Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

68 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION “One of these days,” Rosie said, “I’m going to convince somebody that I'm not crazy for wanting to do it—” “Copter!” Pete announced, pointing toward the sky. But it wasn’t a White Sands’ ’copter. It was filled with newspapermen who barged up to the ship. One of them took charge at once. “Al, get some close-ups of the men, then tear out there about a half-mile and get a shot of the ship! You guys the crew? Where’s the skipper?” Then he noticed Cortinez and Rosie and did a double-take. “Hey, this is getting better! ‘Rancher and daughter succor stranded spacemen!’ Al, come over here and get a shot of the bunch with the canteen standing next to the ship!” “Hold it!” Stan barked. “No statements, no pictures! The first guy who goes inside that ship gets separated from a few teeth! Understand?” The reporter surveyed him. “Maybe . . . maybe. You’re the skipper huh? This is the first time this has happened, isn’t it?”’ ie “No statements,” Stan replied. About that time, a squadron of ’copters bearing the words, “White Sands Spaceport,” descended from the sky and disgorged quantities of photog- raphers, several engineers, and a group of technicians. The next few minutes were confused. The reporters were run off to a suitable distance, and Stan and Pete were questioned endlessly. A few of the engineers poked around, - scratching their heads. The question was finally broached by Hugh Fergusen, head of the White Sands’ engineering staff, “Well, how do we go about getting her out of here, Colonel?” Colonel Hardin, the operations chief, pushed his hat back on his head and looked at the Pendray. “I’m damned if I know,” he admitted. Someone suggested, “Strip it and let it rot here.” “We're~short of ships,” the colonel replied quietly. ““We’ve got to get her back.” “Dismantle her,” a Navy commander suggested. ““We’ll never get propel- lants into her out here, much less get her checked out and off the ground.” “That’s an idea,” Fergusen mused. “Got to have hoists and cranes to do the job, though—and trucks. How are the roads?” he asked Cortinez. “They ain't exactly what you might call roads,” the rancher answered, ducking his head to light a cigarette. He blew smoke and pointed north. “Highway 60's about forty miles that way. Horse Springs lies fifteen-twenty miles over there. There ain’t no roads out this way except what you make yourself.” Fergusen scratched his head and looked perplexed. | “Well, gentlemen, let us decide what we are going to do,” Hardin put in. “Hamilton, you've probably studied the situation while you were waiting for us. Have you got any ideas?” “Yes, sit, To dismantle her, we'll have to build roads and bring in men and equipment. As long as we’re going that far, we may as well bring in propellants, get her checked out, and fly her home to White Sands.” _ “Stan!” Pete exploded. ““You’ve been out in the sun too long without a hat! You're asking for a temporary spaceport—out here!” THE PLAINS OF SAN AUGUSTINE — 69 “That’s right,” Stan replied coolly. “We truck in heavy equipment and fly in the rest. We pull in a couple generators and get power. We move in men and tents, It’s an engineering job; it can be licked. And Pete and I can fly her out; don’t worry!”’ Hardin thought about this for a moment. “You may have the answer. How about it, Hugh?” The engineer gazed dismally around the barren wasteland, then brightened and replied, “I think we can do it—if we can get backing from Washington. It’ll cost about a million bucks, but that’s chicken-feed compared to the value of this ship.” “You let me worry about Washington,” the colonel rapped. “How long will it take?”’ ) “About three weeks from the time we start on the road.” ““O.K., you're in charge. Better have a supervisor at this end. Hamilton should be able to handle that.” “Td be glad to,” Stan put in. “Pll buy it,” was Fergusen’s remark. . “Good! Hamilton, we’ll get back and get things rolling. Until the Pendray sits down at White Sands and you log out, I will consider you her com- manding officer. We'll get the stuff to you; you get her out of here.” Shortly before sundown, Cortinez and his daughter showed up in their battered pickup with the.truck bed filled with food. “If your pals at White Sands ain’t made provisions to feed you yet,” Cortinez boomed, “we ain't gonna let you starve. We don’t treat guests that way.” It wasn’t a banquet, but it was licking good and there was plenty of it. Steaks from a freshly-butchered steer, French-fried potatoes, hot biscuits by the dozens, and frijoles washed down with black coffee poured from a huge pot made up the menu. They sat down under the gaping rocket nozzles of the Pendray with a half-dozen gasoline lanterns hung from the ship’s boat-tail to provide light. Stan found a place next to Rosie and sat down. They ate without speaking until Stan finally wiped his lips on the sleeve of his coveralls and remarked, “Thanks, Rosie; that was good, but you'll go broke if you keep on feeding this bunch of chow-hounds.” He indicated Pete and the remainder of the group from White Sands sitting around. | “You won’t go hungry,” she promised him, ‘‘and this is nothing compared to feeding a bunch of cow hands.” . “Who do we thank for this cooking? Your mother—?” She turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows. “Mrs. Timberly, our housekeeper, has her hands full with the rest of the hands at the ranch; this was my job, Captain Hamilton. I can—and have—cooked for fifty men at a time, most of them with bottomless stomachs and hollow legs.” ‘Then your mother’s—” “Years ago. It was before I can remember.” ‘I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.” J was merely decoration around the pla ‘I didn’t expect you to, captain. COMING JOOKS- CO