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diff --git a/23408-h/23408-h.htm b/23408-h/23408-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32cce8d --- /dev/null +++ b/23408-h/23408-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1223 @@ +<!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 Far From Home, by J. A. Taylor. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + a {text-decoration:none; color:blue;} + a:visited {color:gray;} + body {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + h1,h3 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + h3 {margin:0 auto 0 auto;} + hr {width:65%; margin:2em auto 2em auto; clear:both; text-align:center;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.minor {width: 45%; margin:1em auto 1em auto; clear:both;} + p {margin-top:.75em; text-align:justify; margin-bottom:.75em; text-indent:1.5em;} + .bbox {border:solid 1px; padding:1em; margin:2em 10% 2em 10%;} + .blurb {padding:1em 1em 1em 1em; margin:auto 20% auto 20%; border:6px ridge gray; font-family:sans-serif;} + .figcenter {margin:auto; text-align:center;} + .figright {float:right; clear:right; margin:1em 0 1em 1em; padding:0; text-align:center;} + .i {font-style:italic;} + .pagenum {position:absolute; left:95%; font-style:normal; font-size:smaller; text-align:right; text-indent:0;} + .sf50 {font-size:50%;} + .sf75 {font-size:75%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Far from Home, by J.A. Taylor + +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: Far from Home + +Author: J.A. Taylor + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23408] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR FROM HOME *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;"> +<img src="images/i-cover.png" width="368" height="500" alt="Cover Page" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1>FAR FROM HOME<br /> + +<span class='sf75'>BY J. A. TAYLOR</span><br /> + +<span class='sf50'>Illustrated by Emsh</span></h1> + +<p class='blurb i'>“Far” is strictly a relative term. Half a world away +from home is, sometimes, no distance at all!</p> + +<hr /><p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></p> + +<p>Someone must have talked over the fence because the newshounds were +clamoring on the trail within an hour after it happened.</p> + +<p>The harassed Controller had lived in an aura of +“Restricteds,” “Classifieds” and “Top +Secrets” for so long it had become a mental conditioning and +automatically hedged over information that had been public property for +years via the popular technical mags; but in time they pried from him an +admittance that the Station Service Lift rocket A. J. “Able +Jake” Four had indeed failed to rendezvous with Space Station One, +due at 9:16 Greenwich that morning.</p> + +<p>The initial take-off and ascent had gone to flight plan and the pilot, +in the routine check-back after entering free flight had reported no +motor or control faults. At this point, unfortunately, a fault in the +tracking radar transmitter had resulted in it losing contact with the +target. The Controller did not, however, mention the defection of the +hungover operator in fouling up the signal to the standby unit, or the +consequent general confusion in the tracking network with no contact at +all thereafter, and fervently hoped that gentlemen of the press were not +too familiar with the organization of the tracking system.</p> + +<p>At least one of the more shrewd looking reporters appeared as though he +were mentally baiting a large trap so the Controller, throwing caution +to the winds, plunged headlong into a violent refutal of various +erroneous reports already common in the streets.</p> + +<p>Able Jake did not carry explosives or highly corrosive chemicals, only +some Waste Disposal cylinders, dry foodstuffs and sundry Station +Household supplies.</p> + +<p>Furthermore there was no truth in the oft-revived rumors of weaknesses +in the so-called “spine-and-rib” construction of the Baur +and Hammond Type Three vessel under acceleration strain. The type had +been discontinued solely because the rather complicated structure raised +certain stowage difficulties in service with overlong turnabout times +resulting.</p> + +<p>There may have been a collision with a meteor he conceded, but, it was +thought, highly unlikely. And now, the urgent business of the search +called, the Controller escaped, perspiring gently.</p> + +<p>Able Jake was sighted a few minutes later but it was another three hours +before a service ship could be readied and got away without load to +allow it as much operating margin as possible. Getting a man aboard was +yet another matter. At this stage of space travel no maneuver of this +nature had ever been accomplished outside of theory. Fuel-thrust-mass +ratios were still a thing of pretty close reckoning, and the service +lift ships were simply not built for it.</p> + +<p>The ship was in an elliptical orbit and a full degree off its normal +course. A large part of the control room was demolished and there was a +lengthy split in the hull. There was no sign of the pilot and some +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +of the cargo was missing also. The investigating crew assumed the +obvious and gave it as their opinion that the pilot had been literally +disintegrated by the intense heat of the collision.</p> + +<p>The larger part of the world’s population made it a point to +listen in on the first space burial service in history over the absent +remains of Johnny Melland.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Such a small thing to cause such a fury. A mere twenty Earth pounds of +an indifferent grade of rock and a little iron, an irregular, ungraceful +lump, spawned somewhere a billion years before as a star died. But it +still had most of the awesome velocity and inertia of its birth.</p> + +<p>Able Jake, with the controlling influence of the jets cut, had yawed +slightly and was now traveling crabwise. The meteor on its own course, a +trifle oblique to that of the ship, struck almost directly the slender +spring steel spine, the frightful energy of the impact transmuted on the +instant into a heat that vaporized several feet of the nose and spine +before the dying shock caused an anguished flexing of the ship’s +backbone; thrust violently outward along the radial members and so +against the ribs and hull sheathing on that side. Able Jake’s hull +split open like a pea pod for fully half its length and several items of +its cargo burst from their lashings, erupted from the wound.</p> + +<p>Johnny was not inboard at the time, but floating, spacesuited alongside, +freeing a fouled lead to the radar bowl, swearing occasionally but +without any real passion at the stupidity of the unknown maintenance man +who failed to secure it properly. For some odd reason he had never quite +lost the thrill of his first trip “outside,” and, donning +pressure suit with the speed of long practice, sneaked as many +“inspections” as possible, with or without due cause.</p> + +<p>The second’s fury that reduced the third stage of a $5,000,000 +rocket to junk was evident to him only as a brilliant blue-white flash, +a hammer-like shock through the antennae support that left his wrist and +forearm numb. Then a violent wrench as a long cylinder, expelled from +the split hull, caught the loop of his life line and dragged him in till +he clashed hard against it, the suddenly increased tension or a sharp +edge parting the line close to the anchored end. He clawed blindly for a +hold, found something he could not at that moment identify and hung on.</p> + +<p>For a short time his vision seemed dulled and that part of his mind, +trained to the quick analysis of sudden situations groped but feebly +through a haze of shock to understand what had happened. Orienting +himself he found he was gripping a brace of the open-mounted motor on +one of the Waste Disposal Cylinders. About him he could see other odd +items of the cargo, some clustering fairly closely, others just +perceptibly drifting farther away. To one side, or +“downwards” the Earth rolling vastly, pole over pole, and +with her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +own natural rotation giving an odd illusion of slipping sideways from +under him.</p> + +<p>Only a sudden sun glint on the stubby swept-back wings showed him where +Able Jake was. Far away—too far, spinning slowly end over end. His +sideways expulsion from the ship then had been enough to give him and +his companion debris a divergent course.</p> + +<p>Spacemen accept without question the fact of a ship or a station always +at hand with a safety man on watch at all times over those outside and a +“bug” within signaling distance constantly. They do not +conceive of any other state of affairs.</p> + +<p>Now Johnny had to face the fact that he was in such a position—entirely +and utterly alone, except for the useless flotsam that came with him. He +might have flung himself into a mad chase after the ship on his suit +jets except that the thought of leaving his little island, cold comfort +though it was, to plunge into those totally empty depths was suddenly +horrible.</p> + +<p>The tide of panic rose within him. He knew the sickening bodily revolt +of blind unreasoning terror—the terror of the lost, the terror of +certain untimely death, but mostly of death so dreadfully alone.</p> + +<p>He might have gone insane. In the face of the insoluble problem his mind +might have retreated into a shadow world of its own, perhaps to prattle +happily the last few hours away. But there was something else there. The +pre-flight school psychiatrist had recognized it, Johnny himself +probably wouldn’t have and it wasn’t their policy to tell +him. It saved him. The labored heart pounding and the long shuddering +gasps slowed in time and with the easing of his physical distress he +found enough heart to muster a wry little smile at the thought that of +the castaways of history he at least stood fair to be named the most +unique.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>And after a while, shaking himself mentally, a little ashamed of his +temporary fall from grace, he followed the example of the more +intelligent of his predecessors and settled down to itemize his assets, +analyze his position and conjecture the chances of survival.</p> + +<p>Item: He was encased in a Denby Bros. spacesuit, Mark III, open space +usage, meant for no gravity use. Therefore it had no legs as such, the +lower half being a rigid cylinder allowing considerable movement within +and having a swivel mounted rocket motor at its base controlled by toe +pedals inside.</p> + +<p>The upper half, semiflexible with jointed arms ending in gloves from +which by contorting the shoulders the hands could be withdrawn into the +sleeves when not in use.</p> + +<p>A metal and tinted plastic helmet with earphones, mike and chin switch. +An oxy air-conditioning and reprocessing unit with its spare pure oxygen +tank; on this he could possibly depend for twelve hours given no undue +exertion and with the most rigid economy all the time.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +The power pack for suit operation and radio had a safety margin of one +hour over the maximum air supply, if the radio wasn’t used. At +this time Johnny couldn’t see much use for it.</p> + +<p>Item: One Waste Disposal Cylinder, expendable, complete with motor and +full fuel tanks, packed, according to his loading manifest with sundry +supplies to avoid dead stowage space. Seldom used, since most station +waste was ferried down in the otherwise empty service ships, they +occasionally handled certain laboratory refuse it was considered best to +destroy in space. The cylinders were decelerated and allowed to fall +into atmosphere where the friction of the unchecked plunge burned up +what the magnesium charge inside had not already. The rest of the +shipwrecked material had by now drifted beyond easy reach and Johnny did +not feel like wasting fuel rounding it up.</p> + +<p>Position? A matter of memory and some guesswork by now. Some ten minutes +out of powered flight at the time of collision, coasting up to station +orbit where a quick boost from the jets would have made up his lost +velocity to orbit standard. But there would be no boost now. So +he’d just fall off around the other side, falling around and into +Mother Earth, to skim atmosphere and climb on past and up to touch orbit +altitude—and down again. A nice elliptical orbit, apogee a thousand odd +miles, perigee, sixty-seventy—perhaps. How much speed had he left? How +long would it be before he brushed the fringe of atmosphere once too +often and too deep? Just another meteor.</p> + +<p>And survival. A comparatively simple problem since the mechanics of it +were restricted by a simple formula in which his role would seem to be a +passive one. To survive he must be rescued by his own kind in twelve +hours or less. To be rescued he must be seen or heard. Since his radio +was a simple short-range intercom it followed that he must be seen first +and heard later. Being seen meant making a sufficiently distinguishable +<i>blip</i> on somebody’s radar screen to arouse comment over a <i>blip</i> +where, according to schedule no orbiting <i>blip</i> should be.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Johnny was painfully aware that the human body is very small in space. +The cylinder would be a help but he doubted it would be enough. Then he +thought of the material inside the cylinder. He pried back the lugs +holding the cover in place with the screwdriver from his belt kit. He +started pulling out packages, bags, boxes, thrusting them behind him, +above him, downwards; cereals, ready mixed pastries, bundles of +disposable paper overalls—toilet paper! He worked furiously, now stuck +halfway down the cylinder, kicking the bundles behind him. He emerged +finally in a flurry of articles clutching a large plastic bag that had +filled the entire lower end of the tank.</p> + +<p>About him drifted a sizable cloud of station supplies, stirring +sluggishly after his emergence. He pushed them a bit more, distributing +them as much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +as possible without losing them altogether.</p> + +<p>Johnny tore open the big bag and was instantly enveloped in clinging +folds of ribbon released from the pressure of its packing. He knew what +it was now, the big string of ribbon chutes for the Venus Expedition, +intended for dropping a remote controlled mobile observer to the as yet +unseen and unknown surface. Johnny had ferried parts of the crab-like +mechanical monster on the last run, and illogically found himself +worrying momentarily over the set-back to the Probe his mischance would +cause.</p> + +<p>But in the next minute he was making fast the lower end of the string to +the WD cylinder, then, finding the top chute he toed his pedals and +jetted himself out, trailing the string out to its full extent.</p> + +<p>Now the period of action was over and he had done all he could, Johnny +found himself dreading the time of waiting to follow. He would have time +for thinking, and thinking wasn’t profitable under the +circumstances unless it were something definitely constructive and +applicable to his present and future well-being. Waiting was always bad.</p> + +<p>Surely they would find him soon. Surely they would press the search +farther even when they found Able Jake as they couldn’t fail to in +time.</p> + +<p>A tightness started in his throat. Johnny quickly drowned the thought in +a flood of inconsequential nonsense, a trick he had learned as a green +pilot. He might sleep though, if sleep were a possible thing in this +cold emptiness. No one, to his recollection, had ever done so outside a +ship or station—the space psychology types would be interested +doubtless.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Johnny tied his life line to the WD cylinder and then jetted clear of +his artificial cloud, positioning himself so that it formed a partial +screen between himself and the sun. He turned his oxygen down to the +bare minimum and the thermostat as low as he dared. He commenced a +relaxation exercise and was pleased when it worked after a fashion—a +mental note for Beaufort at the station. A drowsiness crept over him, +dulling a little the thin edge of fear that probed his consciousness.</p> + +<p>Face down towards the earth he hung. The slow noise of his breathing +only intensified the complete silence outside. The well padded suit +encompassed him so gently there was no sense of pressure on his body to +make up for the weightlessness. Johnny felt as though he were bodiless, +a naked brain with eyes only hanging in nothingness.</p> + +<p>Beneath, Earth rolled over with slow majesty, once every two hours. His +altered course was evident now, passing almost directly over the +geographic poles proper instead of paralleling the twilight zone where +night and day met. Sometimes he caught the faint glow of a big city on +the night side but the sight only stirred the worm of anxiety and he +closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>Johnny was beginning to feel very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +comfortable. He supposed sleepily that this was the way you were +assumed to feel while freezing to death in a snowbank, or so he’d +heard. Air and heat too low perhaps. He should really turn it up a +notch.</p> + +<p>On the other hand it was perhaps a solution to the problem of dying—a +gentle sleep while the stomach was still full enough from the last meal +to be reasonably comfortable and the throat yet unparched. Would it be +the act of an unbalanced mind or one of the most supreme sanity?</p> + +<p>He dozed and dreamed a bit in fragments and snatches but it was not a +good sleep—there was no peace in it. At one time he seemed to be +standing outside the old fretworked boarding house he lived in—looking +in at the window of the “sitting room” where the ancient, +wispy landlady sat among her antimacassared chairs and the ridiculous +tiny seashell ashtrays that overflowed after two butts. He wanted +desperately to get in and sprawl in the huge bat-winged chair by the +fire and stroke the enormous old gray cat that would leap up and trample +and paw his stomach before settling down to grumble to itself +asthmatically for hours.</p> + +<p>It was cold and dark out here and he wanted to get in to the +friendliness and the warmth and the peaceful, familiar security, but he +didn’t dare go around to the door because he knew if he did the +vision would vanish and he’d never find it again.</p> + +<p>He scratched and beat at the window but his fingers made no sound, he +tried to shout but his cries were only strangled whispers and the old +lady sat and rocked and talked to the big gray cat and never turned her +head.</p> + +<p>The fire seemed to be flaring up suddenly, it was filling the whole +room—a monstrous furnace; it shouldn’t do that he knew, but the +old lady didn’t seem to mind sitting there rocking amid the +flames—and it was so nice and warm. The fire kept growing and swelling +though—soon it burst through the window and engulfed him. Too hot. Too +hot.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Johnny swam hazily back to consciousness with an aching head and thick +mouth. He saw that he had drifted clear of his protective screen somehow +and the sun beat full on him. With clumsy, fumbling hands that seemed to +belong to somebody else he managed the air valve; the increased oxygen +reviving him enough to find the pedals and jet erratically about till he +gained the shadow once more.</p> + +<p>Now he was entering upon the worst phase of the living nightmare. Awake, +the doubts and fears of his position tormented him; wearied, he feared +to sleep, yet continually he found himself nodding only to jerk awake +with that suddenness that is like a physical blow. Each one of these +awakenings took away a little more of his self-control till he was +reduced to near hysteria, muttering abstractly, sometimes whimpering +like a lost child; now seized with a feverish concern for his air +supply. He would at one instant cut it down <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +to a dangerous minimum, then, remembering the near disaster of his +first attempt at economy, frantically turn it up till he was in danger +of an oxygen jag. In a moment he would forget and start all over again.</p> + +<p>In addition, he was now realizing bitterly what he had subconsciously +denied to himself for so long, that they had found Able Jake and drawn +the obvious conclusion. That he had been obliterated or blown out +through the hull by the collision without warning or preparation. That +he was undoubtedly dead if not vaporized altogether and, as they must, +considering the expense of a probably fruitless search, abandon him.</p> + +<p>There came the moment when Johnny accepted this in full. This was +directly after the time when, sliding down the long hill to the perigee +of his orbit, he turned on his radio and cried for help. It was a bare +hundred miles or less to that wonderful world below, but there was the +Heaviside layer, and the weak signals beat but feebly against it. All +that seeped through by some instant’s freak of transmission was a +fragment of incoherent babble to reach the uncomprehending ear of an +Arkansas ham and give that gentleman uneasy sleep for some time to come.</p> + +<p>He kept calling mechanically even after perigee was long past, praying +for an answer from the powerful transmitters below or from a searching +ship. But when there was no slightest whisper in his phones or answering +flare among the stars, Johnny came to the end of faith. Even of +awareness, for his own ears did not register the transition of his calls +to an insane howling of intermixed pleas, threats, condemnation—a sewer +flood of foul vilification against those who had betrayed him.</p> + +<p>Bright and beautiful, Earth rolled blandly beneath him, the sun was a +remote impersonal thing and the stars mocked silently. After a while the +radio carried only the agonized sounds of a man who had forgotten how to +cry and must learn again. There were times after this when he observed +incuriously a parade of mind pictures, part memory, part pure +hallucination and containing nothing of reason; other times when he +thought not at all. The sun appeared to dwindle, retreating and fading +far away into a remote place where there were no stars at all. It became +a feeble candle, guttered unsteadily a moment and suddenly winked out. +Abruptly Johnny was asleep.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene with an oddly calm and +dispassionate curiosity, not that he expected to find his status changed +in any way but because he had awakened with a queer sense of unreality +about the whole business. He knew vaguely that he’d had a bad time +in the last few hours but could remember little of the details save that +it was like one of those fragmentary nightmares in the instant between +sleeping and waking when it is difficult to divide the fact from the +dream. Now he must reassure himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +that this facet of it was real and when he had done so, realized with a +faint shock that he was no longer afraid.</p> + +<p>Fear, it seemed, had by its incessant pressure dulled its own edge. The +acceptance of inevitable death was still there, but now it seemed to +have little more significance than the closing of a book at the last +page.</p> + +<p>It is possible that Johnny was not wholly sane at this point, but there +is no one to witness this and Johnny, not given to introspection at any +time, felt no spur to self-analysis, beyond a brief mental registration +of the fact.</p> + +<p>So he made his visual survey, saw that it was real, nothing had changed; +noted with mild surprise that he’d somehow remained in the shadow +of his screen this time. He had lost track of time entirely but the +suit’s air supply telltale was in the yellow indicating about two +hours more or less to go on breathing. In quick succession he reviewed +the events, accepted the probability of the abandoned search without a +qualm and made his decision. There was no need to wait about any longer.</p> + +<p>A quick flip of the helmet lock, a moment’s unpleasantness +perhaps, and out. As for the rest—a spaceman needs no sanctified +ground, the incorruptible vault of space is as good a place as any and +perhaps the more fitting for one of the first to travel its ways.</p> + +<p>Well then—quickly. Johnny raised his hands.</p> + +<p>But still—</p> + +<p>Man has his pride and his vanity. Johnny, though not necessarily prone +to inflated valuation of himself still has just enough vanity left to +resent the thought of this anonymous snuffing out in the dark. There +should be, he thought, at least some outward evidence of his passing, +something like—a flare of light perhaps, that would in effect say, if +only to one solitary star gazer: “Here at this position, at this +instant, Johnny Melland, Spaceman, had his time.”</p> + +<p>The whimsy persisted. Johnny, casting about mentally for some means to +the end recalled the thermite bomb for the WD cylinder and was hauling +himself in to it when he remembered the charges for this lot had gone up +with Sally Uncle One two days before. But now he’d actually +touched the metal cylinder and, as though the brief contact had +completed some obscure mental circuit, the mad idea was conceived, +flared up into an irrepressible brilliance and exploded in a harsh bark +of laughter.</p> + +<p>One last push to his luck then, hardly worse than a gambler’s last +chip except that the consequences of failure were somewhat more certain. +Either way he’d have what he wanted—survival or, in the brief +incandescence of friction’s heat, a declaration of his passing.</p> + +<p>A waste disposal cylinder will carry the equivalent of about three tons +of refuse. Its motor is designed to decelerate that mass by 1,075 mph in +order to allow it to assume a descending orbit.</p> + +<p>Less the greater part of the customary <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +mass, it should be considerably more effective, and since he was +already in what constituted a descent path, but for a few miles and a +little extra velocity, there would not be the long fall afterwards to +pick up what he’d lost.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>From there on his plan entered the realm of pure hypothesis; except for +the broad detail the rest depended on luck and whatever freakish +conditions might arise in his favor during the operation. These, too, +would be beyond his control and any move to take advantage of them would +have to be instinctive, providing he was in any shape to do so.</p> + +<p>The tendency to gnaw worriedly at a thousand disturbing possibilities +drowned quickly in a rapidly rising sense of reckless abandon that +possessed him. The prospect of positive action of any sort served to +release any tension left in him and almost gayly he moved to set his +plan in action.</p> + +<p>He jimmied the timer on the rocket motor so it would fire to the last +drop. The string of ribbon chutes he reeled in hand over hand stuffing +it into the cylinder, discovering in the process why the chute Section +hands at Base wore that harried look. The mass of slithering, +incompressible white-and-yellow ribbon and its shrouds resisted him like +a live thing; in the end Johnny managed to bat and maul the obstreperous +stuff down the length of the tank. Even so, it filled it to within a +couple of inches of the opening.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +Now he cut off a length of his life line and attached one end to the +spring-loaded trigger release on the motor control, leaving enough to +trail the length of the cylinder and double back inside when he wanted +it. He blessed the economically minded powers that insisted on manual +firing control on these one-shot units instead of the complex radio +triggers beloved of the technical brains.</p> + +<p>Making fast to the chutes was a major problem but eventually he managed +a makeshift harness of the remainder of the safety line. He wound it +awkwardly around himself with as many turns as possible, each returned +again and again through, the ring at the end of the master shroud.</p> + +<p>By now he was casting anxious glances at the Earth below, aware that he +must have passed apogee several minutes before and that not more than +some twenty minutes were left before the low point of this swing would +be near. He was grimly aware also that it must be this time or not at +all. The air telltale was well through the yellow band and the next +possible chance after this one was an hour’s time away, when +conditions inside the suit would be getting pretty sticky.</p> + +<p>Jockeying the unwieldy cylinder into line of flight and making it stay +there took a lot longer than Johnny counted on. With no other manual +purchase than that afforded by his own lesser mass, the job proved +almost impossible and he had to use his suit motor. This caused some +concern over his meager fuel supply since his plan called for some +flat-out jetting later on. In the frantic flurry of bending, twisting, +over and under—controlling, the veneer of aplomb began to wear. Johnny +was sweating freely by the time he had the cylinder stabilized as best +he could judge and had gingerly worked himself into the open end as far +as he could against the cushioning mass of ribbon chute. He took the +trigger lanyard loosely in hand and craning his neck to see past the +bulk of the cylinder he watched and waited.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>To the experienced lift pilot there are certain subtle changes in color +values over the Earth’s surface as one approaches more closely the +outer fringe of atmosphere. While braking approaches are +auto-controlled, the pilot taking over only after his ship is in +atmosphere, the conscientious man makes himself familiar with the +“feel” of a visually timed approach—just in case—and +Johnny was a good pilot.</p> + +<p>Watching Equatorial Africa sliding obliquely towards him Johnny suddenly +gave thought to a possible landing spot for the first time. Not that he +had any choice but a picture of a cold, wet immersion in any of several +possible bodies of water was not encouraging. The suit would probably +float but which end first was a matter for conjecture and out of it he +would be as badly off for Johnny could not swim a stroke.</p> + +<p>Nor had he any clear idea how long it would take to slow down to a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +vertical drop. Able Jake made a full half swing of the globe to brake +down but Able Jake was an ultra-streamlined object with many times the +mass and weight of Johnny and his rig; furthermore the ships were +controllable to a certain degree while Johnny was not. Beyond the +certain knowledge that the effect of the chutes would be quite violent +and probably short-lived, the rest was unpredictable.</p> + +<p>He tried to shake off gloomy speculation, uneasily aware that much of +the carefree confidence of the last hour had deserted him. In a more +normal state of mind again he became prey to tension once more, a +pounding heart and dry mouth recalling mercilessly the essential +frailties of his kind. So, with aching neck and burning eyes he strained +for a clear view past the length of the cylinder and—</p> + +<p>There! The preliminary to the visual changes, a sudden sweep of +distortion over the landscape as his angle of sight through the +refracting particles became more shallow. Now was the time he had judged +the throat vane gyros should begin their run-up.</p> + +<p>He worked the lanyard back carefully, fearful an awkward movement might +upset the cylinder’s line-up, pulling the trigger lever over to +half-cock where the micro switch should complete circuit with the dry +power pack. There should be approximately one minute before the major +color changes began, which was also the minimum time for gyro run up. +Johnny resumed the watching and the waiting.</p> + +<p>How long is a minute?</p> + +<p>Is it the time it takes the fear-frozen trainee, staring glass-eyed at +the fumbled grenade to realize that this one at his feet is a dud?</p> + +<p>Or is it the time before the rock-climber, clinging nail and toe to the +rock face with the rope snapped suddenly taut, feels it at last slacken +and sees the hands gripping safely come into sight?</p> + +<p>Perhaps the greenhorn, rifle a-waver, watching the glimpse of tawny +color in the veldt-grass and waiting the thunder and the charge, could +say.</p> + +<p>They’d all be wrong. It’s much longer.</p> + +<p>Long enough for Johnny to think of a dozen precautions he could have +taken, a dozen better ways to rig this or that. Long enough to worry +about whether the gyros were really running up as they should. A +thousand queries and doubts piled mountainously upward to an almost +unbearable peak of tension till suddenly the browns and greens below +flashed a shade lighter and it was time, and the savage snap on the +lanyard a blessed relief and total committal.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 162px;"> +<img src="images/i-73.png" width="162" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>In the few seconds after the firing of the prime and before the busy +little timer snapped the valves wide open Johnny managed to slip his +toes under the jet pedals to avoid accidental firing. At the same time +he braced himself as rigidly as possible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +with aching arms against the walls of the cylinder.</p> + +<p>He saw briefly the flare of the jet reflected off the remnants of his +cloud of station stores before deceleration with all its unpleasantness +began.</p> + +<p>The lip of the cylinder’s mouth swept up past his helmet as he was +rammed deep into the absorbent mass of ribbon chute. This wasn’t a +padded contour chair under a mild 3G lift. The chutes took the first +shock, but Johnny took the rest the hard way, standing bolt upright.</p> + +<p>He found with some surprise his head was right down through the neck +ring and inside the suit proper, his arms half withdrawn from the +sleeves, knees buckled to an almost unbelievable angle considering the +dimensions of the lower case.</p> + +<p>He had time to hope fervently the cheap expendable motor wouldn’t +burn out its throat and send him cart-wheeling through space, or blow +the surrounding tanks before the blackout came down.</p> + +<p>He came out of it sluggishly, to find the relief from the dreadful +pressure almost as stupefying as the deceleration itself. While his +conscious mind screamed the urgency of immediate action, his bruised and +twisted body answered but feebly. The condition of complete +weightlessness and the springy reaction of the ribbon mass was all that +allowed him finally to claw himself out of the cylinder to where he +could use the suit jet without fear of burning the precious chutes.</p> + +<p>He was so tired. His muscles of their own accord seemed to relax +intermittently, interfering with the control of his movements. Only the +sudden sight of the Earth, transformed by a weird illusion of position +from a bright goal to an enormous, distorted thing, looming, apparently, +over him with glowing menace, spurred his flagging resolution to frantic +activity.</p> + +<p>He jetted straight back trailing his string of chutes behind him, then, +before the last was free of the cylinder, kicked himself around to +assume the original course once more.</p> + +<p>At this stage it was no longer possible, even granted the time, to judge +visually how near he was to the atmosphere. The uneasy feeling that he +must already be brushing the Troposphere jarred his nerve so that he +merely gave himself a short flat-out boost in the right direction before +spinning bodily one hundred eighty degrees so that he was traveling feet +first.</p> + +<p>Reflected in the curved helmet face, the string of chutes obediently +followed-my-leader around a ragged U-shape, the last—the small +pilot-chute trailed limply around as he watched.</p> + +<p>There could surely be but a few seconds left before the grand finale. +Johnny found he was unconsciously holding his breath, and, as he +deliberately inhaled long slow draughts of his already staling air, +realized abstractly that he seemed to be attempting to meet his possible +end with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +some degree of dignity if not with resignation, and wondered if he were +the exception or the rule.</p> + +<p>Possibly, he thought sardonically, because there is so little room for +dignity in our living years, and was mildly surprised at an +uncharacteristic excursion into the realm of philosophy.</p> + +<p>There was a faintly perceptible tug on the harness. It was sustained and +now there came a definite strain. Reflected for a moment in the helmet +face was a glimpse of the lead chute slowly opening out like a gigantic +flower.</p> + +<p>Then swiftly, in half a breath the harness coils were tightening about +him like steel fingers, the heavy ring at the end of the master shroud +clashed against the back of his helmet and began a sickening, thrumming +vibration there.</p> + +<p>The harness encompassed his torso like a vise but his legs were +unsupported and weighed what seemed a thousand tons. He could feel them +stretching. Somewhere a coil slipped a fraction. His arms were jerked +suddenly upwards and Johnny knew a sensation he’d never believed +possible. At the same time his leaden feet crashed down on the jet +pedals. For a few, brief, blessed moments the intolerable extension +eased a fraction with the firing of the suit jets.</p> + +<p>He cringed mentally from the thought of what was to come and thought +hazily: “This is what the rack was like. This is going to be bad, +bad, bad!”</p> + +<p>It was impossible and Johnny went out with the last drop of fuel.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Somewhere there was a queer coughing sound like wind through a crevice. +He strained to identify it but an awful agony swamped him and he fled +before it back into the darkness.</p> + +<p>And later still a thumping and a rushing, gurgling sound.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p>Dim, grotesque figures moved about him or swooped and hovered over him. +He felt an unreasoning fear of them and tried to shut them out. They +were holding him down, hurting him. One was pulling and twisting at his +arm. He shouted and swore at it telling it to leave him alone, but it +ignored him or didn’t seem to hear. There was a sudden dull +snapping sound and a little of the pain abated.</p> + +<p>The figures flowed together and swirled around like some great oily +vortex but never quite left him.</p> + +<p>Then there was a time when they separated jerkily and became the hazy +but definable figures of men in rough seaman’s clothes. Johnny had +never heard Breton French before; in his dazed condition the apparently +insane gabble might well have been the tongue of another world and gave +him little assurance. He hurt so badly and so generally that he could +not have determined that he was lying down save for a view of white +clouds scudding overhead.</p> + +<p>Some of the men were holding up what looked like a crumpled parody +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +of a man. He recognized it without surprise as the soaking remains of +his spacesuit, battered and with tattered shreds of outer cover and +insulation hanging in festoons.</p> + +<p>A sharp, bearded face shot into focus abruptly, waving a hypodermic +needle. It spoke English and observed passionately either to Johnny or +itself that: “Name of a Spanish cow! What is it in men that they +must abuse themselves so? Now here is one who was both squeezed and +stretched alternately as well as hammered, dehydrated and almost +asphyxiated, is it not? This will bear watching. It is alive but there +will have to be X-rays in profusion.”</p> + +<p>It danced long sensitive fingers over the welts and bruises and +commented bluntly that it was well the fishermen had returned his arms +and legs into their sockets before he fully regained consciousness. It +muttered and clucked to itself as it used the hypo which Johnny could +not feel. “Formidable!”</p> + +<p>The pleasant drowsiness came down just as he was identifying the queer +smell as ozone, brine and good fresh air.</p> + +<p>After a while they moved him to a small hospital in an upcoast town, +where he slept much, suffered not a little and, even waking, viewed the +world incuriously through drug-laden eyes. Finally they allowed him to +waken fully and the sharp-faced doctor, together with half a dozen +others from various parts of the world decided that, after all, he +seemed to be surviving.</p> + +<p>Johnny lay and itched intolerably in the cast that covered him from nape +to thigh and listened to the bustling of the elderly nursing sister who, +good soul, having never been more than ten miles from her town in her +life, reminded him that it wanted but two days to Christmas and opined +that: “Such a tragedy for M’sieu. To be so far from +home!”</p> + +<p>Johnny smiled at the ceiling, not daring to laugh yet, and sniffed at +the salt sea air with its undertone of rank seaweed and gloried in it; +even a chance whiff of that particular cigarette tobacco that only a +Frenchman can appreciate. He thought that here, as across the water, +night and day followed each other in their proper order and the ground +was a solid thing beneath the feet.</p> + +<p>Why—he could never be closer.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/i-tailpiece.png" width="200" height="98" alt="FIN" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='bbox'> +<h3>Transcriber’s Notes and Errata</h3> + +<p>This e-text was produced from "Astounding Science Fiction, December +1955". Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>One illustration has been moved to its appropriate place in the text.</p> + +<p>The original page numbers from the magazine have been retained.</p> + +<p>A few typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Punctuation has been left as is.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Far from Home, by J.A. Taylor + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR FROM HOME *** + +***** This file should be named 23408-h.htm or 23408-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/0/23408/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi 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. 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. 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