A family put their baggage down by mine. The mother looked out across the field and said, "Joseph, which one is the Mayflower?"
Her husband tried to explain to her, but she still was puzzled. I nearly burst, trying to keep from laughing. Here she was, all set to go to Ganymede and yet she was so dumb she didn't even know that the ship she was going in had been built out in space and couldn't land anywhere.
The place was getting crowded with emigrants and relatives coming to see them off, but I still didn't see anything of Dad. I heard my name called and turned around and there was Duck Miller. "Gee, Bill," he said, "I thought I'd missed you."
"Hi, Duck. No, I'm still here."
"I tried to call you last night but your phone answered 'service discontinued,' so I hooked school and came up."
"Aw, you shouldn't have done that."
"But I wanted to bring you this." He handed me a package, a whole pound of chocolates. I didn't know what to say.
I thanked him and then said, "Duck, I appreciate it, I really do. But I'll have to give them back to you."
"Huh? Why?"
"Weight Mass, I mean. I can't get by with another ounce."
"You can carry it."
"That won't help. It counts just the same."
He thought about it and said, "Then let's open it."
I said, "Fine," and did so and offered him a piece. I looked at them myself and my stomach was practically sitting up and begging. I don't know when I've been so hungry.
I gave in and ate one. I figured I would sweat it off anyhow; it was getting hot and I had my Scout uniform on under my ship suit—and that's no way to dress for the Mojave Desert in June! Then I was thirstier than ever, of course; one thing leads to another.
I went over to a drinking fountain and took a very small drink. When I came back I closed the candy box and handed it back to Duck and told him to pass it around at next Scout meeting and tell the fellows I wished they were going along. He said he would and added, "You know, Bill, I wish I was going. I really do."
I said I wished he was, too, but when did he change his mind? He looked embarrassed but about then Mr. Kinski showed up and then Dad showed up, with Molly and the brat—Peggy—and Molly's sister, Mrs. van Metre. Everybody shook hands all around and Mrs. van Metre started to cry and the brat wanted to know what made my clothes so bunchy and what was I sweating about?
George was eyeing me, but about then our names were called and we started moving through the gate.
George and Molly and Peggy were weighed through and then it was my turn. My baggage was right on the nose, of course, and then I stepped on the scales. They read one hundred and thirty-one and one tenth pounds—I could have eaten another chocolate.
"Check!" said the weightmaster, then he looked up and said, "What in the world have you got on, son?"
The left sleeve of my uniform had started to unroll and was sticking out below the half sleeve of my ship suit. The merit badges were shining out like signal lights.
I didn't say anything. He started feeling the lumps the uniform sleeves made. "Boy," he said, "you're dressed like an arctic explorer; no wonder you're sweating. Didn't you know you weren't supposed to wear anything but the gear you were listed in?"
Dad came back and asked what the trouble was? I just stood there with my ears burning. The assistant weightmaster got into the huddle and they argued what should be done. The weightmaster phoned somebody and finally he said, "He's inside his weight limit; if he wants to call that monkey suit part of his skin, we'll allow it. Next customer, please!"
I trailed along, feeling foolish. We went down inside and climbed on the slide strip, it was cool down there, thank goodness. A few minutes later we got off at the loading room down under the rocket ship. Sure enough, it was the Bifrost, as Ifound out when the loading elevator poked above ground and stopped at the passenger port. We filed in.
They had it all organized. Our baggage had been taken from us in the loading room; each passenger had a place assigned by his weight. That split us up again; I was on the deck immediately under the control room. I found my place, couch 14-D, then went to a view port where I could see the Daedalus and the Icarus.
A brisk little stewardess, about knee high to a grasshopper, checked my name off a list and offered me an injection against dropsickness. I said no, thanks.
She said, "You've been out before?"
I admitted I hadn't; she said, "Better take it."
I said I was a licensed air pilot; I wouldn't get sick I didn't tell her that my license was just for copters. She shrugged and turned away. A loudspeaker said, "The Daedalus is cleared for blasting." I moved up to get a good view.
The Daedalus was about a quarter of a mile away and stood up higher than we did. She had fine lines and was a mighty pretty sight, gleaming in the morning sunshine. Beyond her and to the right, clear out at the edge of the field, a light shone green at the traffic control blockhouse.
She canted slowly over to the south, just a few degrees.
Fire burst out of her base, orange, and then blinding white. It splashed down into the ground baffles and curled back up through the ground vents. She lifted.
She hung there for a breath and you could see the hills shimmer through her jet. And she was gone.
Just like that—she was gone. She went up out of there like a scared bird, just a pencil of white fire in the sky, and was gone while we could still hear and feel the thunder of her jets inside the compartment.
My ears were ringing. I heard someone behind me say, "But I haven't had breakfast. The Captain will just have to wait. Tell him, Joseph."
It was the woman who hadn't known that the Mayflower was a space-to-space ship. Her husband tried to hush her up, but he didn't have any luck. She called over the stewardess. I heard her answer, "But, madam, you can't speak to the Captain now. He's preparing for blast-off."
Apparently that didn't make any difference. The stewardess finally got her quiet by solemnly promising that she could have breakfast after blast-off. I bent my ears at that and I decided to put in a bid for breakfast, too.
The Icarus took off twenty minutes later and then the speaker said, "All hands! Acceleration stations–prepare to blast off." I went back to my couch and the stewardess made sure that we were all strapped down. She cautioned us not to unstrap until she said we could. She went down to the deck below.
I felt my ears pop and there was a soft sighing in the ship. I swallowed and kept swallowing. I knew what they were doing: blowing the natural air out and replacing it with the standard helium-oxygen mix at half sea-level pressure. But the woman—the same one—didn't like it. She said, "Joseph, my head aches. Joseph, I can't breathe. Do something!"
Then she clawed at her straps and sat up. Her husband sat up, too, and forced her back down.
The Bifrost tilted over a little and the speaker said, "Minus three minutes!"
After a long time it said, "Minus two minutes!"
And then "Minus one minutel" and another voice took up the count:
"Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!"
My heart started to pound so hard I could hardly hear it. But it went on: "-thirty-five! Thirty-four! Thirty-three! Thirty-two! Thirty-one! Half! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"
And it got to be: "Ten!"
And "Nine!"
"Eight!
"Seven!
"And six!
"And five!
"And four!
"And three!
"And two—"
I never did hear them say "one" or "fire" or whatever they said. About then something fell on me and I thought I was licked. Once, exploring a cave with the fellows, a bank collapsed on me and I had to be dug out. It was like that—but nobody dug me out.