The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack. Mack Reynolds

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      Whodunit?—The First Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories

      More Whodunits—The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories

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      COME IN, SPACEPORT

      AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION

      This is a type of story undreamed of a quarter of a century ago. It’s a juvenile and written on order for a child’s textbook, GO: Reading in the Content Areas, edited by Harold L. Herber of Syracuse University. Heavens to Betsy, who would have thought that science fiction would one day be turning up in children’s textbooks? When I was a lad, we fans used to have to hide our magazines from our parents.

      —Mack Reynolds

      * * * *

      Bruce Camaroon was on duty as repeat man for the monitoring computers when the first call came through. There was precious little to do. He just had to be there, in case something did come up. This job was going to go down the drain one of these days; the computers didn’t really need him. He could have handled the duties, home in bed. All he’d have to do was have an alarm, so they could rouse him up, if anything developed.

      Radio technician Dick MaGruder was sitting across the desk from him, chewing the rag, and Jill Farnsworth, the secretary, who was just about as useful as Bruce was, was on the other side of the control room, using her voco-typer. She was probably doing personal letters.

      One of the computers had evidently picked up something out of the way. His screen clicked.

      A rather high-pitched voice said: ‘‘Emergency, emergency. Please come in. This is Jimmy… uh, James Barry. In Lifeboat 2, of Spaceship Promised Land. There are two of us. My sister and me. She’s hurt. We’re all that’s left. They… they’re all dead. Our parents… and everybody. Jane’s burnt bad. Please have an ambulance at the spaceport. Please put me in contact with a doctor, right away. I have to ask him what to do.”

      Bruce Camaroon’s eyes were bugging. “The Promised Land! It blew! There were no survivors!”

      MaGruder snarled, “Shut up, listen!”

      The voice went on. “I smeared all the ointments in the medicine chest on her and bandaged her all up. My father is… my father was, a doctor. I also stuck one, uh, Syrette of, I think, a sedative into her. It said on the tube, Pseudo-Morphine. I don’t know if I should give her any more or not. She’s asleep. She’s not very big. Ten years old. I don’t know if she should have been given a full Syrette or not. Or maybe she even needs another one. She’s burnt pretty bad, all over, almost.”

      He took a deep, tear-choked breath, and went on. “Anyway, I’m following the space lifeboat instruction book as good as I can. I think I’m doing all right. I think we’re heading for the Northern Hemisphere. The book says there are four spaceports there. So I’m calling New Denver Spaceport. Calling New Denver Spaceport, for landing instructions. Please come in, New Denver Spaceport. Uh, over and out.”

      “Holy smokes,” Bruce yelled. “Jill! Get one of the pilots. I think Bill is on standby.”

      Jill was ahead of him. “He’s on his way already,” she snapped. Into her auto-secretary she was saying, “Locate Mr. Zimmerman, locate Mr. Barkley, locate Mr. Rykov. Instruct them to check in with control tower immediately.”

      Bruce said to Dick MaGruder, who lunged into the seat before the set on the space pick-up, “Try to get video on this and more amplification. He sounds pretty far out.”

      “Right.”

      Bruce went back to his own screen and said, “New Denver Spaceport, calling James Barry, Lifeboat 2, of Promised Land. Come in, Barry.”

      “Emergency, emergency. Space Lifeboat 2 of Promised Land, calling New Denver Spaceport. Require landing instructions. Require landing instructions.”

      Bill Wellingham came bursting into the office. He slid into the pilot’s seat and took over.

      “Okay. This is New Denver. We’re getting you fairly clear. Now listen. Right on your left is a small switch painted green and labeled Control Release. Pull it down. We’ll lock in on you.”

      Dick MaGruder said, “Here’s your video, Bruce. Kind of faint.”

      “Holy smokes,” Bruce Camaroon protested. The face and upper torso that had faded in was that of a thirteen or fourteen year old.

      The youngster was saying, a bit desperately, “Calling New Denver Spaceport for landing instructions. Emergency. Emergency.”

      Bill Wellingham said urgently, “Receiving you loud and clear, son.”

      Jill said, “Tell him a doctor is on the way to give him instructions about his sister.”

      Bill said, “A doctor is on the way to give you medical advice. Now listen, boy. Just to your left on that bank of buttons and dials and everything is a green switch. Right under it is a little sign saying Control Release. Now just push it down.”

      The boy was peering into the screen before which he sat, listening anxiously. Finally, he shook his head and picked up a booklet from what must have been the radio table before him. He thumbed through it, licking what must have been dry lips.

      He looked into the screen again and said, “Emergency. Emergency. Calling Dundee Spaceport. Calling Dundee Spaceport. Jimmy Barry, Lifeboat 2 of Spaceship Promised Land, calling for emergency landing instructions. Ten-year-old girl aboard, needing… must have… immediate medical attention. Calling Dundee Spaceport.”

      The occupants of the control room at Spaceport New Denver slumped back into their chairs, aghast.

      Jill said “What… what’s happened?”

      Nobody answered her.

      They could hear the Scottish spaceport answering. “Calling Jimmy Barry. Calling Jimmy Barry. We are receiving you clearly, Jimmy Barry. You are all right. You’ll be fine, lad. Now, here is what you must do, you know. Turn to your left. There on the bulkhead is a green lever. It is labeled Control Release. Simply press it down and we’ll take over, laddy. Don’t worry. Everything is all right.”

      The thin voice came through again. “Calling Dundee Spaceport. Space Lifeboat 2, Promised Land. Please come in. I need landing instructions.”

      Dick MaGruder said flatly, “He isn’t receiving.”

      The boy peered anxiously into the screen. MaGruder had been able to get better amplification by now. The youngster’s face was quite clear.

      After a time he took up his pamphlet again and thumbed through it. He muttered, quite audibly, “Maybe at this time of the day they’re on the far side of the planet. Maybe they can’t hear me.”

      Bruce СКАЧАТЬ