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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: What Need of Man? + +Author: Harold Calin + +Illustrator: Summers + +Release Date: January 6, 2010 [EBook #30867] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT NEED OF MAN? *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Amazing Stories, February, 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. </p></div> +<p> </p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="557" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>WHAT NEED of MAN?</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By HAROLD CALIN</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by SUMMERS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bannister was a rocket scientist. He started with the +premise of testing man's reaction to space probes under +actual conditions; but now he was just testing space +probes—and man was a necessary evil to contend with. </p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="55" height="50" /></div> +<p>hen you are out in a clear night in summer, the sky looks very warm +and friendly. The moon is a big pleasant place where it may not be so +humid as where you are, and it is lighter than anything you've ever +seen. That's the way it is in summer. You never think about space +being "out there". It's all one big wonderful thing, and you can never +really fall off, or have anything bad happen to you. There is just +that much more to see. You lie on the grass and look at the sky long +enough and you fall into sort of a detached mood. It's suddenly as if +you're looking down at the sky and you're lying on a ceiling by some +reverse process of gravitation, and everything is absolutely pleasant.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="300" height="542" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>In winter it's quite another thing, of course. That's because the sky +never looks warm. In winter, if you are in a cold climate, the sky +doesn't appear at all friendly. It's beautiful, mind you, but never +friendly. That is when you see it as it really is. Summer has a way of +making it look friendly. The way you see it on a winter night is only +the merest idea of what it is really like. That's why I can't feel too +bad about the monkey. You see, it might have been a man, maybe me. +I've been out there, too.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>There are two types of classified government information. One is the +type that is really classified because it is concerned with efforts +and events that are of true importance and go beyond public +evaluation. Occasional unauthorized reports on this type of +information, within the scope that I knew it at least, are written off +as unidentified flying objects or such. The second type of classified +information is the kind that somehow always gets into the newspapers +all over the world ... like the X-15, and Project Dyna-Soar ... and +Project Argus.</p> + +<p>Project Argus had as its basis a theory that was proven completely +unsound six years ago. It was proven unsound by Dennis Lynds. He got +killed doing it. It had to do with return vehicles from capsules +traveling at escape velocity, being oriented and controlled completely +by telemetering devices. It didn't work. This time, the monkey was +used for newspaper consumption. I'm sure Bannister would have +preferred it if the monkey had been killed on contact. It would have +been simpler that way. No mass hysteria about torturing a poor, +ignorant beast. A simple scientific sacrifice, already dead upon +announcement, would have been a <i>fait accompli</i>, so to speak, and +nothing could overshadow the success of Project Argus.</p> + +<p>But Project Argus was a failure. Maybe someday you'll understand why.</p> + +<p>Because of the monkey? Possibly. You see, I flew the second shot after +Lynds got killed. After that, came the hearing, and after that no men +flew in Bannister's ships anymore. They proved Lynds nuts, and got rid +of me, but nobody would try it, even with manual controls, where there +is no atmosphere.</p> + +<p>When you're putting down after a maximum velocity flight, you feed a +set of landing coordinates into the computer, and you wait for the +computer to punch out a landing configuration and the controls set +themselves and lock into pattern. Then you just sit there. I haven't +yet met a pilot who didn't begin to sweat at that moment, and sweat +all the way down. We weren't geared for that kind of flying. We still +aren't, for that matter. We had always done it ourselves, (even on +instruments, we interpreted their meaning to the controls ourselves) +and we didn't like it. We had good reason. The telemetry circuits were +no good. That's a bad part of a truly classified operation: they don't +have to be too careful, there aren't any voters to offend. About the +circuits, sometimes they worked, sometimes not. That was the way it +went. They wouldn't put manual controls in for us.</p> + +<p>It wasn't that they regarded man with too little faith, and electronic +equipment with too much. They just didn't regard man at all. They +looked upon scientific reason and technology as completely infallible. +Nothing is infallible. Not their controls, not their vehicles, and not +their blasted egos.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Lynds was assigned the first flight at escape velocity. They could not +be dissuaded from the belief that at ultimate speed, a pilot operating +manual controls was completely ineffectual. Like kids that have to run +electric trains all by themselves, playing God with a transformer. +That was when I asked them why bother with a pilot altogether. They +talked about the whole point being a test of man's ability to survive; +they'd deal with control in proper order. They didn't believe it, and +neither did we. We all got very peculiar feelings about the whole +business after that. The position on controls was made pretty final by +Bannister.</p> + +<p>"There will be no manuals in my ships," he said. "It would negate the +primary purpose of this project. We must ascertain the successful +completion of escape and return by completely automatic operation."</p> + +<p>"How about emergency controls?" I asked. "With a switch-off from +automatic if they should fail."</p> + +<p>"They will not fail. Any manual controls would be inoperative by the +pilot in any case. No more questions."</p> + +<p>I feel the way I do about the monkey, Argus, because, in a way, we all +quit about that time. You don't like having spent your life in a +rather devoted way with purposes and all that, and then being placed +in the hands of a collection of technologists like just so many white +mice ... or monkeys, if you will. Lynds, of course, had little choice. +The project was cleared and the assignment set. He hated it well +enough, I know, but it was his place to perform the only way one does.</p> + +<p>It ended the way we knew it would. I heard it all. It wasn't +gruesome, as you might imagine. I spoke with Lynds the whole time. It +was sort of a resigned horror. The initial countdown went off without +a hitch and the hissing of the escape valves on the carrier rocket +changed to a sound that hammered the sky apart as it lifted off the +pad.</p> + +<p>"Well, she's off," somebody said.</p> + +<p>"Let's don't count chickens," Bannister said tautly. Wellington G. +Bannister worked for the Germans on V-2s. He is the chief executive of +technology in the section to which we were assigned at that time. He +is the world's leading expert on exotic fuel rocket projectile +systems, rocket design, and a brilliant electronic engineer as well. +High enough subordinates call him Wellie. Pilots always called him +Professor Bannister. I issued the report that was read in closed +session in London in which I accused Bannister of murdering Lynds. +That's how come I'm here now. I was cashiered out, just short of a +general court martial. That's one of the nice parts about truly +classified work. They can't make you out an idiot in public. Living on +a boat in the Mediterranean is far nicer than looking up at the earth +through a porthole in a smashed up ship on the moon, you must admit.</p> + +<p>Well, Bannister could have well counted chickens on that launching. +The first, second and third stages fired off perfectly, and within +fourteen minutes the capsule detached into orbit just under escape +velocity. The orbit was enormously far out. They let Lynds complete a +single orbit, then fired the capsule's rockets. He ran off tangential +to orbit at escape velocity on a pattern that would probably run in a +straight path to infinity. In fact, the capsule is probably still on +its way, and as I said, it's six years now. After four minutes, the +return vehicle was activated and as it broke away from the capsule, +Lynds blacked out for twenty seconds. That was the only time I was out +of direct contact with him after he went into orbit.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Now do you understand about the manual controls?" Bannister said.</p> + +<p>"He'll come out of it in less than a minute."</p> + +<p>"One can never be sure."</p> + +<p>"There's still no reason why you can't use duplicate control systems."</p> + +<p>"With a switch-off on the automatic, if they fail?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. If for nothing more than to give a man a chance to save his own +neck."</p> + +<p>"They won't fail."</p> + +<p>"The simplest things fail, Bannister. Campbell was killed in a far +less elaborate way."</p> + +<p>He looked at me. "Campbell? Oh, yes. The landing over the reef. I had +nothing to do with that."</p> + +<p>"You designed the power shut-off that failed."</p> + +<p>"Improper servicing. A simple mechanical failure."</p> + +<p>"Or the inability of a mechanism to compensate. The wind shifted after +computer coordination. A pilot can feel it. Your instruments can't. +There was no failure, there. The shut-off worked perfectly and +Campbell was killed because of it."</p> + +<p>I watched the tracking screen, listened to the high keening noises +coming from the receivers. The computers clicked rapidly, feeding out +triangulated data on the positions of the escape vehicle and the +capsule. The capsule had been diverted from its path slightly by +reaction to the vehicle's ejection. Its speed, however, was increasing +as it moved farther out. The vehicle with Lynds was in a path +parabolic to the capsule, almost like the start of an orbit, but at a +fantastic distance. He was, of course, traveling at escape velocity or +better, and you do not orbit at escape velocity.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Harry. Harry, how long was I out?" We heard Lynds' voice come alive +suddenly through the crackling static.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Dennis. Listen to me. How are you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm fine, Harry. What's wrong? How long was I out?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing is wrong. You were out less than half a minute. The ejection +gear worked perfectly."</p> + +<p>"That's good." The tension left his voice and he settled back to a +checking and rechecking of instruments, reactions and what he would +see. They activated the scanner. The transmitting equipment brought us +a view that was little more than a spotty blackness. But I think the +equipment was not working properly. You see, what Lynds said did not +quite match what we saw. They later used the recording of his voice +together with an affidavit sworn to by a technician that our receiver +was operating perfectly, as evidence in my hearing. They proved, in +their own way, that Lynds had suffered continual delirium after +blacking out. The speed, they said, was the cause. It became known as +Danger V. Nobody ever bothered to explain why I never encountered the +phenomenon of Danger V. It became official record, and my experience +was the deviant. It was Bannister's alibi.</p> + +<p>We watched the spotty blackness on the screen and listened to Lynds.</p> + +<p>"Harry, I can see it all pretty well now," he began. "There's slight +spin on this bomb so it comes and goes. About sixty second +revolutions. Nice and slow. Terribly nauseating to look at. But I'm +feeling fine now, better than fine. Give me a stick and I'll move the +Earth. Who was it said that? Clever fellow. You say I was out about +half a minute. That makes it about three more minutes until +Bannister's controls are supposed to bring me back."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Dennis, but what do you see? Do you hear me? What do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you something, Harry," he said. "They aren't going to +work. They're not wrecked or anything. I just know they aren't worth +sweet damn all. Like when Campbell had it. He knew it was going to +happen. You can trust the machines just so long. After that, you're +batty to lay anything on them at all. But can you see the screen? +There it is again. We're turning into view. I can see the earth now. +The whole of it."</p> + +<p>There was silence then. We looked at the screen but saw only the +spotty blackness. I looked from the screen to the speaker overhead, +then back at the screen. I looked about the control room. Everyone was +doing his work. The instruments all were working. The computers were +clicking and nobody looked particularly alarmed, except one other +pilot who was there too, Forrest. Maybe Forrest and I pictured +ourselves in Lynds' place. Maybe we both had the same premonitions. +Maybe we both held the same dislike and distrust of the rest of them. +Maybe a lot of things, but one thing was sure. The papers would never +get hold of this story, and because of that, Bannister and the rest of +them didn't really care a hang about Lynds or me or Forrest or any of +the others that might be up there.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It seemed an age passed until we heard Lynds again. The tape later +showed it was no more than half a minute. "Bannister, can you hear +me?" he said suddenly. "Bannister, do you know what it feels like to +be tied into a barrel and tossed over Victoria Falls? Do you? That's +what it's like out here. Not that you care a damn. You'll never come +up here, you're smart enough for that. Give me a paddle, Bannister, +that's what I want. It's no more than a man in a barrel deserves. It's +black out here, black and there's nothing to stand on. The earth looks +like a flat circle of light and very big, but it doesn't make me feel +any better. These buggies of yours won't be any use to anybody until +you let the pilot do his own work. I crashed once, in a Gypsy Moth, +with my controls all shot away by an overenthusiastic Russian fighter +pilot near the Turkish border. Coming down, I felt the way I do now.</p> + +<p>"Look at the instruments and remember, Bannister. My reflexes are +perfect. There's nothing wrong with me. I could split rails with an +axe now, if I had an axe. An axe or a paddle. Harry, I'm not getting +back down in one piece. Somehow, I know it. Don't you let them do it +to anyone else unless there are manual controls from the ejection +onwards. Don't do it. This isn't just nosing into the Slot, over the +reef between the town and the island and letting go then, and +beginning to sweat. This is much more, Harry. This is bloody +frightening. Are the three minutes up yet? My stomach is crawling at +the thought of you pushing that button and nothing happening. Listen, +Bannister, you're not getting me down, so forget any assurances. I +hope they never let you put anybody else up here like this. It's black +again. We've swung away."</p> + +<p>Bannister looked at my eyes. "It's almost time," he said.</p> + +<p>Eight seconds later they pushed the button. Perhaps it would have been +better if nothing happened then. But that part worked. They got him +out of the parabolic curve and headed back down. They fired reverse +rockets that slowed him. They threw him into a broad equatorial orbit +and let him ride. It took over an hour to be sure he was in orbit. I +admired them that, but began to hate them very much. They ascertained +the orbit and began new calculations. Here was where he should have +had the controls on in.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The escape vehicle was a small delta shaped craft. The wings, if one +could call them that, spanned just under seven feet. They planned to +bring him down in a pattern based on very orthodox principles of +flight. There remained sufficient fuel for a twelve second burst of +power. This would decelerate the craft to a point where it would drop +from orbit and begin a descent. I later utilized the same pattern by +letting down easy into the atmosphere after the power ran down and +sort of bouncing off the upper layers several times to further +decelerate and finally gliding down through it at about Mach 5, +decelerating rapidly then, almost too rapidly, and finally passing +through the exosphere into the ionosphere. The true stratosphere +begins between sixty and seventy miles up, and once you've passed +through that level and not burnt up, the rest of it is with the pilot +and his craft.</p> + +<p>It takes hours. I came down gradually, approaching within striking +distance west of Australia, then finally nosed in and took my chance +on stretching it to one of the ten mile strips for a powerless +landing. I did it in Australia. But if I had not had orthodox +controls, had I even gotten that far, I would have churned up a good +part of the Coral Sea between Sydney and New Zealand. You see, you've +got to feel your way down through all that. That's the better part of +flying, the "feel" of it. Automatic controls don't possess that +particular human element. And let me tell you, no matter what they +call it now—space probing, astronautics or what have you—it's still +flying. And it's still men that will have to do it, escape velocity or +no. Like they talk about push-button wars, but they keep training +infantry and basing grand strategy on the infantry penetration tactics +all down through the history of warfare. They call Clausewitz obsolete +today, but they still learn him very thoroughly. I once discussed it +with Bannister. He didn't like Clausewitz. Perhaps because Clausewitz +was a German before they became Nazis. Clausewitz would not look too +kindly on a commander whose concern with a battle precluded his +concern for his men. He valued men very highly. They were the greatest +instrument then. They still are today. That's why I can't really make +too much out of the monkey. I feel pretty rotten about him and all +that. But the monkey up there means a man someplace is still down +here.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="600" height="189" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Anyway, after Lynds completed six orbital revolutions, they began the +deceleration and descent. The whole affair, as I said, was very +solidly based on technical determinations of stresses, heat limits, +patterns of glide, and Bannister's absolute conviction that nothing +would let go. The bitter part was that it let go just short of where +Lynds might have made it. He was through the bad part of it, the +primary and secondary decelerations, the stretches where you think if +you don't fry from the heat, the ship will melt apart under you, and +the buffeting in the upper levels when ionospheric resistance really +starts to take hold. And believe me, the buffeting that you know +about, when you approach Mach 1 in an after-burnered machine, is a +piece of cake to the buffeting at Mach 5 in a rocket when you hit the +atmosphere, any level of atmosphere. The meteorites that strike our +atmosphere don't just burn up, we know that now. They also get knocked +to bits. And they're solid iron.</p> + +<p>Lynds was about seventy miles up, his velocity down to a point or two +over Mach 2, in level flight heading east over the south Atlantic. +From about that altitude, manual controls are essential, not just to +make one feel better, but because you really need them. The automated +controls did not have any tolerance. You don't understand, do you? +Look, when one flies and wants to alter direction, one applies +pressure to the control surfaces, altering their positions, +redirecting the flow of air over the wings, the rudder and so forth. +Now, in applying pressure, you occasionally have to ease up or perhaps +press a bit more, as the case may be, to counteract turbulence, shift +in air current, or any of a million other circumstances that can +occur. That all depends on touch. It's what makes some flyers live +longer than others. It's like the drag on a fishing reel. You set it +tight or loose according to the weight of the fish you're playing. +When you reel in, the line can't become too tight or it will snap, so +you have the drag. It's really quite ingenious. It lets the fish pull +out line as you reel in. It's the degree of tolerance that makes it +work well as an instrument. In flying, the degree of tolerance, the +compensating factor is in man's hands. In the atmosphere, it's too +unpredictable for any other way.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Well, they calculated to set the dive brakes at twelve degrees at the +point where Lynds was. Lynds saw it all.</p> + +<p>"This is more like my cup of tea," he said at that point. "Harry, the +sky is a strange kind of purple black up here."</p> + +<p>"They're going to activate the brakes, Den," I said. "What's it like?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, Harry. Not yet."</p> + +<p>I looked at Bannister. He noted the chart, his finger under a line of +calculations.</p> + +<p>"The precise rate of speed and the exact instant of calculation, +Captain Jackson," Bannister said. "Would you care to question anything +further."</p> + +<p>"He said not yet," I told him.</p> + +<p>"Therefore you would say not yet?"</p> + +<p>"I would say this. He's about in the stratosphere. He knows where he +is now. He's one of the finest pilots in the world. He'll feel the +right moment better than your instruments."</p> + +<p>"Ridiculous. Fourteen seconds. Stand by."</p> + +<p>"Wait," I said.</p> + +<p>"And if we wait, where does he come down, I ask you? You cannot +calculate haphazardly, by feel. There are only four points at which +the landing can be made. It must be now."</p> + +<p>I flipped the communications switch, still looking at Bannister.</p> + +<p>"This is it, Den. They're coming out now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see them. What are they set for?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve degrees."</p> + +<p>"I'm dropping like a stone, Harry. Tell them to ease up on the brake. +Bannister, do you hear me? Bring them in or they'll tear off. This is +not flying, anymore." His voice sounded as if he was having difficulty +breathing.</p> + +<p>"Harry," he called.</p> + +<p>They held the brakes at twelve degrees, of course. The calculations +dictated that. They tore away in fifteen seconds.</p> + +<p>"Bannister! They're gone," Dennis shouted. "They're gone, Bannister, +you butcher. Now what do you say?"</p> + +<p>Bannister's face didn't flinch. He watched the controls steadily.</p> + +<p>"Try half-degree rudder in either direction," I said.</p> + +<p>Bannister looked at me for a second. "His direction is vertical, +Captain. Would you attempt a rudder manipulation in a vertical dive?"</p> + +<p>"Not a terminal velocity drive, Bannister. He said it's not flying +anymore. Lord knows which way he's falling."</p> + +<p>"So?"</p> + +<p>"So I'd try anything. You've got to slow him."</p> + +<p>"Or return him to level flight."</p> + +<p>"At this speed?"</p> + +<p>We both looked at the controls now. The ship was accelerating again, +and dropping so rapidly I couldn't follow the revolutions counter.</p> + +<p>"Engage the ailerons," Bannister ordered. "Point seven degrees, +negative."</p> + +<p>Dennis came back on. "Harry, what are you doing? The ship is falling +apart. The ailerons. It won't help. Listen, Harry, you've got to be +careful. The flight configuration is so tenuous, anything can turn +this thing into a falling stone. It had to happen, I knew, but I don't +want to believe it now. This sitting here with that noise getting +louder. It's spiraling out at me, getting bigger. Now it's smaller +again. I'm afraid, Harry. The ailerons, Harry, they're gone. Very +tenuous. They're gone. I can't see anything. The screens are black. No +more shaking. No more noise. It's quiet and I hear myself breathing, +Harry. Harry, the wrist straps on the suits are too tight. And the +helmet, when you want to scratch your face, you can go mad. And +Harry—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That was the end of the communications. Something in the transmitter +must have gone. They never found out. He didn't hit until almost a +minute later, and nobody ever saw it. The tracking screen followed him +down very precisely and very silently. There was no retrieving +anything, of course. You don't conduct salvage operations in the +middle of the south Atlantic.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I turned in my report after that. No one had asked for it, so it went +through unorthodox channels. It took an awfully long time and my +suspension did not become effective until after the second shot. I was +the pilot on that one, you know. I got them to install the duplicate +controls, over the insistence by Bannister that resorting to them, +even in the event that it became necessary, would prove nothing. He +even went as far as to talk about load redistribution electric control +design. As a matter of fact, I thought he had me for a while, but I +think in the end they decided to try to avoid the waste of another +vehicle. At least, that might be the kind of argument that would carry +weight. The vehicles were enormously expensive, you realize.</p> + +<p>I made it all right, as I said. It took me nine hours and then some, +once they dropped me from orbit. I switched off the automatic controls +at the point where the dive brakes were to have been engaged. This +time, the brakes had not responded to the auto controls and they did +not open at all. I found out readily enough why Lynds was against +opening them at that point. Metal fatigue had brought the ship to a +point where even a shift in my position could cause it to stop flying.</p> + +<p>I came down in Australia and the braking 'chute tore right out when I +released it. I skidded nine miles. A Royal Australian Air Force +helicopter picked me up two hours later.</p> + +<p>I learned of the suspension while in the hospital. I didn't get out +until just in time to get to London for the hearing. My evidence and +Forrest's, and Lynds' recorded voice all served to no purpose. You +don't become a hero by proving an expert wrong. It doesn't work that +way. It would not do to have Bannister looked upon as a bad gambit, +not after all they went through to stay in power after putting him in. +The reason, after all, was all in the way you looked at it. And a +human element could always be overlooked in the cause of human +endeavor. Especially when the constituents never find out about it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>After that, they started experimentation with powered returns. The +atmosphere has been conquered, and now there remained the last stage. +They never did it successfully. They couldn't. But it did not really +matter. What it all proved was that they did not really need pilots +for what Bannister was after. He had started with a premise of testing +man's reactions to space probes under actual conditions, but what he +was actually doing was testing space probes alone, with man as a +necessary evil to contend with to give the project a reason.</p> + +<p>It was all like putting a man in a racing car traveling flat out on +the Salts in Bonneville, Utah. He'll survive, of course. But put the +man in the car with no controls for him to operate and then run the +thing completely through remote transmission, and you've eliminated +the purpose for the man. Survival as an afterthought might be a thing +to test, if you didn't care a hoot about man. Survival for its own +sake doesn't mean anything unless I've missed the whole point of +living, somewhere along the line.</p> + +<p>Bannister once described to me the firing of a prototype V-2. The +firing took place after sunset. When the rocket had achieved a certain +altitude, it suddenly took on a brilliant yellow glow. It had passed +beyond the shadow of the earth and risen into the sunlight. Here was +Bannister's passion. He was out to establish the feasibility of +putting a rocket vehicle on the moon. It could have a man in it, or a +monkey. Both were just as useless. Neither could fly the thing back, +even if it did get down in one piece. It could tell us nothing about +the moon we didn't already know. Getting it down in one piece, of +course, was the reason why they gave Bannister the project to begin +with.</p> + +<p>So Bannister is now a triumphant hero, despite the societies for the +prevention of cruelty to animals. But nobody understood it. Bannister +put a vehicle on the moon. We were the first to do it. We proved +something by doing nothing. Perhaps the situation of true classified +information is not too healthy a one, at that. You see, we've had +rockets with that kind of power for an awfully long time now. Maybe +some of them know what he's up to. When I think about that, I really +become frightened.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The monkey, I suppose, is dead. The most we can hope for is that he +died fast. It's very like another kind of miserable hope I felt once, +a long time ago, for a lot of people who could be offered little more +than hope for a fast death, because of something somebody was trying +to prove. There's some consolation this time. It's really only a +monkey.</p> + +<p>This I know, they'll never publish a picture of the vehicle. Someone +might start to wonder why the cabin seems equipped to carry a man.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When you're out in a clear night in summer, the sky looks very +friendly, the moon a big pleasant place where nothing at all can +happen to you. The vehicle used in Project Argus had a porthole. I +can't imagine why. The monkey must have been able to see out the +porthole. Did he notice, I wonder, whether the earth looks friendly +from out there.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of What Need of Man?, by Harold Calin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT NEED OF MAN? *** + +***** This file should be named 30867-h.htm or 30867-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/6/30867/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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