The Scarlet Lake Mystery Part 14

One by one red lights on the main board winked out and green lights came on in their places, showing circuits and controls in operation. Only a few red lights remained now. Rick looked through the gla.s.s ports and saw the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched, taking in everything. He didn't even notice when the ma.s.sive door was swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss.

"Zero minus five minutes."

At last the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean, beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth.

Rick couldn't tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of the red lights flick out, the green glow showing readiness.

Then, zero minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ...

FIRE!

A steady hand threw the final switch.

Green flame stabbed from Orion's tail, grew to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket's nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket's voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away.

Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered, the shuddering increased.

A yell of pure horror burst from Rick's throat. High on the rocket's side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider ... wider ...

The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out--silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick went out with them.

The desert was alive with sound now, with the roaring torch of rocket propellant and the scream of sirens. Speeding down from the base camp came the fire engines, to save what could be saved, to help still the flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong.

Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust.

Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines and ran to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events.

"What happened to it?" Scotty asked hoa.r.s.ely.

Rick shook his head. He couldn't talk.

The firemen were already at work. Crews from the trucks, protected by asbestos and plastic, carried hoses to the very edge of the roaring propellant and began to smother it with mounds of foam. The men who had followed with shovels and picks were also at work, hastily digging a trench to prevent the spread of the fiery liquid.

Someone yelled, then another yelled. Rick looked up in time to see the rocket split wide open and most of the remaining tons of propellant gush out. The firemen saw it, too, saw that they would be engulfed. They turned and ran.

Horrified, Rick saw a fireman, clumsy in his protective suit, trip and fall before the oncoming flood of flaming boron hydride.

Scotty moved, instinctively, his finely trained body responding with perfect co-ordination. Straight toward the oncoming flood he ran, into the edge of the flames, leaping the rapidly widening trench. Rick ran, too, but Scotty's fast reaction had carried his pal beyond reach. He saw the husky ex-marine stoop into the flames, pick up the fallen fireman, and literally throw him across the trench to safety.

Then Rick was at his friend's side, slapping at the burning places on his clothes, rushing him away from the spreading propellant. But Scotty wasn't through. He helped the fireman to his feet and pulled at the protective suit. Rick saw instantly what had happened. The suit had been torn in the fall, and some propellant had gotten in through the rents.

The fireman was burning under the protective cover!

Other hands came to help and they got the man out of his cover, out of his burning clothes. Then the first-aid squad moved in.

Not until the fireman had been cared for did Scotty say, almost apologetically, "Any of that stuff left? I've got a couple of burns."

Then Rick noticed for the first time that his own hands were scorched and in need of the soothing unguent. By the time he and Scotty were smeared with the ointment, the fire was out.

The boys watched as water was sprayed over the white-hot wreckage until at last the safety officer p.r.o.nounced the torn remnants cool enough for inspection. Then John Gordon and the senior staff moved in.

It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket, but no one left to eat, to change clothes, or even to sit down. No one thought of it.

John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer.

Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly, but not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word.

"Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. With an unstable fuel like boron hydride, that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much for the sh.e.l.l to take."

The engineer paused, and the tense, waiting silence became almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

"We found no pictures," he said. "We'll continue the examination in the laboratory, of course. But as of this moment we cannot say whether it was the kind of accident that rocketeers always have to expect, or whether someone tampered with the pump. By someone, I mean--the Earthman."

CHAPTER IX

Ghost Town Clue

Rick refused point-blank to go to bed. He wasn't tired, he insisted, and he meant it.

Scotty yielded. "Okay. I see your point. It's hard enough to sleep in the daytime anyway, but when you're all keyed up, it's impossible.

Didn't lunch make you sleepy at all?"

"A little, but that shower and change of clothes woke me up again.

Scotty, I'll never forget that horrible instant when I realized that Orion wasn't going to take off. Honest, it was like watching something beautiful die. It..."

Hank Leeming, their security officer roommate, came into the bunkroom in time to hear Rick's last comment. Hank was young, usually smiling. He wasn't smiling now. "I was in the blockhouse when the first one blew. I know how you feel, Rick. It makes you want to lay violent hands on the man responsible."

The security officer changed the subject abruptly. "Luis Hermosa wants to see the boy who saved his life, and the one who helped."

"You mean the fireman who fell in the propellant?" Scotty asked.

"That's the one. He's in the infirmary. Can you both go?"

Scotty shrugged. "Sure. If he wants us to. But he doesn't owe us anything. Someone else would have dragged him out if we hadn't."

"If _you_ hadn't," Rick corrected. "I didn't move fast enough."

"Neither did anyone else," Hank pointed out. "Don't be overmodest about it, Scotty. Go and see him."

The infirmary, operated by Lomac, was only a block away. Rick and Scotty walked over and checked in at the reception desk.

The infirmary clerk directed them to one of the four rooms in the little base hospital. "Go right in."

Luis Hermosa was awake. Rick knew he must be in pain from his burns, which were extensive, but his smile gave no evidence of it. It was a warm smile that demanded a smile in return.

"This morning there was no chance to give you my thanks," he greeted them. "I asked for you to come so that you may know how I feel."

Scotty put a hand gently on one of the bandaged ones. "No thanks are necessary."