaxed with a newly found set of old 1954 Buick shop manuals. As +usual, when the clock neared ten, he closed his manuals and let himself +out the back door. + +City lights, reflected in low clouds, brightened the way Solomon knew +well. He was soon kneeling behind the Ford wagon without having stumbled +once. Only two kitchen matches were needed to collect the cords from a +big Packard, handsome in the warmth of a moonless summer night. With a +faint "God Bless You," Solomon pulled the shingles and watched its +massive hulk rise and disappear into orbit with his other orphans. + +If you'd been able to see it all, you'd have worried. The full circle of +radar and communications crews around Fullerton had acted as though the +whole town were going to pussyfoot away at sundown. _Nine_ was hidden in +a curious farmer's orange grove. _Seven_ was tucked between station +wagons in the back row of a used car lot. _Four_ was assigned the +loading dock of a meat-packing plant, but the night watchman wouldn't +allow them to stay. They moved across the street behind a fire station. +_Three_ was too big to hide, so it opened for business inside the +National Guard Armory. + +They all caught the Packard's takeoff. Degree lines from the four +stations around Fullerton were crossed on the map long before Solomon +reached his back door. By the time bedroom lights were out and covers +under his bristly chin, a task force of quiet men was speeding on its +way to surround four blocks of country land; including a chicken ranch, +Solomon's junk yard and a small frame house. Dogs stirred, yapping at +sudden activity they alone knew of, then nose to tail, returned to sleep +when threats of intrusion failed to materialize. + +The sun was barely up when the chicken farmer was stopped a block from +his house, Highway patrolmen slowly inspected his truck from front to +back, while three cars full of civilians, by the side of the road, +watched every move. Finding nothing unusual, a patrolman reported to the +first civilian car then returned to wave the farmer on his way. When the +widow teacher from the frame house, started for school, she too, was +stopped. After a cursory inspection the patrolman passed her on. Two of +the three accounted for. What of the third? + + * * * * * + +Quietly a cavalcade formed, converged in Solomon's front yard and parked +facing the road ready for quick departure. Some dozen civilians muddied +shoes and trousers circling the junk yard, taking stations so they could +watch all approaches. Once they were in position, a Highway patrolman +and two civilians went to Solomon's door. + +His last cup of coffee was almost gone as Solomon heard the noise of +their shoes, followed by knuckles thumping his front door. Wondering +who could be in such a hurry, so early in the morning, he pulled on +boots and buttoned a denim jacket as he went to answer. "Hello," said +Solomon to the patrolman, while opening the door. "Why you bother me so +early? You know I only buy cars from owners." + +"No, Mr. Solomon, we're not worried about your car buying. This man, +from Washington, wants to ask you a few questions." + +"Sure, come in," Solomon replied. + +The questions were odd: Do you have explosives here? Can you weld metal +tanks? What is your education? Were you ever an engineer? What were you +doing last night? To these, and bewildering others, Solomon told the +truth. He had no explosives, couldn't weld, didn't finish school and was +here, in bed, all night. + +Then they wanted to see his cars. Through the back door, so he'd not +have to open the office, Solomon led the three men into his yard. Once +inside, and without asking permission, they began searching like a +hungry hound trailing a fat rabbit. Solomon's eyes, blinking in the +glare of early morning sun, watched invasion of his privacy. "What they +want?" he wondered. He'd broken no laws in all the years he'd been in +the United States. "For what do they bother a wrecking yard?" he asked +himself. + +His depressing thoughts were rudely shattered by a hail from the larger +civilian, standing at the back of Solomon's yard. There, three old cars +stood in an isolated row. "Solomon, come here a moment," he shouted. +Solomon trudged back, followed by the short civilian and patrolman who +left their curious searching to follow Solomon's lead. When he neared, +the tall stranger asked, "I see where weeds grew under other cars which, +from the tracks, have been moved out in the past few weeks. How many did +you have?" + +"Twenty; but these are all I have left," Solomon eagerly replied, hoping +at last he'd a customer for the best of his old cars. "They make classic +cars, if you'd take the time to fix them up. That one, the Hupmobile, is +the last--" + +"Who bought the others?" the big man interrupted. + +"No one," quavered Solomon, terror gripping his throat with a nervous +hand. Had he done wrong to send cars into the sky? Everyone else was +sending things up. Newspapers said Russians and Americans were racing to +send things into the air. What had he done that was wrong? Surely there +was no law he'd broken. Wasn't the air free, like the seas? People +dumped things into the ocean. + +"Then where did they go?" snapped his questioner. + +"Up there," pointed Solomon. "I needed the space. They were too good to +cut up. No one would buy them. So I sent them up. The newspapers--" + +"You did what?" + +"I sent them into the sky," quavered Solomon. So this is what he did +wrong. Would they lock him up? What would happen to his cars? And his +business? + +"How did you ... no! Wait a minute. Don't say a word. Officer, go and +tell my men to prevent anyone from approaching or leaving this place." +The patrolman almost saluted, thought better of it, and left grumbling +about being left out of what must be something big. + +Solomon told the civilians of matching vacuum in intake manifolds to +pressure from exhaust manifolds. A logical way to make an engine that +would run on pressure, like satellite engines he'd read about in +newspapers. It worked on a cracked engine block, so he'd used scrap +manifolds to get rid of old cars no one would buy. It hadn't hurt +anything, had it? + + * * * + +Well, no, it hadn't. But as you can imagine, things happened rather +fast. They let Solomon get clean denims and his razor. Then without a +bye-your-leave, hustled him to the Ontario airport where an unmarked jet +flew him to Washington and a hurriedly arranged meeting with the +President. They left guards posted inside the fence of Solomon's yard, +so they'll cause no attention while protecting his property. A rugged +individual sits in the office and tells buyers and sellers alike, that +he is Solomon's nephew. "The old man had to take a trip in a hurry." +Because he knows nothing of the business, they'll have to wait until +Solomon returns. + +Where's Solomon now? Newspaper stories have him in Nevada showing the +Air Force how to build gigantic intake and exhaust manifolds, which the +Strategic Air Command is planning to attach to a stratospheric +decompression test chamber. They figure if they can throw it into the +sky, they can move anything up to what astronomers now call Solomon's +Orbit, where at last count, sixteen of the seventeen cars are still +merrily circling the earth. As you know, one recently hit the Russian +television satellite. + +The Russians? We're told they're still burning their fingers trying to +orbit a car. They can't figure how to control vacuum and pressure from +the manifolds. Solomon didn't tell many people about the shingles he +uses for control panels, and the Russians think control is somehow +related to kitchen matches a newspaper reporter found scattered behind a +station wagon in Solomon's junk yard. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Analog Science Fact Science Fiction_ + November 1962. 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 of Solomon's Orbit, by William Carroll + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON'S ORBIT *** + +***** This file should be named 23160.txt or 23160.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/6/23160/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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