The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack. Mack Reynolds
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Dick MaGruder said wearily, “If they could raise him, so could we. Something’s wrong with his set.”
Jill said, “Perhaps he misread the directions. Maybe he’ll reread them and get it to work correctly.”
Dick shook his head. “They couldn’t be simpler. That set was designed with hysterical, injured, half-crazed victims of a space disaster in mind. The kid might be afraid —I assume he is—but he’s not hysterical and he’s obviously smart enough to have gotten this far. No, he’s read the directions all right. The set’s broken. Probably happened when the Promised Land blew.”
Bruce said to Bill, “No possible manner of getting a rescue craft up to him before he enters the atmosphere? Willy said he was still two days out.”
The space pilot was negative. “No. I’ve already thought of that. So probably has everybody else. But there’s no way of getting into that lifeboat in space. They’d have to decompress it and there’s no spacesuits in it. It would kill the kids. Besides, I doubt if we could get something up on such short notice.”
Dick MaGruder said sourly, “Maybe it’s best for the two of them anyway.”
They all stared at him.
“What do you mean?” Jill demanded indignantly.
Dick shrugged, his face still sour. “Look at the position they’re in. No parents. No resources. No country, even.”
“Why, why their parents must have been Americans.” Bruce knew what Dick was getting at. He said, “No. When the Mars Colony was formed about twenty years ago, there was a lot of bitterness. The colonists, to get publicity so they could raise funds, made a lot of dramatic statements about how they were fleeing Earth because of how badly it was being run by the various governments, because of how it had been polluted and its resources stripped by greedy men, because of hot wars, cold wars, bush wars, arms races and all the rest. They heaped scorn all over the place and then, finally, dramatically, they all renounced their citizenships in the countries to which they belonged. Jimmy and Jane Barry have no country. Dick’s right. They have no people, no resources, and no country. If they ever get down, maybe somebody, somewhere, will be kind enough to put them in some sort of charitable institution for orphans. I don’t know. There’s a lot of prejudice in the world against the Martian colonists. After spending all that money they collected, they finally had to give up and start back, their tails between their legs. A lot of people had invested with them, thinking that one day Martian mineral resources and so forth could be exploited. Well, it was all money down the drain. And, as it worked out, they didn’t even get back.”
Jill said, “I couldn’t possibly go to bed, or even eat. Let’s go back to the control room and see what’s going on.”
Bruce’s shift was back on duty by the time young Jimmy Barry came onto the radio waves again.
His face was drawn and it was obvious that he had given up most of his hope. He carefully called each spaceport in turn, using practically identical messages as before, and as before he drew a complete blank. For a time he fiddled with the set’s controls, sometimes fading himself out completely and then fading back in again. But nothing worked.
“I’ll wait a little while and then try again,” he muttered.
Leaving the set on, he came to his feet and they could see him retreat into the background. They were receiving him very clearly now and part of the interior of the space lifeboat as well. He approached a clumsily swathed little figure, stretched out on a bunk set into the bulkhead.
“Jane,” Jill Farnsworth said emptily.
The boy stared down at his sister and shook his head as though in despair. There was some kind of a kit sitting on a table next to the bunk. He reached into it and came up with some object they couldn’t make out.
“Probably another Syrette of Pseudo-Morphine,” Dick MaGruder said tightly. “What did the docs say?”
Bruce said, “It’s all right. The kind they put in the medical kits in those lifeboats are only one quarter grain. But, of course, Jimmy doesn’t know that. He’s afraid an overdose will kill her. He undoubtedly figures that with a body that small she can only take possibly half as much as a full-grown adult.”
The boy evidently came to a decision. The little figure beneath him had been twisting and turning on the bunk. He pressed home the needle of the Syrette and squeezed the narcotic into her.
He turned and went back to the radio table and stared at the screen gloomily.
Finally, he tried again. “Calling New Denver Spaceport. Calling New Denver Spaceport.”
“Oh, Lord,” Bill Wellingham blurted. “Just a little flick of that switch, Jimmy, son. Just a little flick.”
Bruce said into his screen, hopelessly, “Calling Jimmy Barry. New Denver Spaceport calling Jimmy Barry. Come in, Jimmy. Come in.”
The boy’s face fell and he shook his head. “Something’s wrong,” he said aloud. “Something with my set. Maybe I’m not even sending anything. But even if I am, I’m not receiving. All I can get on the screen is some silly TV comedy show.”
Bruce Camaroon lurched to his feet and all but glared at Dick MaGruder on space pick-up.
“What… did… he… say?”
They were all bug-eyeing the screen.
“WHAT… DID… HE… SAY?”
Dick MaGruder said, so softly as hardly to be heard, “He’s receiving some commercial program.”
Bruce spun on Jill Farnsworth. “What, comedy show is on TV at this hour?”
“I… I don’t know...”
“Find out!”
* * * *
The face of the comedian was very serious as he looked into the cameras.
“Folks out there, you’ve all been keeping track of the tragedy that has developed in space. After the complete destruction of the Promised Land, on its way back with its passenger list of refugees from the abandoned Mars Colony, only two children survived, badly injured Jane Barry and brave little Jimmy who managed to navigate his space lifeboat back to within what is now less than a day’s distance away. But then disaster struck again. Jimmy Barry’s radio is on the blink. He hasn’t been able to raise a spaceport on the regular space channels, so that a pilot could bring him in.
“But now, folks, for what we hope will be the good news. This show is going off the air and we are turning our facilities over to the New Denver Spaceport.
“Folks, little Jimmy Barry is picking up this program! Instructions for his landing will be relayed through us. I now solemnly request that all of you who are listening hold a moment of silence for Jimmy and Jane Barry up there alone in deep space. Goodbye all. If you can hear me, Jimmy, good luck!”
His face faded.
Space Pilot Bill Wellingham faded in, his expression urgent.
“Jimmy! Jimmy, can you hear me?”
On the screen in the control room of the spaceport, Jimmy Barry’s youthful face registered shock.
“Uh… uh, yes. Yes sir, I can hear you.”
“All right, Jimmy. Now listen, the first thing you do is reach over to your left. Do you see a little green switch there?”
“The one that says Control Release?”
“That’s right. Good boy. Push it down.”
“Yes, sir.” Then, “I did it.”
“All right. Now that’s all you have to do for a while. I’m switching you over to the Mayo Clinic. Some doctors there are going to send you instructions about your sister. They’ll want to know such things as just what your medical kit