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diff --git a/59587-0.txt b/59587-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e641a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/59587-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,730 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59587 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + Corbow's Theory + + BY LEE WALLOT + + _It was a terrific theory and it would send + Man to the stars. But the two men involved had + to buck more than physical laws; and so the + project was finished, over, done with. Unless...._ + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1956. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +"All right! So we've got it. The same problem rocket designers have +been struggling with for five years. Nobody's found the answer--and +they never will!" + +Bronsen Corbow glared at the older man, his lips pressed tightly +together to keep from giving voice to the anger mounting inside of him. +Mars Kenton was an argumentative old fool, but the company had made him +his assistant and nothing could be done about it. + +"They've known ever since they discovered that interstellar drive," +Mars continued, "that they can only make enough Carbolium to send four +ships a year to the end of our galaxy and back again. Is it our fault +they have to make the blasted stuff instead of mining it out of the +ground?" + +The words ringing in the quiet of the laboratory seemed to pound in +Bronsen's ears and he found he could hold his tongue no longer. He +leaned toward the older physicist and slammed his hand down on the +table. + +"That's enough, Mars. I happen to be the one in charge here, not +you." His quiet voice made clear the anger he felt. "Reed turned +the problem over to us. I say we can lick it. Just because my chief +assistant is still thinking in terms of ancient history, it's no reason +to send back a report from this laboratory saying we can't handle the +problem." He ran a trembling hand through his close-cropped hair and +swore at himself when he saw Mars noticed the trembling. Why did he +have to start shaking every time he got mad? The person he was mad at +invariably took the shaking to be fear, and he would always be forced +to drive his point home all the harder in order to get the respect he +demanded. + +Mars Kenton sneered. "Mind telling me just how you are going to +eliminate interstellar drive from our rocket ships? Or have you cooked +up another of your bright ideas to try out at the company's expense?" + +"I'm fed up with you, Mars!" All control over his temper was gone now +and the younger man gave full vent to his anger. His powerful body +fairly bristled in his rage and in spite of himself Mars was forced +to cringe beneath the assailing roars that followed. "You may be +twenty years older than I am; you may have been one of the pioneers +in space travel; you may still be a good man if you could forget that +the whole world didn't plot that accident that left you with a bad +leg--but you're still taking orders from me. We have some good men in +this department, and you can either keep your mouth shut and work with +us or you can get out. Interstellar drive isn't the only solution to +space travel and the answer to the problem is going to come from this +laboratory. Now take your choice!" + +Mars glared at Bronsen and seethed inwardly but swung back to his +work table. His right leg twitched convulsively, forcing him into a +stumbling limp and he silently cursed the fate that had brought him to +such a lowly existance. Him! Joc Kenton! Member of the first expedition +to land on Mars and successfully return to Earth. And what was he +now? Just a second rate design consultant working in a laboratory on +the moon. His water blue eyes clouded in his flood of self pity. How +beautiful it had been out there ... all blackness, all majesty, the +throbbing power of the rockets, the thrill of unknown adventures in the +void. His rickety old heart beat faster with remembering. The scorching +desolateness of Mars was something he would never forget. Even now +he could see the miles of heat-drenched land, the thick red powder +that covered the planet's crust, the stretching reaches of nothing +but a barren, dead world. And then--the accident. Sure, it was just +an accident. How could he know that the port lid was going to break +its magnetic field and slam down upon him? It had though, and he had +returned an honored man, praised for his self-sacrificing adventure, +then pitied because he would spend the rest of his life a crippled man. +He twisted his thin, blue-veined hands together, those hands that had +piloted a glittering rocket through space, those hands that had sifted +through the sands of an alien world, those hands that now were white +and fragile, working over drawings and plans for other ships. Gone were +the dreams, and with their going came the bitterness. + +He felt his anger melting in his own self pity, decided not to brush +away the tears that gathered in his eyes and turned to his board, +staring at it through blurred vision. + +"Bong! End of round five. Just wait around a minute folks, next +round coming up." Vern Webber peered cautiously around the door as +if expecting something to fly at him, then jumped into the room. His +youthful face broke into a broad grin as he bowed before the chief +designer. "Oh great and noble Mr. Bronsen Corbow. Is it safe for your +lowly servant to approach these hallowed halls in answer to your +summons? Mine is not to reason why--but I'd still like to leave here +with my head on my shoulders." + +Bronsen found himself smiling at his young assistant. Vern, although +he was twenty-four, had the spirit and air of a teenager and usually +succeeded in keeping the lab in a state of high humor. The tenseness of +the argument with Mars dispelled itself and Bronsen relaxed. + +"Get word to the men that we are having a special meeting this +afternoon, in the conference room. We're going to blow the lid right +off the present concepts of space travel and really give those people +out there something that will make their eyes bulge. I'll tell you more +about it this afternoon." + +"Aye, aye, sir!" Vern clicked his heels, gave an exaggerated salute and +was gone. + +Bronsen glanced in returning annoyance at the snort of disgust that +issued from Mars' corner. That old fool and his rockets, he thought +were things of the past. There was only the future now. New ideas, new +methods, new successes. Why couldn't Mars see that? And yet, Bronsen +himself felt a tiny pulsing of doubt. He cursed himself for that tinge +of self-distrust, but could do nothing about it. He was brilliant, he +was a master of design and he knew space flight as well as he knew the +shape, workings and complexities of the pencil he twirled in his hands. +But what if he wasn't right? What if his new theory _was_ a flop--and +with it a waste of money, time and human lives? + +He tore himself from his dismal thoughts with a savage determination +and strode into his office. That damned Mars was just getting under +his skin, that's all. Listen to him long enough and he'll have you +thinking we should all have stayed back in the horse and buggy days. No +problems of space flight then, no old beliefs, ancient ideas, stagnant +prejudices to worry about then. Not as far as traveling to the stars +was concerned, anyway. + + * * * * * + +"First, let's review a few points I know you are all familiar with, +but that you should keep in mind, starting with the beginning of space +travel." Bronsen ran his hand through his hair and looked over the +eagerly expectant faces of his staff, considering carefully the points +he had to make. + +"First, there were the Detorium-driven rockets. Fine ships that opened +up the realm of travel in outer space." His voice was firm, stringent +with his inner excitement, his faith in his idea. "In fact, it was +just such a ship as this that Joc Kenton, Mars to you folks, was on +when they made their first landing on Mars. These ships had their good +points and still are excellent over short distances but certainly are +of no use for intergalactic flight. They are much too slow, requiring +more than a lifetime to make the trip there and back. + +"Then came the interstellar drive, the method we are now using. This +drive, utilizing Carbolium which we have to manufacture, makes full +use of space as a medium of travel. There's only one catch. We can +make only a certain amount of Carbolium, and the costs of making it +are astronomical. However, no matter what the expense, the supply is +limited. Still, everything's fine. We use the old rockets for short +distances and the interstellar drive for intergalactic trips." + +He paused a minute to let it sink in. "That is everything _was_ fine. +As you know, we have found another planet, remarkably similar to Earth +in the Eastrex Galaxy, and have succeeded in setting up a colony there. +This presents problems. For one, since we can send only four ships a +year to Naver, this new planet, our colonizing is going to be slowed +down to a crawl. Also, we will have a mighty hard time trying to get +supplies and everything else that a new colony needs to Naver within a +reasonable length of time. In other words, what we need is a ship that +will be cheap to run, fast enough to get there and get back again and +also safe enough to carry passengers and cargo, even in small amounts. +You've heard of this problem before; I know you've tried independently +to work it out and have not had much luck. I think we might have an +answer now. + +"How many of you have shot a rifle or are familiar with a gun?" + +The expectant faces had gone blank. What was he leading up to anyhow? +Still, a large number of hands cautiously worked their way into the air. + +"All right. All you have to do right now is forget about space ships +and concentrate on a rifle and a bullet." There was beginning to be +the muttering and stirring of a confused group of people. Bronsen's +muscular hands gripped the table eagerly. They were confused, but they +were also interested. "You are familiar with the fields and grooves +of a gun barrel," he continued, "and you know they are there to give +the bullet a spin when it is fired. Now what happens to a bullet when +it is fired from a smooth barrel, with no grooves? It is inaccurate, +wobbles, has less power and eventually turns end over end. Now, take +the grooved rifle barrel. The bullet is given a spin, it has many times +the velocity of the other, it has a straight line accuracy due to the +spiral motion--keep these last two points in mind--and providing the +rifle is aimed right in the first place, will hit the target." + +The group was being split up into two factions, those who leaned +forward expectantly once more and those who shook their heads in +bafflement. + +"Now, let's go back again to the old rockets, and also our present +ones. They all use the same principle to get off the ground--blast +off with rockets. But let's add a second type of blasting off area, +also using rockets, but one that looks like a monstrous rifle barrel, +complete to the fields and grooves. We have a launching apparatus +that is like a grooved rifle compared to a smooth barreled one. The +smooth barrel that we now use, the rockets taking off straight, gives +good acceleration but not enough top speed. Our old rockets had that +fault and never could get good velocity even when in flight. Our new +ones take over with the interstellar drive, but we want to eliminate +this last method. The spiral take off though, would give much greater +velocity right from the start, would enable the ship to hit outer space +with a greater speed than it could attain using the other methods +and it would continue on in space at a much faster rate. The lack of +friction would keep it from slowing down and if we could hit the speed +we want before entering outer space, the ship could go right on at that +same rate in space. There wouldn't even be need for rocket power while +in actual galactic flight. The initial momentum would carry it through +to its destination. The rocket could do all this because this spiral +launching would give us more 'muzzle velocity', and in a given time +after blast off, the spinning ship would have reached a much greater +speed than the regularly fired one. This means operating cost will be +confined to blast off, landing and to skirt around any sudden dangers +that might arise in space. + +"We therefore have a ship that has the velocity of the drive and maybe +more, without the cost of drive. It has safety since our old rockets +proved to be remarkably accident-free and this design would actually +be working on almost the same principle as the old rockets, except for +the blast off. The difference in outer space would be this. The old +ships used rockets throughout the trip to increase their velocity. The +new ones will be traveling so fast when they enter outer space, they +won't have to use any power because they will already have the velocity +needed." + +He paused to swallow the dryness in his mouth and noticed with pleasure +that more than one face was twisted in thought. Good. All they have to +do is be given a theory to think about, the time to do that thinking +and they'd be on their way. + +"That's about it for now. I have some ideas of my own for the design +of this ship ... and it's really surprising when you think how simple +it is. But I'll save that for some other time. Right now, I'd want all +of you to think about it. It gets top priority. Report back to me with +your ideas. I think we can lick this problem and get our bread and +butter, Inter Galactic Enterprises, right on top of the pile. Good +luck." + +The meeting broke up amidst frantic discussion, wails of +misunderstanding, confusion and quiet self-musings. Bronsen smiled to +himself, his face almost boyishly radiant in his pleasure. The seed had +been planted. Now all he had to do was give it time to grow and bear +fruit. + + * * * * * + +Vern's cry of amazement rang with reverence as he stood with Bronsen +looking over the first test rocket as it was slowly wheeled to the +launching area. "Boy-o-boy! Look at that beauty! Did you ever see +anything like it?" The silver ship lay on its side as it approached the +huge tower, but already Vern could see its glistening majesty soaring +through the sky. + +"She was a lot of work, Vern. Let's just keep our fingers crossed. +By the way, that design of yours on the rotating cylinder inside the +rocket, working independently of the rocket's forced spin, was good. +Tough thing to lick, but now the pilot can keep a steady 'up' and +'down' no matter how much the outside of the ship is spinning. Good +work." + +Vern shrugged his shoulders. "Just call me the Einstein of the 23rd +century, that's all. We'll all see how well everything works pretty +soon now." + +Bronsen was finding the tension beginning to build up in him. Just +a few more hours and his theory would be lauded with success or +shattered into the dust. He peered at the rocket, at the tiny black +figures of the men that were dwarfed by its size and at the giant, +black tube, towering hundreds of feet high, waiting patiently to +receive her first charge. The needle-nosed space craft glistened in +the early morning sun, her thin beauty tantalizing to the senses of a +spaceman. Her lines swept gracefully back across her smooth expanse +until they hit the four fin tips sweeping out from the rotating band of +the tail piece, the fin tips that would fit into the slowly spiraling +grooves of the launching tower. The field and groove construction first +suggested by Bronsen had been replaced by lands and grooves when it was +found that the fewer grooves gave greater accuracy and better muzzle +velocity when tested on the laboratory models. Thus, there were only +four fins instead of the originally planned eight. + +The rocket reached the lowering platform and Bronsen watched in nervous +anxiety as the ship was lowered into the ground tail first, then slowly +began its upward ascent into the belly of the launcher. He thought of a +thousand things that could happen right then, found that none of them +were going to and returned to his office. The rocket was safely nestled +in the launcher's belly, patiently waiting for the human crew to arrive +and give it life. + +When they gathered about the launching field that afternoon Bronsen +found himself sweating in both the heat of the day and the torrid +intensity of Mars' insistence that the whole thing was going to be one +big flop. + +"Just one blast from those rockets and we'll all be blown into the next +galaxy, without benefit of a space ship. Trying to shoot a 70,000 pound +rocket as if it were a toy gun. You'll learn one of these days, Corbow, +that the old way was still the best. It got us to Mars and back and if +you'd work on that instead of this, it would be good for intergalactic +flight too. But no, you've got to have your name up there in print." + +"Oh, shut up your damned mumbling, Mars!" + +Bronsen shot the words out savagely. He gave the older man a withering +look and turned his attention again to the ship. The men that were +to take her up had disappeared inside the expanse of the launching +tower and the other figures darted back and forth, making last minute +preparations. The minutes began to tick off. Five minutes until blast +off. Four minutes. Three minutes. The field was now completely devoid +of human figures. Two minutes. One minute. Ten seconds, nine, eight. +The launcher looked lonely and terrifying in its greatness and Bronsen +tried to wish the rocket up out of her belly by will power alone. +_Four, three, two, one...._ + +The ground trembled as the ear-shattering roar jumped across the lunar +landscape. The sound grew louder, sharper, and Bronsen began to think +his head would split with the noise. The rockets pitched higher, +their scream pierced the air and then the silver nose of the ship +edged above the top of the launcher. It pulled further into view, the +shimmering silver glinting in the sun and Bronsen clenched his fists in +anxiety. Come on baby; show them what you can do. That's it baby, keep +right on coming. Come on girl! The ship rose clear of the launcher, the +distance making it look as if it were shot straight out, but Bronsen +knew the steadily spinning hull was heading right. + +Suddenly he noticed it. Something was wrong! The ship wasn't acting +right. What was it? His eyes tried to leap from his head to get closer +to the rising needle and then he saw it. It was shaking. The whole ship +was trembling as if in human terror. He watched the tremors pass from +the nose to the tail, each one more violent than the last, until the +whole ship was wracked with a shaking like palsy. Why? It had worked so +beautifully with the experimental models. What was causing it? The bow +of the ship was now visibly shaking, the tremors becoming more savage +and then the nose began to dip. With a final shudder of resignation, +the rocket pitched over and began its screaming descent. Bronsen +watched the plunging ship, felt his heart grab in pain in his chest and +stumbled back from the observation window unable to watch any longer. +The burst of a million shells at once slammed into the unyielding lunar +plain. In his mind's eye he could see the twisted, exploding mass of +metal and the thought sickened him. + +The others ran from the room, heading for the wrecked ship. Bronsen +watched them with dull eyes and made no attempt to follow. What could +they do for the four men that had gone to their deaths in his mad +creation? What could they do for the millions of dollars that now lay a +twisted heap of rubble? He turned to drag his defeated body back to the +lab, to twist and mull in his mind what had happened, and found himself +looking into the glaring eyes of Mars. + +"I told you, didn't I, Mr. Corbow?" + +Bronsen covered his ears so that he wouldn't hear. He screamed, "Shut +up! Shut up before I slam you one." + +Mars spat in disgust. "Four nice guys in that ship, too. Knew 'em, +didn't you?" + +Bronsen's hammer-hard first smashed into Mars' mouth and the old man +was slammed against the wall before falling in a crumpled heap on the +floor. He sat there, the blood oozing from his mouth as he stared at +the retreating back of the man he never thought would have enough nerve +to really hit him. Now he was sorry he had said anything and the self +pity welled up within him. He really didn't mean half of what he always +managed to spit out. What made him do it? He wiped the blood from his +mouth and pulled himself to his feet. + + * * * * * + +Bronsen slumped further down into the soft contours of the chair, +eyeing Hanson Reed with a tortured soul. The president of Inter +Galactic Enterprises glared at him from the other side of the desk, +every inch of his paunchy frame the body of an outraged executive. He +chewed violently on the black cigar in his mouth and waited impatiently +for Bronsen to explain. Bronsen spread his hands helplessly. + +"I don't know Reed. I just don't know." His shoulders heaved in a sigh +of dejection. "Every single person in the moon lab has been looking +for an answer and we still can't find out why the ship crashed. We've +tested the laboratory models over and over again. We've gone over every +little detail and have nothing but a blank to show for it." + +Reed chewed more savagely at the end of his cold cigar. "We spent two +million dollars on research and development and all _we_ have to show +for it is a pile of scrap metal and four corpses scattered over the +lunar landscape. There's got to be some explanation." + +"Just one in a million chances that an accident like this would +happen," Bronsen countered desperately. "It's just coincidence that it +happened on the first model." + +"Coincidence!" Mars' voice was guttural with contempt. "I told you from +the start it wasn't practical. I knew...." + +"All right, Mars," Reed interrupted. "You were project design engineer, +right?" Mars nodded in agreement. "Was there anything wrong with the +design of the ship, any reason why it probably wouldn't have worked, +from a design stand-point?" + +"No," he answered reluctantly. "Not that I could see. I just knew from +the start it wasn't going to work. I told Bronsen that, lots of times, +but he just isn't the type to take advice." + +Bronsen roared and leaped to his feet. + +"You old fool," he bellowed. "Technically, theoretically and +mechanically, there wasn't one indication that it wasn't going to be +a completely successful launching procedure. You know that as well as +anyone! Ask the men around you. They handled the final application, the +mechanics, the construction, the blast off. Ask any one of them. Every +single one of them will tell you the same thing. There was no reason +why the ship should have crashed! Every item had been checked, double +checked and re-checked again. The instruments indicated everything was +functioning perfectly at blast off. If you didn't have such a twisted +inverted opinion of everything...." + +Mars leaned forward, his body now trembling, "Don't you go calling me +names, you swell-headed pup!" + +Reed pounded his desk violently. + +"Mars! Bronsen!" he shouted impatiently. "This is hardly the time for +name-calling and airing personal gripes. We're here to find a good +reason for spending more money on this project. We're not children in a +schoolyard, arguing over a piece of candy, although that's exactly what +it's beginning to sound like. Frankly, I'm of the opinion that with +so much internal fighting going on, nothing could possibly come of +spending more. It would be a waste of both finances and time." + +Bronsen slowly sat down again, his trembling hands clenched into tight +fists. + +"That's one item you don't have to worry about," he growled. "Kenton is +completely finished as far as I'm concerned. He's out. Fired." + +Mars' face fell in shocked surprise. Reed tore the cigar from his mouth +and glared at Bronsen. + +"No one is being fired, Bronsen. You've been a good leader, in my +opinion, as well as a friend, but I do the firing around here." Bronsen +glowered and reddened under the unexpected rebuttal but said nothing. +"You are young yet," Reed continued. "You've got brains, imagination, +leadership and ability. Wouldn't be where you are if you didn't. +There's just one thing lacking, and Mars is the one that has it. +Experience. And with that experience goes well-used caution. You've got +the go-ahead, but he has the wisdom. Temperance and drive. That's Mars +and you. You've got each other. Why don't you just learn how to work +with and use each other?" + +Bronsen remained in baleful silence. Mars glared at the younger man and +sneered contemptuously. + +"That young pup never will know what the word caution means. He's so +eager to get his name up...." + +Bronsen rose to his feet, his grey eyes flashing in hate. Reed slammed +his cigar into the ashtray and threw up his hands. + +"That's it! It's the last straw! I'm through playing referee for two +snarling dogs. The project is closed, finished! If and when somebody +can come up with a decent reason why it should be opened again, we'll +consider it then. Until that time, consider the project non-existent +and return to your regular jobs. And cut out the bickering and +fighting--or you are both fired!" + +He pulled out a fresh cigar, bit into it in disgust and dismissed +the meeting by returning to the papers on his desk. Bronsen felt the +anger boiling over within him and suppressed the desire to hand in his +resignation on the spot. He looked for Mars and saw his thin frame out +the door. He wearily passed a hand over his eyes and left the room. + + * * * * * + +Mars scowled in annoyance at Vern's whistling and silently wished the +young assistant would get out of the room and let him brood in peace. +He chewed the end of his pencil methodically and savagely, his features +blushing pink with anger as he remembered the tirade of words exchanged +with Bronsen a week ago. "Stupid, insolent, day-dreaming pup," he +snarled half aloud. + +Vern stopped in mid-step, eyeing him in surprise. "Huh?" he said. "Did +you say something to me?" + +Mars grimaced. "No. I was just talking to myself." + +Vern grinned widely. "That's good. I'd sure hate to have anybody think +those words were a description of me. Good old Vern, that's me. +Combination office boy, slave, master of ceremonies and soothing balm +for ruffled egos. That's my description of me. Master of all trades, +Jack of none. Of course, I can't say what others think." + +"You don't make much sense," Mars growled thickly, biting again into +the pencil. + +"Neither do you," Vern countered quickly. "But then again, what man +does to a struggling young genius like myself?" + +"Oh dry up," came the reply. "And take that drawing table into the new +drafter's room." + +"Oh, sure. You only need about three men to move that monster but...." +He left the sentence unfinished and dragged the table from the wall. +Mars smiled sympathetically, shook his head, and pointed to his bad leg +when Vern indicated he could use some help. + +"Such is the life of a slave," the younger man sighed and hoisting the +clumsy article, headed for the door. + +"Look out!" Mars suddenly yelled and jumped forward to catch a falling +rocket model as the table edge glanced off it. Vern yelped in surprise, +jolted backward and fell against the wall, the heavy board crashing +down on his foot. + +"My God, Vern. Your foot...." + +The other grinned, withdrew his foot from beneath the board and pulled +down his sock. "Not this baby," he flipped. "I've got cast-iron +insurance. It's plastic from the ankle down, see?" + +Mars stared in shock at the artificial limb and could think of nothing +very brilliant to say. + +"Got it in cadet school," Vern explained and then answered the question +in Mars' eyes. "I was training to be a space pilot myself. Some fellows +and I decided to celebrate our graduation, got drunk and ended up in a +wreck. They put me together real good, even taught me how to use the +foot so no one would ever know it wasn't the real thing. It washed +me out as far as the Space Corps was concerned though. I drowned my +sorrows in alcohol for a couple weeks, told myself I was going to hell +with myself and then decided to put what I did know to work. That's how +I joined up with this outfit. Now I sit back and design the rockets my +classmates have to worry about flying.... Enough of this chatter ... +got to get busy. See you." + +Mars turned thoughtfully back to his desk. "That kid's got only one +foot," he mused soberly. He looked down at his own injured leg and +savagely kicked it against the wall. + +"Your leg. Your poor, crippled leg ... what a fine crutch it has been," +he bitterly reproached himself. "It proves you were one of the first in +space, and you won't let people forget it. You're a jealous old man. +You're afraid to have someone else do what you no longer can do. You +want things to stay the way they were when you got hurt, so no one else +can live your dream. If time stood still, there would be no trips to +new planets, no new discoveries and Mars Kenton would still be the hero +of his dream." + +He tried to revolt, to denounce the self-accusations. "What about +Bronsen Corbow?" he asked. "Does that explain why I've fought him so +hard?" + +His slowly growing conscience laughed at him. "But it does. Bronsen +ignores your crutch, your proof that the old way worked the best. He's +concerned with the future, the future you never want to come." He +buried his grey-thatched head in his hands and felt the weariness in +his bones. His thoughts returned to the unsuccessful launching. + +"But it was a crazy idea," he argued weakly. "It would never have +worked anyway." It was a poor defense, one that faltered and failed +when he finally admitted the truth: He was a jealous, bitter man, +fighting anonymity. + +Once more he found himself mulling over the rocket launching, probing +for support to his initial decision that it wouldn't work, searching +for some point to substantiate his claim. But was he really right in +that decision? Had he let his hate-ridden heart rule his reasoning +mind? He waded back to the beginning of Bronsen's theory. Bullets ... +the test models were the bullets. Shells ... the huge rocket itself +was a shell compared to the bullets. Shells have an ojive, bourrelet, +rotating band, but bullets are different. How? He stopped. He reviewed +the parts in his mind, then suddenly lurched to the files and pulled +out the rocket plans. He compared the ship's construction bit by +bit with a shell, his mind working quickly, accurately, with a new +enthusiasm.... + +Hours later he leaned back from his drawing table and his voice rumbled +out into the quiet reaches of the empty room. + +"Men will fly to the stars like a bullet," he prophesized. "Because I +know why the rocket crashed." + +It was dark but the light in Bronsen's office was still on. Mars pulled +himself erect and turned toward Bronsen's room, then faltered. "I could +just forget it," he mused. "Then the idea would be filed away. But +someday...." He could not do it. The excitement was beginning to mount +inside of him, pushing him forward. He took a deep breath and with a +decisive shrug drew back his shoulders, standing straighter and taller +than he had in fifteen long years. He strode from the room and headed +down the hall. + +Bronsen heard the door behind him open and close softly. He glanced up +and saw who it was and returned, scowling, to his work. When Mars did +not leave, he looked up again, curiosity stirring within him at the +expression in the older man's face. + +"Well?" + +It wasn't really a question, nor an inflection denoting that he wanted +to hear what Mars had to say. It was more of a compromise between +physically throwing him out and grudgingly listening to what he had to +say. + +"I've got it, I know what happened to the ship," Mars announced +quietly. "I knew it when I saw it come out of the launcher but I +couldn't explain it." Bronsen returned to his papers with a snort and +Mars pleaded, "I'm sorry about all those things I said. For God's sake. +Listen to me!" + +The tortured pleading in the man's voice made Bronsen put down the +papers in surprise. + +"The models worked," Mars plunged ahead. "Sure they did. But because +they were small ... so much smaller than the real ship ... there was no +trouble and they worked perfectly. The trouble reveals itself only as +the projectile gets larger. The nose, Bronsen. A nose band. Don't you +see what I'm trying to say?" + +The younger man stared in silence at the pleading ex-space pilot, +before the words began to penetrate his whirling thoughts. He forgot +the crash of the ship; he forgot the feel of hard teeth splitting the +skin across his knuckles; he forgot the animosity that existed between +them. His mind could focus on nothing but what Mars was trying to say. + +"The nose of the ship is long. The only guides were on the tail at +the rotating band. Think of shells. Bourrelets. The _big_ shells have +bourrelets ... bands around the nose that dig into the grooves and +steady the front of the shell. The ship ... its front began trembling +because there was nothing to guide the nose in a steady path. The more +velocity the rocket had, the worse the trembling became until it threw +the whole ship out of control. Don't you see? That's all that was +wrong with it! It would have been perfect if it had had guide wings +on the bourrelet. The guide pieces could be withdrawn when the ship +is launched ... but they would have to be there in order to _get_ it +launched. I'm right, you know I am! That's your answer. That was the +only part wrong with it!" + +The enormity of Mars' words left Bronsen speechless. He looked at the +suddenly joyous man before him and saw the old bitterness replaced by +the rapture of his discovery. Yes, that was what had been wrong. It +was the solution ... the one tiny piece that made the puzzle into an +understandable picture. He paused a moment, as if trying to make a +great decision, then grabbed the older man by the arm. + +"Come on! Let's get it down on paper!" + + * * * * * + +The rocket lay huddled in the belly of the launching tower, her +needle-like body quiet, waiting, her control panels flashing signals +and instructions to her masters, her circuits buzzing with the +tenseness of the seconds before blast off. The steady counting drummed +through her wires, tripped relays, and her masters flipped the +switches, pressed the buttons and pulled the levers that readied her +for her maiden flight. Eight seconds, seven seconds. Six seconds, five, +four. The switch was jerked upward and she felt the power beginning to +move in her vitals. + +_Three, two, one!_ + +The driver button slammed home, her rockets roared out in ferocious +birth, snarling, roaring, growing with each passing second. She +settled back upon her rockets as if in protest at their screaming +growth, then was forced to give ground and the ship moved up the shaft. +Her rotating band and bourrelet fins dug deep into the spiraling +grooves, her body began to turn ... slowly, so slowly. Then she +suddenly leaped forward, her hull whirling upward; the shaft raced +by in dizzy swiftness, her rockets roared louder and she raised her +spinning body further. She was free! Her body hurtled up and up, her +needle nose straight and true, her velocity leaping forward.... + +"Off rockets! Set up emergency interstellar drive for instant +activation if needed. Signal in scanning screens. Activate force field +and take a breather, boys. We're on our way and the blast off was +perfect." + +The pilot's mechanical sounding voice droned through the speaker in the +moon-bound observation room and simultaneously the air was ruffled by +the deep exhale of relief, the rustle of slowly relaxing bodies strung +tight with the hopeful tenseness of the blast off. + +Mars gazed up at the disappearing silver streak, his blue eyes intent, +glistening with pride and excitement. "I never thought I'd see the +day," he breathed. "Look at her, she's going straight and true. She's +the most beautiful thing I ever saw." + +Bronsen's face relaxed into a happy grin as the gleaming rocket hurtled +up out of sight. He glanced at Mars and gave him a companionable smile. + +"Even more beautiful than Mars that day? Or the old rockets?" + +Mars looked slightly embarrassed and shuffled his legs into a more +comfortable position. "Aw hell," he said awkwardly. "Can't you forget +an old fool's ramblings? We just watched a rocket launched that's going +to open up a whole new era in space travel. It was a perfect blast off +and we know it'll be a perfect trip and landing." + +Bronsen thoughtfully nodded his head, his grey eyes dancing. + +"Tell you what," Mars continued. "I've got a bottle that I've been +saving for about fifteen years. Got it when we got back from that first +trip and never opened it." + +Bronsen grinned and gave the old man's thin shoulder a hearty slap. + +"Let's get that drink!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Corbow's Theory, by Lee Wallot + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59587 *** |