In the background the news commentator was still blowing his top. "A great day, folks, a great day! The mighty Pioneer, climbing like an angel of the Lord, flaming sword at hand, is even now on her glorious way to our sister planet. Most of you have seen her departure on your screens; I wish you could have seen it as I did, arching up into the evening sky, bearing her precious load of-"
"Shut that thing off!" ordered Coster, then to the visitors on the observation platform, "And pipe down up there! Quiet!"
The Vice-President of the United States jerked his head around, closed his mouth. He remembered to smile. The other V.I.P.'s shut up, then resumed again in muted whispers. A girl's voice cut through the silence, "Track One to Blockhouse-step five tracking high, plus two." There was a stir in the corner. There a large canvas hood shielded a heavy sheet of Plexiglass from direct light. The sheet was mounted vertically and was edge-lighted; it displayed a coordinate map of Colorado and Kansas in fine white lines; the cities and towns glowed red. Unevacuated farms were tiny warning dots of red light.
A man behind the transparent map touched it with a grease pencil; the reported location of step five shone out. In front of the map screen a youngish man sat quietly in a chair, a pear-shaped switch in his hand, his thumb lightly resting on the button. He was a bombardier, borrowed from the Air Forces; when he pressed the switch, a radio-controlled circuit in step five should cause the shrouds of step five's landing 'chute to be cut and let it plummet to Earth. He was working from radar reports aloi~e with no fancy computing bombsight to think for him. He was working almost by instinct- or, rather, by the accumulated subconscious knowledge of his trade, integrating in his brain the meager data spread before him, deciding where the tons of step five would land if he were to press his switch at any particular instant. He seemed unworried.
"Spot One to Blockhouse!" came a man's voice again. "Step four free on schedule," and almost immediately following, a deeper voice echoed, "Track Two, tracking step four, instantaneous altitude nine-five-one miles, predicted vector."
No one paid any attention to Harriman.
Under the hood the observed trajectory of step five grew in shining dots of grease, near to, but not on, the dotted line of its predicted path. Reaching out from each location dot was drawn a line at right angles, the reported altitude for that location.
The quiet man watching the display suddenly pressed down hard on his switch. He then stood up, stretched, and said, "Anybody got a cigaret?" "Track Two!" he was answered. "Step four-first impact prediction-forty miles west of Charleston, South Carolina."
"Repeat!" yelled Coster.
The speaker blared out again without pause, "Correction, correction- forty miles east, repeat east."
Coster sighed. The sigh was cut short by a report. "Spot One to Blockhouse-step three free, minus five seconds," and a talker at Coster's control desk called out, "Mr. Coster, Mister Coster-Palomar Observatory wants to talk to you."
"Tell 'em to go-no, tell 'em to wait." Immediately another voice cut in with, "Track One, auxiliary range Fox-Step one about to strike near Dodge City, Kansas~"
"How near?"
There was no answer. Presently the voice of Track One proper said, "Impact reported approximately fifteen miles southwest of Dodge City."
"Casualties?"
Spot One broke in before Track One could answer, "Step two free, step two free-the ship is now on its own."
"Mr. Coster-please, Mr. Coster-"
And a totally new voice: "Spot Two to Blockhouse-we are now tracking the ship. Stand by for reported distances and bearings. Stand by-"
"Track Two to Blockhouse-step four will definitely land in Atlantic, estimated point of impact oh-five-seven miles east of Charleston bearing ohnine-three. I will repeat-"
Coster looked around irritably. "Isn't there any drinking water anywhere in this dump?"
"Mr. Coster, please-Palomar says they've just got to talk to you."
Harriman eased over to the door and stepped out. He suddenly felt very much let down, utterly weary, and depressed.
The field looked strange without the ship. He had watched it grow; now suddenly it was gone. The Moon, still rising, seemed oblivious-and space travel was as remote a dream as it had been in his boyhood.
There were several tiny figures prowling around, the flash apron where the ship had stood-souvenir hunters, he thought contemptuously. Someone came up to him in the gloom. "Mr. Harriman?"
"Eh?"
"Hopkins-with the A.P. How about a statement?"
"Uh? No, no comment. I'm bushed."
"Oh, now, just a word. How does it feel to have backed the first successful Moon flight-if it is successful."
"It will be successful." He thought a moment, then squared his tired shoulders and said, "Tell them that this is the beginning of the human race's greatest era. Tell them that every one of them will have a chance to follow in Captain LeCroix's footsteps, seek out new planets, wrest a home for themselves in new lands. Tell them that this means new frontiers, a shot in the arm for prosperity. It means-" He ran down. "That's all tonight. I'm whipped, son. Leave me alone, will you?"
Presently Côster came out, followed by the V.I.P.'s. Harriman went up to Coster. "Everything all right?"
"Sure. Why shouldn't it be? Track three followed him out to the limit of range-all in the groove." Coster added, "Step five killed a cow when it grounded."
"Forget it-we'll have steak for breakfast." Harriman then had to make conversation with the Governor and the Vice-President, had to escort them out to their ship. Dixon and Entenza left together, less formally; at last Coster and Harriman were alone save for subordinates too junior to constitute a strain and for guards to protect them from the crowds. "Where you headed, Bob?"
"Up to the Broadmoor and about a week's sleep. How about you?"
"if you don't mind, I'll doss down in your apartment."
"Help yourself. Sleepy pills in the bathroom."
"I won't need them." They had a drink together in Coster's quarters, talked aimlessly, then Coster ordered a copter cab and went to the hotel. Harriman went to bed, got up, read a day-old copy of the Denver Post filled with pictures of the Pioneer, finally gave up and took two of Coster's sleeping capsules.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMEONE WAS SHAKING HIM. "Mr. Harriman! Wake up-Mr. Caster is on the screen."
"Huh? Wazza? Oh, all right." He got up and padded to the phone. Caster was :ooking tousie-headea and excited. "Hey, Boss-he made it!"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Palomar just called me. They saw the mark and now they've spotted the ship itself. He-"
"Wait a minute, Bob. Slow up. He can't be there yet. He just left last night."
Coster looked disconcerted. "What's the matter, Mr. Harriman? Don't you feel well? He left Wednesday."
Vaguely, Harriman began to be oriented. No, the take-off had not been the night before-fuzzily he recalled a drive up into the mountains, a day spent dozing in the sun, some sort of a party at which he had drunk too much. What day was today? He didn't know. If LeCroix had landed on the Moon, then-never mind. "It's all right, Bob-I was half asleep. I guess I dreamed the take-off all over again. Now tell me the news, slowly."
Coster started over. "LeCroix has landed, just west of Archimedes crater. They can see his ship, from Palomar. Say that was a great stunt you thought up, marking the spot with carbon black. Les must have covered two acres with it. They say it shines out like a billboard, through the Big Eye."