Spacehounds of IPC | Page 3

two places, and we've
got to have the third place almost solid if we expect to get a smooth
curve. A hundredth of a centimeter of acceleration means a lot on a
long trip when they're holding us as close as they are doing now. We'll

ride this trip on 981.286 centimeters--with our scheduled mass, that
means thirty six points of four seven kilofranks plus equilibrium power.
All set to go," the computer stated, as he changed, by fractions of arc,
the course-plotters of the automatic integrating goniometer.
"You're the doctor--but I'm glad it's you that'll have to explain to the
observatory," and Breckenridge set his exceedingly delicate excess
power potentiometer exactly upon the indicated figure. "Well, we've
got a few minutes left for a chin-chin before we lift her off."
"What's all this commotion about? Dish out the low-down."
"Well, it's like this, Steve. We pilots are having one sweet time--we're
being growled at on every trip. The management squawks if we're
thirty seconds plus or minus at the terminals, and the passenger
department squalls if we change acceleration five centimeters total en
route--claims it upsets the dainty customers and loses business for the
road. They're tightening up on us all the time. A couple of years ago,
you remember, it didn't make any difference what we did with the
acceleration as long as we checked in somewhere near zero time--we
used to spin 'em dizzy when we reversed at the half-way station--but
that kind of stuff doesn't go any more. We've got to hold the
acceleration constant and close to normal, got to hold our schedule on
zero, plus or minus ten seconds, and yet we've got to make any detours
they tell us to, such as this seven-million kilometer thing they handed
us just now. To make things worse, we've got to take orders at every
check-station, and yet we get the blame for everything that happens as a
consequence of obeying those orders! Of course, I know as well as you
do that it's rotten technique to change acceleration at every
check-station; but we've told 'em over and over that we can't do any
better until they put a real computer on every ship and tell the
check-stations to report meteorites and other obstructions to us and then
to let us alone. So you'd better recommend us some computers!"
"You're getting rotten computation, that's a sure thing, and I don't
blame you pilots for yelling, but I don't believe that you've got the right
answer. I can't help but think that the astronomers are lying down on
the job. They are so sure that you pilots are to blame that it hasn't

occurred to them to check up on themselves very carefully. However,
we'll know pretty quick, and then we'll take steps."
"I hope so--but say, Steve, I'm worried about using that much plus
equilibrium power. Remember, we've got to hit M14 in absolutely good
shape, or plenty heads will drop."
"I'll say they will. I know just how the passengers will howl if we hold
them weightless for half an hour, waiting for those two moons to get
out of the way, and I know just what the manager will do if we check in
minus thirty-one minutes. Wow! He'll swell up and bust, sure. But don't
worry, Breck--if we don't check in all right, anybody can have my head
that wants it, and I'm taking full responsibility, you know."
"You're welcome to it." Breckenridge shrugged and turned the
conversation into a lighter vein. "Speaking of weightlessness, it's funny
how many weight-fiends there are in the world, isn't it? You'd think the
passengers would enjoy a little weightlessness occasionally--especially
the fat ones--but they don't. But say, while I think of it, how come you
were here and loose to make this check-up? I thought you were out
with the other two of the Big Three, solving all the mysteries of the
Universe?"
"Had to stay in this last trip--been doing some work on the ether,
force-field theory, and other advanced stuff that I had to go to Mars and
Venus to get. Just got back last week. As for solving mysteries, laugh
while you can, old hyena. You and a lot of other dim bulbs think that
Roeser's Rays are the last word--that there's nothing left to
discover--are going to get jarred loose from your hinges one of these
days. When I came in nine months ago they were hot on the trail of
something big, and I'll bet they bring it in...."
Out upon the dock an insistent siren blared a crescendo and
diminuendo blast of sound, and two minutes remained. In every
stateroom and in every lounge and saloon speakers sounded a warning:
"For a short time, while we are pulling clear of the gravitational