Ted nodded, his face serious. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, the Air Force thought of it. I’m partly useful and partly pure propaganda for the Academy.” He grinned and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’d have gone along if they offered me the job of scraping the jets.”
Ted laughed, and several scurrying, coveralled employees turned to look at him. “I’ll bet you would have. You’re getting a break any guy would...”
“Attention, please! Attention, please!”
Ted looked up as the loud-speaker on the wall cut through the noise in the commissary.
“Attention, please. All passengers for Rocket Ship Sugar Sugar report to blasting pit at once.”
“Sugar Sugar,” Ted said. “That’s S.S.”
“You’ve got it, boy,” Jack said. “S.S. for Space Station.”
“Repeat,” the metallic voice on the speaker said. “All passengers for Rocket Ship Sugar Sugar report to blasting pit at once.”
“We’d better go,” Ted said, shoving his chair back.
“Relax,” Jack advised, spreading his hand palm downward. “That means we’ve got at least fifteen minutes to blastoff.”
“But shouldn’t we...”
“Look, kid,” Jack said, “they’re not going to leave without us, believe me.”
“I know, but...”
“Attention, please,” the speaker repeated. “Ground crews report to launching site at once. Blastoff in fifteen minutes. Repeat. Blastoff in fifteen minutes.”
Jack smiled. “See?”
Activity within the commissary seemed to speed up. Chairs were shoved back rudely, coffees gulped hastily. The room began to clear as men and women in coveralls made their way toward the exit doors. Ted watched them, and the blood began to pound in his temples. He was getting closer, much closer. Soon. Soon. He began to drum his fingers nervously on the table, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his feet tapping the floor.
Jack watched him quietly, the smile clinging to his face.
“Look,” Ted said at last, “shouldn’t we go? The Manual says all hands should be aboard at least...”
Jack laughed, and there was something harsh in his laughter which Ted hadn’t noticed at the Academy. “Forget the Manual,” he said. “The Manual is for Earthlubbers. When you get up into space, you’ll see that nobody ever looks at the rules book.”
Ted got up, and then carefully pushed his chair under the table again. “Well, I’m still a lubber,” he said. “You coming?”
Jack shrugged. “Okay, okay. No need to get your jets all fired.” He pushed his chair back and stretched. “Come on.”
Ted set the pace, walking quickly to the large glass doors. The electric eye triggered them out, and as they stepped into the sunshine, every speaker on the field roared, “Stand by for blastoff. Blastoff in ten minutes.
“Repeat. Blastoff in ten minutes!”
Chapter 2
Up from Earth
They ran breathlessly across the field, past the scurrying men and women, past the radar tower and the toolsheds, past the blasting pits that stretched out like a row of oversized dimples. When they reached the steel-wire fence enclosing the three-stage, an Air Force captain with a Colt .45 strapped to his hip stepped out of a small guard booth, blocking their path.
“Let’s slow down,” he barked.
“We’ve got to get on that ship, sir,” Ted blurted.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers, handing them to the captain. “My friend’s a lubber, sir,” he said. “First time on the milk run.”
The captain nodded briefly. “There’s a first time for everyone,” he said, his voice dry.
A slow flush crept around Ted’s neck, shoved its way up into his face. He fumbled in his pockets, dug out his identification shield and his authorization papers.
“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “I just didn’t...”
“That’s all right.” The captain turned his scrutiny to the papers, examining them carefully. He lifted his hat, held it in his hand as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He sighed, replaced his hat, and gave one last look at the papers. “These look all right,” he said. He pointed to the portable elevator rig standing in place beside the tall rocket. “Just take the lift up to the control cabin.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ted said, pocketing his papers.
The captain nodded. “Nice trip.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ted restrained the urge to run to the lift. Instead, he kept his pace down to a very fast walk, Jack beside him all the way. He glanced up once to look at the rocket, fully expecting it to leap into the air without him at almost any moment.
When they reached the skeletal structure of the lift, a corporal triggered the electronic lock on the gate, and the door slid back soundlessly. They stepped into the car, their backs to the rocket.
“All set?” the corporal asked, a tired expression on his face.
“Full jets,” Jack answered.
“My,” the corporal said dryly, “ain’t you salty?” He yawned and swung a Z-shaped handle over to the left. The quiet hum of machinery reached Ted’s ears. The corporal pressed a button to slide the door of the car shut. “Hold your hats,” he said.
Almost imperceptibly, the car began to rise in the open shaft. Slowly, the ground dropped from beneath them as the car began its long climb. Behind them was the blue-black hull of the three-stage, so close that Ted could have reached out to touch it. The corporal looked up once, and his features were already blurred by the distance. The guard booth was smaller now, a carton set alongside the fence. The lift kept climbing, higher, higher, and Ted could see the entire field now, the blasting pits looking like tarnished pennies on a white canvas. The radar tower had become a miniature stack of toothpicks, and the ground crew moved over the concrete like white ants. The sky spread out around them, and Ted could see the ocean, green waves lashing the white, endless stretch of the beach.
“Pretty high,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.
Jack grinned. “If you think this is high, wait until we reach the Station.”
The lift was slowing. It glided to a smooth stop beside the air-lock door in the nose of the rocket. When they had passed through the lock and secured the toggles on the inner door, Jack led Ted to a ladder and started climbing.
“This way, lubber,” he said, not unpleasantly.
Ted followed Jack up the ladder, his nerves jangling against each other. They were going up to the control room, he knew, the room he’d seen a hundred times in diagrams and slide projections at the Academy. Jack disappeared through a circular opening in the overhead, and Ted followed him up. When they had passed through the hatch, Jack dropped the hatch cover, turning the wheel that would hold it tight to the deck.
“It’s about time,” a deep voice said.
“Hi, George,” Jack called. He took Ted’s elbow, steering him over to the four men clustered around one of the radar panels. The man Jack had called George looked at his watch and frowned. Ted noticed the double silver bars of an Air Force captain on the wings of his collar, and he wondered about Jack’s familiarity.
“Fellows,” Jack said, “I’d like you to meet Ted Baker. He’s going up to the Station for his senior year.”
The Air Force captain took a step toward Ted and extended his hand. He was short, with black hair curling over his high forehead. His eyes were brown, and they glittered with lively intelligence. He had a somewhat long, slender nose that curved gently down to his full lips. He gave Ted the impression of an eager cocker spaniel. Ted took his hand, returning the captain’s firm grip.