Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

I knew that "my" Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named "Shangri La" for a land as nonexistent as "Erewhon"; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans-the list is endless. Nature copies art.

Or as Deety put it: "Truth is more fantastic than reality."

During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance-and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just "above" and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests,

We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight-ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.

Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, "Copilot, if our approximations are correct,

at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?"

"To the accuracy of our data, Captain."

"Too close. I don't fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please-but bear in mind that puts us-should put us-two klicks over a hot, new crater....ossibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?"

"Captain, we can do that just before crashing-and it either works or it doesn't. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn't work-"

"We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn't built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She's beefed up-but she's still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle."

"Captain, I can try to subtract the planet's orbital speed. We've time to make the attempt."

"Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!"

Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness-was enjoying weightlessness, but didn't know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates-only worse.

TReport, damn it!"

Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats- she in mine, I in hers. "Strapping down, Captain!" she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)

"Speed it up!"

Deety reported, "Seat belts fastened," while still getting her chest belt buckled-by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.

"Copilot."

"Captain!"

"Along 'L' axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second-and for God's sake don't get the signs reversed."

"I won't!"

"Execute."

Seconds later Jacob reported, "That does it, Captain. I hope."

"Let's check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I'll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!"

Zeb added, "One point two. Record."

After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, "Seven seconds... eight seconds... nine seconds....ark!"

Our men conferred, then Jacob said, "Captain, we are still falling too fast."

"Of course," said Deety. "We've been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars-"

"Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?"

"Sure!"

"Do it."

"Uh....one! How does she look?"

"Uh....istance slowly closing. Hello, Gay."

"Howdy, Zeb."

"Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range."

"No reading."

"Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target."

"Program running. Who blacked your eye?"

"You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

"I'm sexy, too. Over."

"Continue program." Zeb sighed, then said, "Copilot, there's atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?"

"Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let's go!"

"Barsoom-here we come!"

-a maiden knight, eager to break a lance-

Jake:

My beloved bride was no more eager than I to visit "Barsoom." I had been afraid that our captain would do the sensible thing: establish orbit, take pictures, then return to our own space-time before our air was stale. We were not prepared to explore strange planets. Gay Deceiver was a bachelor's sports car. We had a little water, less food, enough air for about three hours. Our craft refreshed its air by the scoop method. If she made a "high jump," her scoop valves sealed from internal pressure just as did commercial ballistichypersonic intercontinental liners-but "high jump" is not space travel.

True, we could go from point to point in our own or any universe in null time, but how many heavenly bodies have breathable atmospheres? Countless billions-but a small fraction of one percent from a practical viewpoint-and no publication lists their whereabouts. We had no spectroscope, no star catalogs, no atmosphere testing equipment, no radiation instruments, no means of detecting dangerous organisms. Columbus with his cockleshells was better equipped than we.

None of this worried me.

Reckless? Do you pause to shop for an elephant gun while an elephant is chasing you?

Three times we had escaped death by seconds. We had evaded our killers by going to earth-and that safety had not lasted. So again we fled like rabbits.

At least once every human should have to run for his life, to teach him that milk does not come from supermarkets, that safety does not come from p0-

licemen, that "news" is not something that happens to other people. He might learn how his ancestors lived and that he himself is no different-in the crunch his life depends on his agility, alertness, and personal resourcefulness.

I was not distressed. I felt more alive than I had felt since the death of my first wife.

Underneath the persona each shows the world lies a being different from the masque. My own persona was a professorial archetype. Underneath? Would you believe a maiden knight, eager to break a lance? I could have avoided military service-married, a father, protected profession. But I spent three weeks in basic training, sweating with the rest, cursing drill instructors-and loving it! Then they took my rifle, told me I was an officer, gave me a swivel chair and a useless job. I never forgave them for that.

Hilda, until we married, I knew not at all. I had valued her as a link to my lost love but I had thought her a lightweight, a social butterfly. Then I found myself married to her and learned that I had unnecessarily suffered lonely years. Hilda was what I needed, I was what she needed-Jane had known it and blessed us when at last we knew it. But I still did not realize the diamondhard quality of my tiny darling until I saw her dissecting that pseudo "ranger." Killing that alien was easy. But what Hilda did-I almost lost my supper.

Hilda is small and weak; I'll protect her with my life. But I won't underrate her again!

Zeb is the only one of us who looks the part of intrepid explorer-tall, broadshouldered, strongly muscled, skilled with machines and with weapons, and (sine qua non!) cool-headed in crisis and gifted with the "voice of command."

One night I had been forced to reason with my darling; Hilda felt that I should lead our little band. I was oldest, I was inventor of the time-space "distorter"-it was all right for Zeb to pilot-but I must command. In her eyes Zeb was somewhere between an overage adolescent and an affectionate Saint Bernard. She pointed out that Zeb claimed to be a "coward by trade" and did not want responsibility.

I told her that no born leader seeks command; the mantle descends on him, he wears the burden because he must. Hilda could not see it-she was willing to take orders from me but not from her pet youngster "Zebbie."