Zach Hughes - Pressure Man

The harnessing of hydrogen power had eased a few problems. There was plenty of electricity in the industrial countries, but you couldn’t use a hydroplant to propel a ground vehicle. The best use for portable hydroplants was in space, and not even almost unlimited power would push a ship past the speed of light and make the stars possible for this generation.

As a spacer, he would feel more secure in the future to know that there was a backup control for Houston. He was even pleased that the hydroplant was, at last, going to be tested. With the world in turmoil, covert actions were the only method available in a continued effort to conquer space before it was too late.

The antis would point out that only five men were breathing stale air in the Callisto Explorer as they waited for a rescue ship, while millions were starving. The antis would, if they discovered that billions had been spent to develop a space hydrogen engine, mount war horses and take to the streets to kill the first spacer or cadet they encountered.

Dom didn’t like to have to think about such things. He liked to be left free to do his job aboard a good ship and leave the problems of the planet to the politicians. Before J.J. had called him to DOSEWEX, he’d figured that he’d be able to ride the thunderbirds out into space for the rest of his life, even if it meant only the Mars run for fertilizer. Sometimes he dreamed that somewhere, some hidden lab would break the constant during his lifetime, but he had little hope. It would happen, perhaps. He could not believe that man had been created, or had grown, to be confined to Earth and its immediate family of barren planets. If tiny subatomic particles could travel faster than light, there had to be a way to make a ship travel faster than light.

If that alien ship out there in orbit around Jupiter held a key to sublight travel, any deception was justifiable. Even if the mission failed there would be gain. Power would never again be a problem. There would never be a shortage of hydrogen in the universe.

“Almost time,” J.J. said.

“Igniter system go,” Neil’s voice said, thinned by distance.

“I want Neil,” Dom said. “I want him to fly the thing.”

“He’s already assigned,” J.J. said.

So it all depended on an untested engine so far away from the control room that, if it exploded when Neil ignited it, it would take high-resolution telescopes on the orbiting observatories to see the flash of light.

“Preheater on,” Neil said.

Now it was all Neil. The countdown was in its last seconds and the time lag did not allow for two-way communication.

“Igniter switch on.” The words came calmly, smoothly, space static crackling among them. “Backup igniter switch on.”

Even as the words echoed around the silent control room, it had already happened. Neil, Walters had set off the bomb under the seat of his pants even before his voice counted: “Four, three, two, one, fire.”

Dom could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Fifty people held their breath.

“That is a roger on ignition,” Neil’s voice said, so calmly. A cheer went up in the control room.

“Acceleration factor point-one-oh-five. All systems go. Stand by for cutoff.”

It worked. In spite of strikes in key plants, in spite of demonstrations at space facilities and aerospace plants, in spite of official red tape and the starving millions and social laws against secrecy in government agencies, it worked.

Data was still pouring into the control computers when Dom followed J.J. and Art to a track car which whisked them back to the living complex.

Power was no problem. They would have enough power to jar the earth out of orbit if they wanted to build a plant big enough. With a ship powered by the hydrogen engine there would be more than enough power to grapple on and lift that bogie out of Jupiter’s atmosphere and carry it home.

If the bogie didn’t resist being lifted out.

If they could build a ship to withstand three thousand atmospheres of pressure without imploding.

If the Earthfirsters didn’t mount an attack and do too much damage before the pressure hull could fly.

If they didn’t all go to jail.

Doris Gomulka arrived while Dom was watching Art Donald run alloy tests. She came into the lab in her travel clothes, a bit rumpled and dusty, her hair damp with her own perspiration. Doris was a tall girl, small-breasted, thin chest, small waist which flowered into nice hips. She was, in Dom’s eyes, one of the more sensuous women of the world, although she made no attempt to exploit it or to enhance her nice face with beauty aids.

Art was about to fire a piece of alloy with a laser. It was an interesting and precise operation which required Dom’s assistance. Keeping his eyes on the meters gave him time to recover from seeing Doris for the first time since the water-hull project.

Art burned the piece of metal, and instruments measured the instant of its disintegration and fed the results into a computer. Doris stood quietly until Art was finished. Dom turned and looked at her. He couldn’t smile. He tried and the smile wouldn’t come. He was feeling it all over again and saying to himself, Look, stupid, the gal is married and happy with it.

“I’ve got a few problems for you,” Art said, with no other word of greeting.

“Right,” Doris said. She liked working with Art. He was her kind of scientist. Once a project was under way the rest of the world ceased to exist for Art. He was tops in his field, and she liked that, because she knew, with a quiet and unobtrusive confidence, that she was tops in hers. It had been said that Doris Gomulka could feed random numbers into a computer and make it recite the poetry of Emily Dickinson, if she wanted to waste time on such a project.

Dom had some problems, too. Unlike Art, he could not turn them over to Doris for the solving. His problem was that he was in love, had always been in love, would always be in love with a girl who looked on him as kind of goofy younger brother. And, dammit, he wasn’t even younger than Doris.

“Nice to have you aboard again,” he said.

“Thanks.” She gave him a nice smile. “You’re looking good. What’s with the feet?”

“A Firster gave him a hotfoot,” Art said. “Have you heard from Larry?”

“In this day and time he didn’t take his pills and picked up malaria in India,” Doris said.

“What we want to do,” Art said, having had enough of the civilities, “is take the water-hull formula and run it through with a few alterations.”

“She’ll want to have a rest from the trip,” Dom said.

“With a couple of the new alloys I think we can increase the resistance of the old hull about twenty percent,” Art said.

“Art, at least let her have time to wash up,” Dom said.

“I don’t care if she’s dirty,” Art said. “Just so she puts on a sterile suit.”

“I’m ready to work,” Doris said, smiling at Dom.

“The old design can be nothing more than a jumping-off place,” Art said. “The Flash here thinks he might be inspired if we go over all the figures again and just add in the progress in techniques which are available.”

“It won’t come close to what’s needed,” Doris said.

“We have to start somewhere,” Dom said. “I’ve got a couple of vague ideas. I want to talk them over with Larry before we do anything significant.”

“He’s no more than three days behind me,” Doris said.

“Good,” Dom said. “Meanwhile, well have time to go over the old design.” Doris came to stand beside him as he scribbled on a work pad. Art stood on the other side. Dom gave them a horseback estimate of what an individual hull member would have to stand for a three-thousand-atmosphere hull, using the initials TTA to refer to the hull. Art took his figures and began to run with them, and Doris slipped into a sterile suit and went into the computer room. For them, Dom had ceased to exist and the only reality was the immediate problem. They didn’t even look up when he left the lab. If they needed him, they’d remember him and call him, irritated because he wasn’t available on a second’s notice. He grinned. With that team you never knew who was the boss, and that’s the way he liked it. Each member was the best. Each member knew the other members were the best. There was no clash of egos, only a feeling of anticipation and a will to get on with it.