Robert Heinlein - Time For The Stars

The Lewis and Clark was a few hundred miles east of there in an unused part of the ocean. I had not realized how much water there was until I took a look at it from the air—and at that you see just the top. If they could figure some way to use all those wet acres as thoroughly as they use the Mississippi Valley they wouldn't need other planets.

From the air the Lewis and Clark looked like a basketball floating in water; you could not see that it was really shaped like a turnip. It floated with the torch down; the hemispherical upper part was all that showed. I got one look at her, with submersible freighters around her looking tiny in comparison, then our bus was hovering over her and we were being told to mind our step on the ladder and not leave anything behind in the bus. It occurred to me that it wouldn't do any good to write to Lost-and-Found if we did. It was a chilly thought... I guess I was still homesick, but mostly I was excited.

I got lost a couple of times and finally found my stateroom just as the speaker system was booming: "All hands, prepare for acceleration. Idlers strap down. Boost stations report in order. Minus fourteen minutes." The man talking was so matter of fact that he might as well have been saying, "Local passengers change at Birmingham."

The stateroom was big enough, with a double wardrobe and a desk with a built-in viewer-recorder and a little wash-stand and two pull-down beds. They were down, which limited the floor space. Nobody else was around so I picked one, lay down and fastened the three safety belts. I had just done so when that little runt Dusty Rhodes stuck his head in. "Hey! You got my bed!"

I started to tell him off, then decided that just before boost was no time for an argument. "Suit yourself," I answered, unstrapped, and moved into the other one, strapped down again.

Dusty looked annoyed; I think he wanted an argument. Instead of climbing into the one I had vacated, he stuck his head out the door and looked around. I said, "Better strap down. They already passed the word."

"Tripe," he answered without turning. "There's plenty of time. I'll take a quick look in the control room."

I was going to suggest that he go outside while he was about it when a ship's officer came through, checking the rooms. "In you get, son," he said briskly, using the no-nonsense tone in which you tell a dog to heel. Dusty opened his mouth, closed it, and climbed in. Then the officer "baby-strapped" him, pulling the buckles around so that they could not be reached by the person in the bunk. He even put the chest strap around Dusty's arms.

He then checked my belts. I had my arms outside the straps but all he said was, "Keep your arms on the mattress during boost," and left.

A female voice said, "All special communicators link with your telepartners."

I had been checking with Pat ever since I woke up and had described the Lewis and Clark to him when we first sighted her and then inside as well. Nevertheless I said, ("Are you there, Pat?")

"Naturally. I'm not going anyplace. What's the word?"

("Boost in about ten minutes. They just told us to link with our partners during boost.")

"You had better stay linked, or I'll beat your ears off! I don t want to miss anything.

("Okay, okay, don't race your engine. Pat? This isn't quite the way I thought it would be.")

"Huh? How?"

("I don't know. I guess I expected brass bands and speeches and such. After all, this is a big day. But aside from pictures they took of us last night at Canton Atoll, there was more fuss made when we started for Scout camp.")

Pat chuckled. "Brass bands would get wet where you are—not to mention soaked with neutrons."

("Sure, sure.") I didn't have to be told that a torchship needs elbow room for a boost. Even when they perfected a way to let them make direct boost from Earth-zero instead of from a space station, they still needed a few thousand square miles of ocean—and at that you heard ignorant prattle about how the back wash was changing the climate and the government ought to do something.

"Anyhow, there are plenty of brass bands and speeches. We are watching one by the Honorable J. Dillberry Egghead... shall I read it back?"

("Uh, don't bother. Who's 'we'?")

"All of us. Faith and Frank just came in."

I was about to ask about Maudie when a new voice came over the system: "Welcome aboard, friends. This is the Cap rain. We will break loose at an easy three gravities; nevertheless, I want to warn you to relax and keep your arms inside your couches. The triple boost will last only six minutes, then you will be allowed to get up. We take off in number two position, just after the Henry Hudson."

I repeated to Pat what the Captain was saying practically as fast as he said it; this was one of the things we had practiced while he was at the training center: letting your directed thoughts echo what somebody else was saying so that a telepair acted almost like a microphone and a speaker. I suppose he was doing the same at the other end, echoing the Captain's words to the family a split second behind me-it's not hard with practice.

The Captain said, "The Henry is on her final run-down ...ten seconds... five seconds... now!"

I saw something like heat lightning even though I was in a closed room. For a few seconds there was a sound over the speaker like sleet on a window, soft and sibilant and far away. Pat said, "Boy!"

("What is it, Pat?")

"She got up out of there as if she had sat on a bee. Just a hole in the water and a flash of light. Wait a sec-they're shifting the view pick-up from the space station to Luna."

("You've got a lot better view than I have. All I can see is the ceiling of this room.")

The female voice said, "Mr. Warner! Miss Furtney! Tween-ships telepairs start recording."

The Captain said, "All hands, ready for boost. Stand by for count down," and another voice started in, "Sixty seconds... fifty-five... fifty... forty-five... holding on-forty-five... holding forty-five.....olding... holding..."

—until I was ready to scream.

"Tom, what's wrong?"

("How should I know?")

"Forty... thirty-five ... thirty..."

"Tom, Mum wants me to tell you to be very careful."

("What does she think I can do? I'm just lying here, strapped down.")

"I know." Pat chuckled. "Hang on tight to the brush, you lucky stiff; they are about to take away the ladder."

"... four!... Three!... Two!... ONE!"

I didn't see a flash, I didn't hear anything. I simply got very heavy—like being on the bottom of a football pile-up.

"There's nothing but steam where you were."

I didn't answer, I was having trouble breathing.

"They've shifted the pick-up. They're following you with a telephoto now. Tom, you ought to see this... you look just like a sun. It burns the rest of the picture right out of the tank."

("How can I see it?") I said crossly. ("I'm in it.')

"You sound choked up. Are you all right?"

("You'd sound choked, too, if you had sand bags piled across your chest.")

"Is it bad?"

("It's not good. But it's all right, I guess.")

Pat let up on me and did a right good job of describing what he was seeing by television. The Richard E. Byrd took off just after we did, before we had finished the high boost to get escape velocity from Earth; he told me all about it. I didn't have anything to say anyhow; I couldn't see anything and I didn't feel like chattering. I just wanted to hold still and feel miserable.

I suppose it was only six minutes but it felt more like an hour. After a long, long time, when I had decided the controls were jammed and we were going to keep on at high boost until we passed the speed of light, the pressure suddenly relaxed and I felt light as a snowflake... if it hadn't been for the straps I would have floated up to the ceiling.