Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 34: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

66 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION electric power, propellant storage, high-pressure supplies, repair crews inspection technicians, and all the myriad other technical features that make a spaceport. Exploration ships are designed to land and take off without a ier but not the regular shuttles between White Sands and the space ion. First, of course, the Pendray had to have propellants for the rocket engines and the problem of transporting thousands upon thousands of gallons of toxic and volatile rocket propellants across the New Mexico desert to the ship was staggering in its scope. The country wasn’t the kind you could just walk over. But even if propellants were on hand, there was the matter’ of getting them into the ship, a feat requiring powerful pumps and kilowatts of electric power to operate them. Routine checkouts and maintenance of the delicate equipment aboard had to be made; this called for scores of Specialists and hundreds of extremely accurate test instruments. In turn, the instruments would require protection from the elements, and the men would need water and food. “So what do we do now?” Pete wanted to know. ‘We sit and wait for the ’copters,’” Stan told him. “Then we see if we can’t make some arrangements to fly the Penny out of here.” “That’s an impossible job, Stan.” ; _, 1am the commander of this ship,” Stan stated slowly and with emphasis. I will not abandon my ship. I’m going to fly her out if I can.” Pete kept silent, and they both sat there quietly, trying to keep the ants off — and watching the sky and the ground. It was unlikely that rattlers would be out on a hot summer day like this, but there were also the scorpions to worry about. Stan was getting thirsty. The heat was almost too much for him and was made worse by the knowledge that he and Pete were stranded until help arrived. On top of this, he thought, there was that date in El Paso tonight. Well, too bad, but business before pleasure. “Hey!” Pete shouted, breaking his reverie. ‘“‘Someone coming over there!”’ Far off through the shimmering heat waves, he made out a car crawling toward the ship. It took five minutes for the vehicle to get close enough for him to make it out as an ancient, battered pick-up truck. It pulled up to the base of the towering ship and skidded to a stop. An arm reached out of the window and unwound a scrap of wire holding the door closed. Then a heavy- set man attired in dirty, tight-fitting Levis, dusty high-heeled boots, and a disreputable Stetson climbed out. He reared back to look at the mass of the spaceship, then turned toward the two men. “Stranded, huh?’ _Emergency landing,’’ Stan explained. ‘You live around here?” You might say that. This here’s my land. Cortinez is the name . . . Luke Cortinez.” He stuck out a big, rough hand. “Got a ranchhouse over in them foothills. Saw you comin’ down outta the sky and figgered you missed White Sands. Scared the hell outta us; you hombres sure make a racket!” The two men introduced themselves, and Stan looked the rancher over. His face was weatherbeaten and lined, with little blue eyes peering out from behind lids which ended in crow’s tracks. The only evidence of his Latin THE PLAINS OF SAN AUGUSTINE 67 extraction was the slightly dark complexion of his face and hands, and the aquiline bridge of his nose. He looked well-fed—and hard as nails. “Got any water?”’ Pete asked. ‘Sure thing!” Cortinez turned and shouted toward the truck, “Rosie! Come on out and bring the canteen!”’ He explained to the men, “Rosie’s my kid. She’s down for the summer from Albuquerque.” Rosie came around the front of the pickup, and Stan saw she was no kid —not the way those tight Levis fitted! Her Latin extraction was more pro- nounced, being evident in the fine, simple lines of her face and in her long, black hair. As she stood beside her father, Stan could see she was no ordinary ranch girl; her face was pretty, not beautiful, and had personality, while her dark eyes betrayed intelligence. Cortinez introduced them, and Rosie replied with a warm, buoyant, ‘Hello, there. I’m awfully glad you landed here on our ranch instead of over in those mountains.” There was something different about her voice, too. Stan could not detect any trace of the local accent. The water tasted good. Stan took only a mouthful, although he could have downed the whole canteen without trouble. Then they stood and talked in the shade of the ship. Although ranching was difficult, they learned that Cortinez managed to do fairly well because he had good stock. But he wasn’t interested in talking about himself. ‘I seen you guys go over in your rocket ships all the time, but I never seen one close-up like this. I never thought they was this big. Say, how you gonna get her out of here?” “We'll fly her out,” Stan explained. “You got a job on your hands,” the rancher advised them, looking up at the silver hull. “Boy, she is big! I remember once when my old man took me into Las Cruces for a parade when I was a kid, and I saw one of them V-2 rockets . . . and I thought they was big! But this thing must be bigger’n an ocean liner!” Stan noticed that Rosie hadn’t said much. Perhaps she was naturally shy, although he doubted it: he felt as though she were studying Pete and himself. It made him feel like a side of beef in a butcher store. Cortinez went on asking them questions about space flight, and finally remarked, “‘Rosie’ll probably talk your leg off while you’re here. She’s only got another year to go before she can claim to be a real plant chemist.” “Oh?” Stan broke in. ““What particular field of plant chemistry, Rosie?” “Extraterrestrial,” she replied nonchalantly. “Huh?” | . “She says she wants to study life on Mars,’’ Cortinez went on with a grin. ‘Goin’ off and leave her old man to run the spread. I can’t convince her that the experts say Mars is a lot worse than this here country. By the way, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a pickled Martian inside that ship for her to study, would you?’ He was kidding, but it was evident that Rosie wasitised (at Eomicbooksico an) “Hardly,” Stan replied stiffly. ““We’ve yet to land on Mars.”