[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The rocket waited, a gleaming yellow-finned tube, pointing its nose atthe depths of space. Time ticked in the control tower which rested inthe shadow of the great monster. Six minutes left. Sunlight danced onsilver curves.
Tick, tick, tick, tick. The time was in Charters' brain like the soundof a pendulum in a grandfather's clock. The end was nearing.
It was almost over.
Charters turned his thick wrist and looked at his watch.
Outside the sun was a strong white fire in a blue sky. Sand stretchedaway endlessly from the circular cluster of buildings, from which therocket had been conceived and nurtured and born.
Seconds crept, and there was a dead silence in the tower room.
"We've done it," Charters said, his voice like a snapping of brittlewires.
Lampson, his assistant, nodded and watched the rocket. "Yes," he said.
"Greatest victory of the age!" said Charters, grinning and gaily wipinghis hands together.
Lampson watched the way the sun struck the glistening silver body ofthe rocket.
"Have you nothing to say, man?" Charters asked.
"I was just thinking."
"This is no time to think," Charters said, his eyes bright and winking."This is a time to let your thoughts drain out of your head. To feelthe damned meaning of this thing! To let it get inside you and fill youup to the brains! This is the time to laugh and cry, Lampson. To letyour insides quiver with the pure joy of it! We've done it!"
"Yes," Lampson said. "Only I was thinking about Randall, sitting outthere, waiting."
"He'll be all right."
"I know he will. I don't mean that. I mean, the way he feels aboutthings, yet sitting there, waiting to guide it to the Moon, to proveits reality. And all the time, he—"
"He's caught in a stream, Lampson. A swift, driving stream that won'tlet him stop. He can't help himself."
Lampson shook his head. "I can't believe he's really going through withit."
"He's different now," Charters said. "A few months ago, he had allthese ideas about the rocket being used for military reasons, forkilling, and all that other nonsense. Now he's caught in the gripof this thing. He's watched his own work blossom and turn into aremarkably beautiful finished miracle."
Charters watched the rocket, eyes half-closed, seeming to feel thestrength of it in his own hands as he closed them slowly, tightly.
"Ah—" he said, lips curling. "The beautiful, beautiful thing!"
Lampson watched through the thick window, unblinking. "He was right,you know."
"Who was right?"
"Randall. He was right about this rocket. We won't use it for anythingbut just another weapon. All this work and planning. All Randall'ssweat and blood. For no reason, but just another weapon."
"It's too late now."
"Yes. And you knew it, didn't you?" Lampson said to Charters, lookingat the man. "You knew what this would mean. When Randall wanted toquit, and you finally got him to go ahead, you knew what we'd use itfor."
"You don't quit after ten years." Charters looked at his watch,counting silently.
"He's been sold out," Lampson said, thinking of Randall, sitting in therocket. "A lifetime of worry and work and prayer. Now he's been soldout."
"Damn it, man," Charters said, "it's nearly ready to happen!"
The room was silent, and the ticking was in the air again. A steady,rhythmic ticking, that got into the brain and beat time with the heart.
One minute.