By G. C. EDMONDSON
Illustrated by RICHARD KLUGA
They knew the Mars-shot might fail, as
the previous ones had. All the more
reason, then, for having one good meal!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity April 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Without his hat General Carnhouser was just a tired old man. Three mensat at the other side of the table. "No use trying to gloss it over,"he said.
The young men nodded. If this shot failed it might be a hundred yearsbefore Congress could be conned into another appropriation. The threeyoung men had an even better reason not to fail. They were going to bein the rocket.
Hagstrom spoke. "There were no technical difficulties in the previousshots."
"Right," the general said. "Take-offs proceeded according to schedule.Orbital corrections were made; then everybody settled down for afour-month wait. When deceleration time came the shot was still in thegroove."
"We know," van den Burg said tiredly. He worked a microscopic speck ofdirt from under a fingernail. There was a loud snap as he snipped thenail off. He stared at the general, a lean forefinger to one side ofhis ascetic nose.
"I'm no expert," the general said wearily. "When you reach my age theyturn you into an office boy."
Hagstrom lit a cigarette. "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"
The general nodded. "They're loading now."
The third man's slight build and bushy black hair belied his mestizoorigins. "I still don't think much of those rations," he said.
Hagstrom laughed suddenly. "You aren't going to con me into eatingpickled fire bombs for four months."
"If I lived on prune soup and codfish balls I'd make no cracks aboutMexican food," Aréchaga grunted. "You squareheads don't appreciate goodcooking."
"You won't get any good cooking in zero gravity," the general said.They got up and filed out the door, putting on their caps and militarymanners.
Outside, trucks clustered at the base of a giant gantry. Aréchagashuddered as a fork lift dropped a pallet of bagged meat on the gantryplatform. The meat was irradiated and sealed in transparent plastic,but the habits of a lifetime in the tropics do not disappear in spiteof engineering degrees. All that meat and not a fly in sight, hethought. It doesn't look right.
Multiple-stage rockets had gone the way of square sail and pistonengines when a crash program poured twenty-two mega-bucks into anon-mechanical shield. Piles now diverted four per cent of their outputinto a field which reflected neutrons back onto the pile instead ofabsorbing them. Raise the reaction rate and the field tightened. Thosesudden statewide evacuations in the early years of the century werenow remembered only by TV writers.
A liquid metal heat exchanger transferred energy to the reaction masswhich a turbine pump was drawing from a fire hydrant. Since the hydrantwas fed from a sea water still there was no need for purification.
The last load of provisions went up and an asepsis party rode thegantry, burdened with their giant vacuum cleaners and germicidalapparatus.
"They'll seal everything but the control room," the general said. "Whenyou go aboard there'll only be one compartment to sterilize."
"I still think it's a lot of hog-wash," Aréchaga said.
"They can't have us carrying any bugs with us," van den Burg saidtiredly.
"The Martians might put us in quarantine," Hagstrom added sourly.
"If there are any Martians—and if we get there," Aréchag