Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced Science Fiction Stories 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
our going, and the reason why we must die when we do that's the rub.
By Earthlight
by BRYCE WALTON
he rocket skin was like a dun-colored wall in the dim light under thehill. Three anonymous men who were beyond suspicion, who had worked onthe rocket, were taking Barlow up in the elevator, up along therocket's curving walls.
Earlier, scores of men had climbed up many ladders to variousplatforms where doors opened into the rocket's compartments for theinsertion and repair of the many highly-specialized instruments.
It was still—so damn still here!
Some guards were way down below somewhere in the shadows, but theydidn't notice anything. The three men were regular workers and therewere last minute things to be done. It all looked quite logical.
Over in the blockhouse, some of America's most important political andmilitary figures were sitting over instruments and charts, waiting,discussing.
One of the three men was talking, explaining things to Barlow aboutthe rocket, about the pressure-suit he was to wear. Barlow listenedand got it all straight. Barlow was helped into the suit. It weighed700 pounds, and after they had encased him in it—all but the hugehelmet-plate—he lay there absolutely helpless, on a dolly, waitingto be rolled into the rocket's compartment.
The anonymous faces he'd never seen before, and would never see again,looked down at him. He blinked several times and moistened his lips.The suit was like a lead coffin. He didn't feel dead, but supposedlydead and unable to tell any one. A ridiculous way to feel!
What was the matter with him? He'd expected to die, all the time, fromthe start. Everybody died! Few could experience what he wasexperiencing. Death was worth this. One last kick, the biggest kick ofall for Hal Barlow. You lived for kicks, so what was the matter?
He couldn't move his limbs; he could barely lift his head. Encased in700 pounds of suit. Helpless. A pencil-flash flickered on and off. Acouple of eyes shone. A whisper. "The kit is fastened to your belt.The instructions are in an air-tight capsule inside the kit. If you'recaught, and the paper's removed, it will disintegrate; now we'll slideyou inside."
The helmet slid over his face. It was absolutely dark. The suit,all-enclosing mobile shelter, atmosphere-pressure,temperature-control, mobility and electric power to manipulate tools.Its own power plant. It reprocessed continuously the precious airbreathed by the occupant, putting it back into circulating supplyafter enriching it. The rocket was cold and alien and it would supportno life; the suit alone protected him. The rocket was just metal andgadgets; only the suit stood between him and an agonizing death fromacceleration, deceleration, extremes of heat and cold.
The dolly was rolling him in through the small opening. His enca