Far from Home, Page 2

theyoccasionally handled certain laboratory refuse it was considered best todestroy in space. The cylinders were decelerated and allowed to fallinto atmosphere where the friction of the unchecked plunge burned upwhat the magnesium charge inside had not already. The rest of theshipwrecked material had by now drifted beyond easy reach and Johnny didnot feel like wasting fuel rounding it up.

  Position? A matter of memory and some guesswork by now. Some ten minutesout of powered flight at the time of collision, coasting up to stationorbit where a quick boost from the jets would have made up his lostvelocity to orbit standard. But there would be no boost now. So he'djust fall off around the other side, falling around and into MotherEarth, to skim atmosphere and climb on past and up to touch orbitaltitude--and down again. A nice elliptical orbit, apogee a thousand oddmiles, perigee, sixty-seventy--perhaps. How much speed had he left? Howlong would it be before he brushed the fringe of atmosphere once toooften and too deep? Just another meteor.

  And survival. A comparatively simple problem since the mechanics of itwere restricted by a simple formula in which his role would seem to be apassive one. To survive he must be rescued by his own kind in twelvehours or less. To be rescued he must be seen or heard. Since his radiowas a simple short-range intercom it followed that he must be seen firstand heard later. Being seen meant making a sufficiently distinguishable_blip_ on somebody's radar screen to arouse comment over a _blip_ where,according to schedule no orbiting _blip_ should be.

  * * * * *

  Johnny was painfully aware that the human body is very small in space.The cylinder would be a help but he doubted it would be enough. Then hethought of the material inside the cylinder. He pried back the lugsholding the cover in place with the screwdriver from his belt kit. Hestarted pulling out packages, bags, boxes, thrusting them behind him,above him, downwards; cereals, ready mixed pastries, bundles ofdisposable paper overalls--toilet paper! He worked furiously, now stuckhalfway down the cylinder, kicking the bundles behind him. He emergedfinally in a flurry of articles clutching a large plastic bag that hadfilled the entire lower end of the tank.

  About him drifted a sizable cloud of station supplies, stirringsluggishly after his emergence. He pushed them a bit more, distributingthem as much as possible without losing them altogether.

  Johnny tore open the big bag and was instantly enveloped in clingingfolds of ribbon released from the pressure of its packing. He knew whatit was now, the big string of ribbon chutes for the Venus Expedition,intended for dropping a remote controlled mobile observer to the as yetunseen and unknown surface. Johnny had ferried parts of the crab-likemechanical monster on the last run, and illogically found himselfworrying momentarily over the set-back to the Probe his mischance wouldcause.

  But in the next minute he was making fast the lower end of the string tothe WD cylinder, then, finding the top chute he toed his pedals andjetted himself out, trailing the string out to its full extent.

  Now the period of action was over and he had done all he could, Johnnyfound himself dreading the time of waiting to follow. He would have timefor thinking, and thinking wasn't profitable under the circumstancesunless it were something definitely constructive and applicable to hispresent and future well-being. Waiting was always bad.

  Surely they would find him soon. Surely they would press the searchfarther even when they found Able Jake as they couldn't fail to in time.

  A tightness started in his throat. Johnny quickly drowned the thought ina flood of inconsequential nonsense, a trick he had learned as a greenpilot. He might sleep though, if sleep were a possible thing in thiscold emptiness. No one, to his recollection, had ever done so outside aship or station--the space psychology types would be interesteddoubtless.

  * * * * *

  Johnny tied his life line to the WD cylinder and then jetted clear ofhis artificial cloud, positioning himself so that it formed a partialscreen between himself and the sun. He turned his oxygen down to thebare minimum and the thermostat as low as he dared. He commenced arelaxation exercise and was pleased when it worked after a fashion--amental note for Beaufort at the station. A drowsiness crept over him,dulling a little the thin edge of fear that probed his consciousness.

  Face down towards the earth he hung. The slow noise of his breathingonly intensified the complete silence outside. The well padded suitencompassed him so gently there was no sense of pressure on his body tomake up for the weightlessness. Johnny felt as though he were bodiless,a naked brain with eyes only hanging in nothingness.

  Beneath, Earth rolled over with slow majesty, once every two hours. Hisaltered course was evident now, passing almost directly over thegeographic poles proper instead of paralleling the twilight zone wherenight and day met. Sometimes he caught the faint glow of a big city onthe night side but the sight only stirred the worm of anxiety and heclosed his eyes.

  Johnny was beginning to feel very comfortable. He supposed sleepilythat this was the way you were assumed to feel while freezing to deathin a snowbank, or so he'd heard. Air and heat too low perhaps. He shouldreally turn it up a notch.

  On the other hand it was perhaps a solution to the problem of dying--agentle sleep while the stomach was still full enough from the last mealto be reasonably comfortable and the throat yet unparched. Would it bethe act of an unbalanced mind or one of the most supreme sanity?

  He dozed and dreamed a bit in fragments and snatches but it was not agood sleep--there was no peace in it. At one time he seemed to bestanding outside the old fretworked boarding house he lived in--lookingin at the window of the "sitting room" where the ancient, wispy landladysat among her antimacassared chairs and the ridiculous tiny seashellashtrays that overflowed after two butts. He wanted desperately to getin and sprawl in the huge bat-winged chair by the fire and stroke theenormous old gray cat that would leap up and trample and paw his stomachbefore settling down to grumble to itself asthmatically for hours.

  It was cold and dark out here and he wanted to get in to thefriendliness and the warmth and the peaceful, familiar security, but hedidn't dare go around to the door because he knew if he did the visionwould vanish and he'd never find it again.

  He scratched and beat at the window but his fingers made no sound, hetried to shout but his cries were only strangled whispers and the oldlady sat and rocked and talked to the big gray cat and never turned herhead.

  The fire seemed to be flaring up suddenly, it was filling the wholeroom--a monstrous furnace; it shouldn't do that he knew, but the oldlady didn't seem to mind sitting there rocking amid the flames--and itwas so nice and warm. The fire kept growing and swelling though--soon itburst through the window and engulfed him. Too hot. Too hot.

  * * * * *

  Johnny swam hazily back to consciousness with an aching head and thickmouth. He saw that he had drifted clear of his protective screen somehowand the sun beat full on him. With clumsy, fumbling hands that seemed tobelong to somebody else he managed the air valve; the increased oxygenreviving him enough to find the pedals and jet erratically about till hegained the shadow once more.

  Now he was entering upon the worst phase of the living nightmare. Awake,the doubts and fears of his position tormented him; wearied, he fearedto sleep, yet continually he found himself nodding only to jerk awakewith that suddenness that is like a physical blow. Each one of theseawakenings took away a little more of his self-control till he wasreduced to near hysteria, muttering abstractly, sometimes whimperinglike a lost child; now seized with a feverish concern for his airsupply. He would at one instant cut it down to a dangerous minimum,then, remembering the near disaster of his first attempt at economy,frantically turn it up till he was in danger of an oxygen jag. In amoment he would forget and start all over again.

  In addition, he was now realizing bitterly what he had subconsciouslydenied to himself for so long, that they had found Able Jake and drawnthe obvious conclusion. That he had been obliterated or blown outthrough the hull by the co
llision without warning or preparation. Thathe was undoubtedly dead if not vaporized altogether and, as they must,considering the expense of a probably fruitless search, abandon him.

  There came the moment when Johnny accepted this in full. This wasdirectly after the time when, sliding down the long hill to the perigeeof his orbit, he turned on his radio and cried for help. It was a barehundred miles or less to that wonderful world below, but there was theHeaviside layer, and the weak signals beat but feebly against it. Allthat seeped through by some instant's freak of transmission was afragment of incoherent babble to reach the uncomprehending ear of anArkansas ham and give that gentleman uneasy sleep for some time to come.

  He kept calling mechanically even after perigee was long past, prayingfor an answer from the powerful transmitters below or from a searchingship. But when there was no slightest whisper in his phones or answeringflare among the stars, Johnny came to the end of faith. Even ofawareness, for his own ears did not register the