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diff --git a/23160.txt b/23160.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e8954a --- /dev/null +++ b/23160.txt @@ -0,0 +1,826 @@ +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: 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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