Jerry Pournelle - King David's Spaceship

“Please do,” Dougal said.

Jeff scrawled numbers across the screen. “You’re launching due east?”

Dougal nodded. “They tell me that’s best, although I confess I don’t know why.”

“I do.” Due east from this latitude … what orbit was Tombaugh in just now? Not true polar, but highly inclined. No problem to intercept a ship coming up from Prince Samual’s World, but to match orbits … “Your Majesty, you must not do this. Tombaugh’s defenses will be on automatic, and they might shoot down your ship -”

“We’ve timed our launch pretty carefully,” Dougal said. “Your ship will be on the other side of Prince Samual’s World precisely because we supposed something like that. Once our ship is up you can warn your people.”

“I see.” Jeff scrawled more numbers. “Assuming your craft actually makes orbit — which I doubt, that’s tougher than you can possibly know — then Tombaugh should be able to match orbits in a bit more than three hours.”

“You see,” Dougal said. Jeff noted the cabinet officer was speaking to MacKinnie. “Plenty of margin.”

“I suppose,” MacKinnie said.

“If Your Majesty will forgive a blunt question,” Jeff said, “I really would like to know why you’re doing this.”

“But surely that, too, is obvious,” King David said. “As of last week I am in effective control of this planet. Presumably we will now be admitted to the Empire. Since we are about to demonstrate that we can construct a spaceship, we wish to apply for a status somewhat higher than that of a colony.”

“Jesus Christ on a crutch.” Jeff said.

There were a dozen officials waiting on a platform behind the office building. It had been too hot inside the office, but at least there had been air motion provided by fans. Outside there was not a breath of wind, and Prince Samual’s bright sun stood high overhead. Instantly, Jeff felt sweat running down his chest inside his tunic.

He fingered his sidearm to be sure it was still there. As soon as he was outside the building he spoke. “Whoever’s on duty, get Captain Greenaugh at once.”

The acknowledge symbol appeared on the screen of his pocket computer. Moments later the computer spoke to him. “Greenaugh here.”

“Captain, there’s a lot happening. First thing is that they’re about to launch a one-way spaceship.”

“Lieutenant, what have you been drinking?”

Jeff patiently explained. “And they’re about to launch it now,” he finished. “I haven’t seen the ship yet, but any moment now -”

“I don’t suppose you could delay this launch?” Greenaugh asked.

“There are about five hundred of their troops here, and the three of us,” Jeff said.

“Yeah.” Greenaugh was silent for a moment. “And their king is there,” Greenaugh said. “I’d better get His Excellency brought up to speed. What the hell kind of spaceship have they got, anyway?”

“They haven’t told me, sir. I assume it’s some kind of primitive rocket. I don’t see any ship, but everyone’s acting expectant. They’re coming back now; they went off to give me privacy — although nothing’s private about it; they know what kind of communications I’ve been using. They’re probably listening.”

There was another long silence from the other end. Then, “We didn’t even know they suspected. What else don’t we know?”

Jeff was tempted to say they hadn’t known anything about a spaceship, but decided not to.

“Look just over there,” Dougal told Jeff. “Just at that hillside.”

There was a roar of thunder, a series of explosions so close together it was impossible to distinguish between them, but still it seemed like many explosions because it went on far too long to have been just one. It did not at all sound like a large rocket.

The ship that rose above the hill was like nothing Jeff had ever imagined. It looked like an artillery shell mounted above a large inverted cup. Impossibly bright flashes came downward from the cup. They were so close together they appeared to be one long tongue of flame, yet once again Jeff had the impression of many small explosions rather than one continuous burn. He cringed involuntarily. There was no protection at all if the — ship? — exploded. He wondered why they would expose their king to so much danger. “What is that thing?” Jeff demanded.

“A piloted spaceship,” Dougal said proudly.

“It doesn’t look much like a spaceship,” Jeff said. “It doesn’t even look like a rocket.”

“It’s not a rocket.” The newcomer’s voice was high-pitched and almost querulous, but filled with pride.

“Allow me to present Academician Kleinst,” Dougal said.

“Kleinst,” Jeff said aloud. “You were also on the Makassar expedition.”

“I had that privilege,” Kleinst said. He turned to stare after the rapidly rising ship.

Jeff watched it also, and willed it to succeed. There was something highly dramatic about this ship rising on a thunder of fire. “If it explodes we could be killed,” Jeff said. “Didn’t you think of a bunker for the observers?”

“Your pardon,” Dougal said. “His Majesty thought that as the pilot was willing to take the risk, we should all share it. Perhaps we had no right to assume you would feel the same way. It is not your ship -”

“It’s academic now,” Jeff said. “How does the ship work, then?”

“For God’s sake,” Greenaugh’s voice interrupted. “Call it a goddam craft, or a probe, or anything else, but don’t be on record as calling it a ship! His Excellency almost excreted bricks when I told him what your colonial friends are up to.”

“Craft,"Jeff corrected himself. “How does it work if it’s not a rocket?”

Kleinst preened. “There is a rapid-firing gun, a multi-barreled gun that fires explosive shells downward. The shells explode in the hemispherical chamber beneath. The explosion drives the ship upward.”

“I never heard of anything like that,” Jeff said. “Captain, have-”

“I’m looking it up,” Greenaugh’s voice said. “Primitive spacecraft, propulsion by explosive — Jesus Christ!”

“Sir?”

“The earliest known reference is 1899.”

“Sir, did you say 1899?”

“I did. We don’t have the text, but the reference is here. And in 1957, Goddard applied for some kind of license to build such a ship. Dyson experimented with them, too.”

Goddard. Dyson. Names from ancient history, people who’d lived in legendary times. Jefferson had been aboard a luxury liner named Goddard, and thought he recalled a scout survey ship named Freeman Dyson as well.

The ship was almost out of sight now. Its thunder was muted as it plunged eastward and rose into the ultra-deep blue of Prince Samual’s skies.

“How are you stabilizing it?” Jefferson demanded.

“It’s largely self-stabilizing,” Kleinst said. “From the geometry of the explosion chamber. We also have peroxide rockets to correct the heading.”

“And your pilot’s a girl—”

“A freelady,” Colonel MacKinnie said coldly.

“The gyroscopes do most of the steering,” Kleinst added.

MacKinnie was staring toward the east at the spot where the oddball ship was now almost invisible. Jeff didn’t care much for the expression on the colonel’s face. “Captain, you’d better alert Tombaugh not to shoot it down,” he said.

“Already done,” Greenaugh said.

“Colonel,” Jeff said, “am I being too personal in asking why you sent your fiancee as pilot?”

“Weight,” MacKinnie said through clenched teeth.