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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Flight of the Eagle - -Author: Sol Galaxan - -Release Date: January 09, 2021 [eBook #64238] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE *** - - - - - The Flight of the Eagle - - By SOL GALAXAN - - _It was a new and mysterious plant. It - could make its own weather; it was - sentient, and it prospered on Venus. But - Earth needed it desperately. And Bat Kendo, - the radar-mutant, was told to bring it in._ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Planet Stories September 1953. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Humans are a strange breed. Forgetful. They grow accustomed to the -wonders they live among so easily that they never really figure up the -cost. A little time passes and the bright memories tarnish and are -covered over with newer ones. And the men who picked up the check and -maybe paid with their lives? Forgotten. - -For example, when you're sitting comfortably in the New York to San -Francisco stratojet, and you take the trouble to look down at the -lush verdure of the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada, do you ever -remember that a few short years back that lovely fertile parkland was -a rocky, barren waste? Or when you taste the delicious tropical fruits -that are brought to your table from the Mojave Basin, do you think of -Bat Kendo, the man who made all that possible? Like fun you do! I'll -give you ten to one you never heard of Bat Kendo. Maybe you don't even -know that the reason those once sterile wastelands are now the larders -of the North American continent is ... weather-plant. And I'll give -eight to five you don't even know where that weather-plant came from, -or how it got here, or what it cost. Not in money ... in lives. - -Well, I know, and for once I'd like to have someone stand still long -enough so I could tell the story. The minute anyone sees an old -spaceman like me coming, they jet the hell out of there fast. "Old -Captain Morley's got another shaggy dog to comb out!" they say, and -beat it. My stories, it seems, are too old fashioned for this modern -age. Just because I, and a lot of others like me--only maybe not so -lucky--spent our lives opening up the spaceways instead of sitting home -on our venturiis, we're "odd characters" and "old space-hacks," and our -stories are tall tales--yarns to be avoided, or laughed at if it's not -possible to avoid them. - -Okay, I expect that. But I still want to tell how that weather-plant -came to be where it is now, and what Bat Kendo had to do with it. He -was my shipmate on the R. S. _Eagle_, and I think he's got a little -credit coming to him. - -The history books will tell you that during the last few years of the -20th Century the population of North America increased by something -like 600 per cent. They might even tell you that this put such a load -on the continental resources--food, mainly--that famine became a -possibility for the first time in the history of the continent. Things -were pretty tight. People were actually starving amid the technological -wonders of the time. Hydroponics were tried, but they fizzled badly. - -The only answer seemed to be complete utilization of all available -land area for food production. And that meant that a lot of land that -couldn't grow weeds had to produce edible crops. That's the way things -stood back in '02, just after the William Robert Holcomb Foundation's -R. S. _Explorer_ returned from Venus with what the botanists thought -might be an answer. - -Of course, the Earth-Luna System was well traveled even then, but it -took the big money of the Holcomb Foundation plus a whopping World -Federal Government grant to make a deep space mission feasible. - -It was a Holcomb Foundation metallurgist's synthesis of impervium -that made deep space navigable. Before this time all ships were -chemical-fuelled because the weight of lead needed to shield atomics -would nail any spacer built to terra firma ... but good. Chemical ships -could make Luna, but no farther. Lucky to get that far with the pumps -feeding the jets a stream of monoatomic hydrogen as thick as your -arm. A ship could carry about enough juice to get up the necessary -seven-a-second with maybe enough for landing ... maybe. Even then -plenty of ships that carried a pound or two of mass too much arced -back to Earth and splashed themselves all over the ground. Others got -up escape-velocity only to run dry trying to land on Luna. Their metal -bones are still up there; if you care to look for them. - -Impervium changed all that. Here was a metal that was easily worked, as -light as a good quality aluminum-magnesium alloy, and strong as steel. -And it was impervious to everything except neutrino bombardment. That -was the ticket to deep space. Atomics were in and chemicals out. I -might add that none of us were sorry to see them go, either. - -Luna remained the jumping-off place. And Foy City was the staging area -for trips to ... UP. Before the successful flight of the _Explorer_, -Foy had been just a combination mining and scientific camp. After the -_Explorer_ returned from Venus, spacemen began to pour up from Earth, -and Foy City became one of the rowdiest places under Sol. Jetmen and -pilots, tubemen and ABs, all the restless flotsam of humanity flowed up -to Luna in a steady stream to mingle with the miners from the Diggings -and the longhairs from the Cosmiray Labs and the big dome of Starview. - -Mars was reached and colonization began. And men set up a settlement on -Venus. The Holcomb Foundation was convinced that they had the answer -to the critical food shortage on Earth. Weather-plant. The one useful -thing that stinking Venus produces. - -Weather-plant is a moss-like plant that will grow almost anywhere. -The Foundation botanists found that it gathered nitrogen and -water in some inexplicable way, and they became interested in its -possibilities. Something had to be done about soil reclamation back -on Earth, or starvation would strangle the race. Weather-plant looked -like the answer. What the smart boys couldn't have guessed was that -in addition to its other strange properties, weather-plant was -intelligent--sentient, at least. And they didn't know that it liked its -wet, foggy environment very, very much. - - * * * * * - -I hit Foy City with a mammoth thirst and very little spending money. -A bad combination. I had a Pilot's rating and a brand-new Second -Officer's ticket, and I needed a job. - -I'd been handling a regular chemical flight out of Foy to Montevideo -for a one horse concern that was still trying to make the low grade -uranium ore found on the Moon pay off. When I came down onto the great -pumice plain of Mare Imbrium that served Foy as a spaceport, the -patched-up blow-torch I was jockeying blew a venturi and buried herself -under twenty feet of pumice. If it had happened on Earth, we'd have -been cooked, but Luna's one-sixth gravity saved our hides. Those were -the days before tractor-pressor beam landings, you see. Back then you -landed a can by balancing her on her tail-flare like a ball on a water -spout. And that was a rough go anyway you want to look at it. - -Anyway, after the pileup I quit. There was some difference of opinion -on that particular point between the company and me. They claimed I was -fired. - -Quit or fired, however, I didn't get paid, and that led me to seek -solace in the local pubs. That, in turn, led me to the city drunk-tank -for the night, and that's where I ran into Bat Kendo.... - -Bat was Chief Tubeman on the R. S. _Eagle_. He was also a mutation. -Not that he wasn't human or anything like that. And he certainly -wasn't the much kicked around "homo superior." He merely had an extra -sense. We all have it dormant. Bat had it well developed. That's why -he was called Bat. People thought he could see in the dark. It wasn't -that. Try closing your eyes and moving your head slowly toward an -obstruction. If you are very careful and very alert, you'll be able to -sense the obstruction before you touch it. Well, Bat could "see" things -that way ... perfectly. He even used to pick up beer money by getting -into the ring blindfolded and letting pugs throw punches at him. They -hit him, but not often. And when they did connect it wasn't because he -didn't sense the blows coming; it was because he was slow on his feet -and generally three quarters drunk. - -Bat's father, Nakano Kendo, had grown up in Nagasaki. He'd been exposed -to radiation by the second atom blast there. Bat had befuddled the -geneticists by showing up a mutation one generation before he was -supposed to. He used to laugh about that. - -His mother had been Russian. Certainly you couldn't tell his -nationality by looking at him. His face held a suggestion of the -Asiatic, but trying to place him anthropologically would have been as -difficult as finding a pure Anglo-Saxon, whatever that is. - -Bat was just the product of an insane age. A child of a man whose germ -plasm had been dosed with radiation. But for all of that Bat Kendo was -normal. Two arms, two legs, two eyes. Only his built-in radar marked -him as different. That, and his terrific taste for booze. I never -saw him sober. Yet to see him, you'd never guess he was perpetually -saturated. There may have been bigger drunks in space, but I never knew -one. - -As a tubeman, he never had an equal. As an all around right guy, he -never will have. - -It was Bat that talked me into signing on the _Eagle_. They needed a -Pilot, and where a better place to find one than in the Foy City drunk -tank? I knew the _Eagle_, of course. Everyone in the Luna-Earth System -did. She was a five hundred tonner, newly converted to atomics and -fitting in the Foundation yards for a flight to Venusberg. - -She was going to pick up a full cargo of weather-plant from the -settlement. A hundred tons of it. And brother, that's a lot of -weather-plant. - -This was to be the first quantity shipment of the stuff. The -"pilot-shipment." The botanists suspected a lot and had great hopes. -But it was up to the _Eagle_ to get the stuff to Earth. She was the -only ship available for the trip with enough storage space for the -plant, and when I listened to Bat talk about it, the flight began to -take on the aspect of a mercy mission. - -I knew people were going hungry back Earthside, and old Bat was really -steamed up about it. I dare say if it hadn't been for his pep talk I'd -never have signed on. Deep space was still new, and I liked living. -But Bat talked me into it, and as soon as the turnkey shook us out of -the sack and shooed us out, Bat and I headed for the Foundation yards -and the _Eagle_. - -My first view of the ship didn't do much to make me happy about the -trip. She looked old and scabrous standing tall on her tail fins out on -the flat, glaring plain of Mare Imbrium. Her hull was meteor-scarred -and eroded by atmospheric friction, and there seemed to be an abundance -of patch-welds on her. - -Her tubes, however, were spanking brand new, and after I had inspected -her control-tube-pile system--as all prospective pilots have a right to -do--in company with Bat and Captain Reynard, I signed. - -Reynard was a decent enough skipper. He wasn't much of a -disciplinarian, but the boat only carried a crew of twenty, so that was -no problem. As an astrogator, he had quite a reputation, and he'd been -out to Venus before on one of the ships that lugged the settlers and -scientific personnel out there. - -There wasn't much fanfare when the time came for our departure. Ships -were lifting every day for Mars just then, and the departure of one -for Venus didn't seem important. Before we left though, a Holcomb -Foundation man came aboard and spoke to us about the importance of -our trip. He said that if we didn't bring back the weather-plant in -good shape, things might turn nasty on Earth. It would be another year -and a half before Venus and Earth came into conjunction again, and by -that time it might be too late for the thousands who were going hungry -back home. It gave us a sense of responsibility, all right. And it -particularly had an effect on Bat. - - * * * * * - -We lifted from Mare Imbrium on 11/9/02 Earth Date. I recall that I -gave her 2G, easing her up to 6G and holding that acceleration for -sixty hours. By that time our speed in MPH wouldn't have made sense. -I revelled in the power under my hands, and the feeling that I could -actually waste an erg or two without having to worry myself bald about -landing. The _Eagle_ carried fifty pounds of ingot thorium as fuel, -and with our new atomics, that would have taken us to Centaurus, if -we'd had the time. It was wonderful to be able to keep the boat under -a steady 1G all the way to turn-over instead of having to endure the -endless nausea of free-fall. Even seasoned spacemen never got used to -free-fall, and atomics eliminated it, thank God! - -The sunward flight was something to remember for sheer beauty. Earth -and Luna faded astern until they were just a bright point of light. -The sun blazed like a ball of white fire ahead of us, and Venus grew -brighter and brighter against the breath-taking backdrop of the Milky -Way. It was a gorgeous sight--but frightening, too. I had the feeling -that I was terribly exposed, as though I were standing balanced atop -the spire of the Holcomb Tower, five hundred stories above the teeming -streets of New York. Agoraphobia, I think the psychs call it. The -others felt it too. In fact one of the jetmen went slightly off his -rocker and had to be jugged. But most of the men came through the first -fear of deep space well enough, and as an astrogator Captain Reynard -was strictly one hundred per cent. - -I didn't see much of Bat on the trip, since he was down in the heavily -sheathed tuberoom with his "black-gang." But I could tell whenever he -was on watch, because if I turned the interphone on without warning, I -could almost invariably hear his beery baritone singing the praises of: - - "That Lulu! Belle of ol' Foy City - Who wears two hammocks...." - -Bat was something of a poet, in his lighter moments--though most of his -stuff was lamentably unprintable. - -I did get in on one little session with him and about a dozen of the -crew. That was down in the forecastle where he was entertaining the -off-watches by letting them blindfold him and then try to hide a bottle -of the tetrant alky we called our "rations." Naturally, he always -found it, and naturally he always drank it. It took them most of the -sunward trip to wise up to the fact that he was a mutation with his own -detecting system already built-in--courtesy of the Manhattan Project -and Nakano Kendo's irradiated gametes. The crew lost most of its alky -rations that way, and old Bat soaked the stuff up like a sponge. - -We passed turn-over point and then the long fall down to Venus -began--three weeks of it. - -Contact was established with the settlement while we were still -above the stratosphere, and our Ultra-wave-radar went into action, -the endless scanning that is absolutely essential to the landing of -spacecraft through cloud layers. - -I don't mind admitting that there was a cold sweat on my brow when I -started down through the soup. The reports from UVR indicated plenty -of clearance from the mountains, but I was still leery. Some of those -peaks are reported to be as high as 200,000 feet. The _Eagle's_ gyros -were screaming and the muffled thunder of the jets filtered through -every plate of her. I'd let her slide a bit and then snatch her up -with a blast of the jets. Each time I touched the firing consoles, I -could hear the moan of the blasted atomic particles rushing through -the venturiis, and I could see the glitter of the cloud moisture that -hugged the ports as it absorbed lethal radiations from the tail-flare. - -Then the clouds began to thin and I could make out the pattern of the -spaceport beneath us through the billowing formaldehyde mists that -serve Venus for an atmosphere. - -I was a wreck by the time the _Eagle's_ fins touched the ground and the -dancing fire of the tubes flickered and died. I felt her sag as she -sank slightly into the mushy soil, and then I was cutting the power -switches and listening to the slowly descending whine of the gyros as -they coasted silkily to a halt. - -I looked out of the ports at the miasmic swamp that surrounded us, at -the fifty foot ferns in ghastly colors, at the alien, repellent trees -that grew pulpy and squat all around the settlement. This was Venus.... - - * * * * * - -Venusberg wasn't the great domed city then that it is now. Back in -'02 it was just a group of pressurized Quonset huts. There were about -sixty men there, mostly maintenance workers and horticulturalists, and -five women. Four women were scientists, the fifth Bat Kendo spent his -planet-leave with. - -The settlers were very cordial with us. I guess we must have been like -a breath of the home world to these poor characters who lived there. - -I accompanied Captain Reynard on a tour of the cultivated areas and the -settlement itself. We were shown how the weather-plant was cultivated -and how it gathered nitrogen and water out of the fetid air to deposit -it in the soil. We saw how there were always banks of mist over the -rows of plants. It gave me quite a shock when I reached down to touch -some and the stuff actually shied away from my pressure-suit glove. - -"We suspect that the stuff might actually be sentient," the settlement -botanist told us. - -"You mean the stuff _thinks_?" Captain Reynard demanded. - -The botanist laughed. "Oh, no. It's just that when there is a -considerable amount of the stuff about it reacts peculiarly. As soon as -this ship load of yours gets to Earth, the Foundation staff can really -get to work with it and see just what all it can do. We've great hopes -for it. It may be the answer to starvation back home." - -I looked out over the neat rows of tiny plants that vanished in the -misty distance, and I looked too, at the pressing jungle. I began to -get a queasy feeling in my stomach. This was alien life. Life that had -never been meant for Earth's clean soil. There was no telling what the -stuff might do away from here. - -"We suspect," the botanist was saying, "that the high formaldehyde -content of Venus' atmosphere has an inhibiting effect on the action of -the plant. We have isolated small amounts in formaldehyde-free air, -and gotten some interesting results. Freed of its native ecology, we -believe the stuff can actually create its own weather." - -His voice faded away as far as I was concerned. Somewhere in my head -a bell was trying to ring. There was something here that was escaping -this botanist and Captain Reynard. I couldn't put my finger on it. I -had the crazy feeling that something, like the Purloined Letter, was -hidden here. Something obvious, something that could be, under the -proper circumstances, dangerous. - -But I didn't figure it out. Not just then. Not until it was too late. -All the clues were there; the plant and the way it could gather -water vapor and nitrogen, the threat of taking it from its native -ecology. Everything. But I didn't tumble. Not until it was too late and -the obvious had taken a toll. In lives.... - -On 23/35/02 Venus Date the _Eagle_ was fully loaded and ready for the -long haul back up to Earth. The colonists gathered to bid us farewell, -and the party was a corker. Bat did his human radar act somewhere -along about the time the fifteenth libation was poured. He was at his -extra-normal best, telling astounded colonists just what they were -doing with their pinkies at ranges up to three hundred yards in pitch -darkness. I could have told them that he was almost as good as UVR, but -that might have spoiled the effect. - -Three hours later we had bid an enthusiastic good-bye to that mushy -ball of swamp and stench those poor colonials called home, and the -valves sighed shut in the _Eagle's_ flanks. The loading cranes pulled -away and our own were retracted. The ramp was cleared and the lift-ship -alarm blared through the _Eagle_. - -The gyros reached operating RPM and I let my hands play over the -consoles. The boat shuddered and lifted slowly on a tail of fire. I fed -her more power and the accelerometer moved up to 2G. I held her there -until we broke out of the clouds and into the crystalline cobalt of the -ionosphere. I swung the power lever over and the _Eagle_ leaped upward, -her needle-nose pointed for home. - -We were well past turn-over, in fact just about nineteen hours from -Earth when things began happening. - -Bat called Control, his voice tense with excitement. "Morley! There's -something coming ... fast! I can feel it!" - -I started to ask him what was coming in fast, and whether or not he -could "see" it clearly through the metal of the ship, but I never -finished. UVR flashed a red alert warning on my control panel ... and -it was the last warning it ever gave. - -The panel screeched: "METEOR SWARM!" and went dead. The lights -flickered and went out as the _Eagle_ bucked and roared in protest. The -sound of tearing metal knifed through the hull, and then the whooshing -sound of escaping air. Alarm bells clattered futilely--bulkheads -slammed. The ship's self-sealing mesoderm saved most of the air, but -not before the pressure in the boat dropped from 14.7 down to 6 lbs. -per square inch in about two seconds and doubled me up in an agony of -aero-embolism. For a long while there was silence, and I fought the -glittering knives of pain that seemed to be cutting me into hamburger. -Then the lights came back on, dimly. There was still life in the old -_Eagle_. - -I staggered to my feet and rang the tuberoom. A pilot's first instinct -is to check the power. No matter what has happened to his ship, if -there's power there's hope. - -"Morley...!" It was Bat calling back through the interphone. "We've had -it down here! The sheathing is gone and I've got three men killed!" I -could hear the sound of metal sizzling in the background as Bat looked -about for more dope to pass on. As it was it looked bad enough. If -the sheathing was shot, that meant that he was taking lethal doses of -radiation even as he spoke to me. - -"Bat!" I shouted, "Bat, you crazy fool! If that place is hot, get out -of there!" - -I got no reply. - -"Bat! That's an order! Put the pile on automatic and get the hell out!" - -"No soap, Morley...." Bat's voice seemed edged with pain. "You know the -autos won't last for more than thirty minutes. Strictly ... emergency -stuff...." And then his voice grew even tighter. "The storage, Morley! -Those stinking ... rocks ... took ... out ... the storage! All the -thorium went out ... the side ... they hit ... the storage bunker!" - -That tore it. Without thorium ... without even an extra gram ... the -best we could hope for was making it to Earth. Luna and its lovely -one-sixth gravity for a crash landing was out. - -I tried to get Captain Reynard on the phone, but there was no answer -from his quarters. I didn't need a diagram to figure out that he was -either dead or so tied up with bends that he couldn't reach the phone. - -I started the compressors and the pressure began to build up, but the -mesoderm patches wouldn't stand more than 9 lbs. Well, it had to do. - -The griping pains eased a bit inside me and I tried to take stock of -the situation. Station by station, I called the crew and assessed the -damage. It was plenty. - -The whole communications deck was gone and the only radio on board that -worked was the tiny panel set in control. The UVR was mangled and so -was its crew of four men. Three tubemen had died in the tuberoom and I -didn't know how badly Bat might be hurt. No one could enter because the -place was hot. The thorium was gone and the sheathing on the pile too. -I looked in on the Captain and scratched him off the list. Death from -bends is not a pleasant thing to see. The _Eagle_ was my command now. -As pilot and Second Officer, I took over, for better or worse. - -I returned to Control and gave the crew a quick rundown on the -situation. Work parties were made up and the wreckage cleared away. The -dead--the ones we could find--were wrapped in celoflex and consigned -to space. I mumbled a prayer over them as they slipped out into the -void. They weren't all Christians, but somehow I had a feeling that -they wouldn't mind too much. There's something about the immensity of -the cosmos that makes men relinquish their petty prejudices. And when I -got back into Control and watched the tell-tales on the Geiger-Muller -Counters down in the tuberoom, I said another prayer--for Bat Kendo. - -I kept wondering why we had hit that meteor swarm. The normal chances -of such an encounter are in the vicinity of a thousand to one. Bits of -memory kept tugging at me, but I couldn't get things properly trimmed -up until a call from Bat in the tuberoom furnished the key. - -"Morley, there's a piece of those damned rocks down here ... and it's -melting!" - -Ice! Water! Weather-plant! The pieces of the puzzle began to fit now. -The swarm was ice ... superhard ice ... tempered by the awful cold -of the void. And the weather-plant in the hold--one hundred tons -of it--had attracted it hungrily! The plant had more than just an -affinity for water! It acted like a magnet! There had probably been -nitrogen dissolved in the water, too, and that had added to the plant's -attraction! - -A sick feeling moved into the pit of my stomach and stayed right there. -There was no way of jettisoning the cargo, and there wasn't enough -fuel for a try at airless Luna! That meant.... - -I could hear the Venusian botanist's words echo mockingly in my ears. -"... we suspect it can create its own weather!" - -I knew real fear then. I looked at the great greenish globe of Earth -that grew hourly larger beneath us, and shuddered.... - - * * * * * - -Seventeen hours later we were into the ionosphere. My instruments -warned that I had just enough thorium left in the pile to keep the -_Eagle_ up for another hour and ten minutes. The radar was gone, but -the weather-plant was fat and healthy. - -I tried to pick up a good spot for the landing. The Mojave Desert. -Chances for clear weather were better there than anywhere else, though -I could guess even then what our chances were. - -The _Eagle_ shuddered to a vibrating halt, balancing on her tail-flare -at about twenty five miles. The gyros were climbing the sonic scale, -sending their shrieking whine through every deck of the crippled ship. -I looked outside, and cold sweat beaded my face. Even at this height, a -fine mist was forming around the _Eagle_. - -Freed of Venus' formaldehyde atmosphere, our tons of weather-plant were -happily doing their job. Drawing water vapor out of Earth's air. It -liked fog. _And it could make its own weather!_ - -I looked at the chronometer. I had just one hour now to get this ship -down through this soup that clung to us--without UVR. I had one hour to -do the job or gravity would do it for me. - -I let her slip down to fifteen miles and held there, gyros protesting. -The mist thickened. I rang the crash alarm, sending all hands who were -not actually engaged in the running of the ship to their quarters and -the crash-hammocks. My hands were icy cold. - -The _Eagle_ sank slowly down to five miles and hung there like a -ball bouncing on a jet of water. The mist billowed about us, turning -radioactive from the vicious lashing of the tail-flare. - -I knew that the weather was perfectly clear perhaps two hundred yards -away from the ship, but the weather-plant was creating the soggy -weather it liked and I was being effectively blindfolded by the-- - -Blindfolded! - -I grabbed for the interphone. "Bat!" I yelled, "Bat! Can you see -anything below?" - -Old Bat knew right away what I wanted, but his answer wasn't what I -wanted to hear. "Too much metal under me, Morley ... too much metal." -His voice was unsteady and seamed with pain. - -I glanced at the chronometer. Thirty seven minutes left. And the fog -clung to the ports. - -"Morley," Bat sounded something like himself for just a minute. "I've -got a notion. Maybe ... maybe it will work. Break out a pressure-suit -and get the craneman on the ball. And Morley...." Here I could imagine -that he was smiling. "... break out a bottle of the skipper's bonded -stuff, will you?" - -"What are you dreaming up?" I demanded anxiously. - -"We have to get this cargo down," Bat said thinly. "You remember what -the Foundation man said before we left ... people need food, Morley...." - -"What are you thinking about?" I asked again, and then as realization -came, I added angrily: "Never mind that! I know what you're planning -Bat, and you can forget it! I'll get this can down all right!" - -The voice from the interphone was dry as dust. "Like hell you will. Who -are you kidding?" - -I had no answer there. Without UVR to guide me, I was blind. I didn't -have a chance to get the _Eagle_ down, and we both knew it. - -"I'm coming up," Bat said, "The automatics can take care of things down -here now." - -I glanced at the chronometer. Twenty-two minutes to go. Bat was right. -The autos could carry on in the tuberoom now. I felt them cut into the -circuit. - -My heart was heavy as I called a craneman into control to handle the -equipment. Together we unlimbered a pressure-suit from the locker. Then -I found the skipper's rations and uncorked a bottle. In a moment Bat -was in Control. When I saw him my stomach muscles tightened. He looked -as though he'd been broiled. His face was a swollen mass of angry -flesh and his clothes were seared into his hide. Every movement must -have been sheer hell for him, but he staggered into the suit and made -himself fast to the Control crane. - -Before calling for the steelglas helmet, he reached thirstily for the -skipper's bottle and took a long pull. - -"Ahhh," he breathed, "That's fine stuff ... real fine." He offered me -the bottle, grinning painfully. "Have one on me, Morley...." - - * * * * * - -I let the fiery liquor drive down the lump that was sticking in my -throat and handed Bat the bottle. He finished it in two swallows, -looked at it regretfully, and tossed it aside. It landed in the corner -of Control where it lay, rocking senselessly back and forth with the -jolting movements of the boat. - -Bat fastened his helmet on and started for the valve. I wanted to reach -out and stop him, but I couldn't. I wanted to say something to him ... -but what? How do you thank a man for buying your life with his own? -What do you say to pay a man for his pain and his torture? - -That's right. You don't say anything. And neither did I. You just stand -there and watch, with your heart a lump of lead inside you. I did that, -and no more. - -He turned toward me just as the inner valve closed on him and the -cable he dragged behind him. "See ya," he said with a clumsy wave. -And then he was outside in that radioactive mist of death, riding the -crane out and down. Hanging by a thin cable in that stinking fog and -using his useless mutational powers to save the hides of his ship and -shipmates ... _and_ the load of weather-plant that meant food to the -stay-at-homes. - -The mass-ratio altimeter gave its last reading--four miles--and then it -was through, its sensitive coils thrown out of phase by the mass of the -planetary globe under us. Here, now, was where UVR should have taken -over. - -But there was no UVR. Only a man hanging at the end of a cable in a -glowing mist that was burning his last chance of life out of him. - -I heard his instructions clearly over the small panel set. "About -three miles up now." - -I let the _Eagle_ down slowly. Two miles. One. Hold. Three thousand -feet. Two. One. Hold. Five hundred feet. Hold. Mojave Desert right -under us. Baldy off to the right. Lancaster about twenty miles north. -Down easy.... - -The tail-flare was splashing against the desert beneath now, turning -the clinging mist into a ruddy shroud. A glance at the chronometer -showed about three minutes fuel. - -"Let ... her ... down ... slow." Bat's voice was fading fast as the -terrific heat seared him and the radiation burned deep. - -The fuel should be gone now. No time left. Two hundred feet, one -hundred, fifty, thirty.... - -I heard Bat's voice sob just once through the radio. "Oh ... dear -God...!" And that was all. - -No time. No fuel. - -Silence! - -The thunder of the jets stopped abruptly, leaving a frightening void. -The _Eagle_ slewed about sickeningly and dropped the remaining thirty -feet like so much lead. There was a rending crash as her tail section -crumpled, battered plates sinking into the sand, and then she settled -wearily to a halt amid the bubbling magma of atomized earth.... - - * * * * * - -So the pilot-shipment of weather-plant got here all right, and it -exceeded the Holcomb Foundation's fondest hopes. It brought fertility -where there had been only barrenness. Long rows of it still bring -richness and life to the soil and the danger of famine is gone forever. - -Just remember now, the next time you take the Pacific stratojet. Look -under you at that garden of plenty. See the rows upon rows of richly -bearing plants. Look too at the interstices where a tiny Venusian moss -called "weather-plant" makes it all possible. - -Bat Kendo? He died. He died doing what he wanted to do, and that's -something. The others maybe weren't so lucky. Of course you never heard -of Bat, or of the _Eagle_ for that matter. All this happened a long, -long time ago, and the old memories tarnish. Now people take their -lives pretty much as they find it, and they never wonder about the guys -who made it what it is. - -Yes, humans are a strange breed. Like I say ... forgetful. 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