[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Of the cool green hills of Earth."
That was better, he thought. "How do you like that, Archie?" he asked over the muted roar.
"Pretty good.Give out with the whole thing." ArchieMacdougal , ChiefJetman , was an old friend, both
spaceside and in bars; he had been an apprentice underRhysling many years and millions of miles back.
Rhyslingobliged,then said, "You youngsters have got it soft.Everything automatic. When I was twisting
her tail you had to stay awake."
"You still have to stay awake." They fell to talking shop andMacdougal showed him the direct
response damping rig which had replaced the manualvernier control whichRhysling had used.Rhysling felt
out the controls and asked questions until he was familiar with the new installation. It was his conceit that
he was still ajetman and that his present occupation as a troubadour was simply an expedient during one
of the fusses with the company that any man could get into.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"I see you still have the old hand damping plates installed," he remarked, his agile fingers flitting over
the equipment.
"Allexcept the links. I unshipped them because they obscure the dials."
"You ought to have them shipped. You might need them."
"Oh, I don't know. I think--"Rhysling never did find out whatMacdougal thought for it was at that
moment the trouble tore loose.Macdougal caught it square, a blast of radioactivity that burned him down
where he stood.
Rhyslingsensed what had happened. Automatic reflexes of old habit came out. He slappedthe
discover and rang the alarm to the control room simultaneously. Then he remembered the unshipped
links. He had to grope until he found them, while trying to keep as low as he could to get maximum
benefit from the baffles. Nothing but the links bothered him as to location. The place was as light to him
as any place could be; he knew every spot, every control,the way he knew the keys of his accordion.
"Power room!Power room! What's the alarm?"
"Stay out!"Rhysling shouted. "The place is 'hot.'" He could feel it on his face and in his bones, like
desert sunshine.
The links he got into place, after cursing someone, anyone, for having failed to rack the wrench he
needed. Then he commenced trying to reduce the trouble by hand. It was a long job and ticklish.
Presently he decided that the jet would have to be spilled, pile and all.
First he reported."Control!"
"Control ayeaye !"
"Spilling jet three -- emergency."
"Is thisMacdougal ?"
"Macdougalis dead. This isRhysling , on watch. Stand by to record."
There was no answer; dumbfounded the Skipper may have been, but he could not interfere in a
power room emergency. He had the ship to consider, and the passengers and crew. The doors had to
stay closed.
The Captain must have been still more surprised at whatRhysling sent for record. It was:
We rot in the molds of Venus,
We retch at her tainted breath.
Foul are her flooded jungles,
Crawling with unclean death."
Rhysling went on cataloguing the Solar System as he worked, "--harsh bright soil of
Luna--","--Saturn's rainbow rings--","--the frozen night of Titan--", all the while opening and spilling the
jet and fishing it clean. He finished with an alternate chorus --
"We've tried each spinning space mote
And reckoned its true worth:
Take us back again to the homes of men
On the cool, green hills of Earth."
--then, almost absentmindedly remembered to tack on his revised first verse:
"The arching sky is calling
Spacemen back to their trade.
All hands! Stand by! Free falling!
And the lights below us fade.
Out ride the sons of Terra,
Far drives the thundering jet,
Up leaps the race of Earthmen,
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Out, far, and onward yet--"
The ship was safe now and ready tolimp home shy one jet. As for himself,Rhysling was not so sure.
That "sunburn" seemed sharp, he thought. He was unable to see the bright, rosy fog in which he worked
but he knew it was there. He went on with the business of flushing the air out through the outer valve,
repeating it several times to permit the level ofradioaction to drop to something a man might stand under
suitable armor. While he did this he sent one more chorus, the last bit of authenticRhysling that ever could
be:
"We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gaveus birth;
Let us rest our eyes on fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]