What Need of Man? Read online

knowabout, when you approach Mach 1 in an after-burnered machine, is apiece of cake to the buffeting at Mach 5 in a rocket when you hit theatmosphere, any level of atmosphere. The meteorites that strike ouratmosphere don't just burn up, we know that now. They also get knockedto bits. And they're solid iron.

  Lynds was about seventy miles up, his velocity down to a point or twoover Mach 2, in level flight heading east over the south Atlantic.From about that altitude, manual controls are essential, not just tomake one feel better, but because you really need them. The automatedcontrols did not have any tolerance. You don't understand, do you?Look, when one flies and wants to alter direction, one appliespressure to the control surfaces, altering their positions,redirecting the flow of air over the wings, the rudder and so forth.Now, in applying pressure, you occasionally have to ease up or perhapspress a bit more, as the case may be, to counteract turbulence, shiftin air current, or any of a million other circumstances that canoccur. That all depends on touch. It's what makes some flyers livelonger than others. It's like the drag on a fishing reel. You set ittight or loose according to the weight of the fish you're playing.When you reel in, the line can't become too tight or it will snap, soyou have the drag. It's really quite ingenious. It lets the fish pullout line as you reel in. It's the degree of tolerance that makes itwork well as an instrument. In flying, the degree of tolerance, thecompensating factor is in man's hands. In the atmosphere, it's toounpredictable for any other way.

  * * * * *

  Well, they calculated to set the dive brakes at twelve degrees at thepoint where Lynds was. Lynds saw it all.

  "This is more like my cup of tea," he said at that point. "Harry, thesky is a strange kind of purple black up here."

  "They're going to activate the brakes, Den," I said. "What's it like?"

  "Not yet, Harry. Not yet."

  I looked at Bannister. He noted the chart, his finger under a line ofcalculations.

  "The precise rate of speed and the exact instant of calculation,Captain Jackson," Bannister said. "Would you care to question anythingfurther."

  "He said not yet," I told him.

  "Therefore you would say not yet?"

  "I would say this. He's about in the stratosphere. He knows where heis now. He's one of the finest pilots in the world. He'll feel theright moment better than your instruments."

  "Ridiculous. Fourteen seconds. Stand by."

  "Wait," I said.

  "And if we wait, where does he come down, I ask you? You cannotcalculate haphazardly, by feel. There are only four points at whichthe landing can be made. It must be now."

  I flipped the communications switch, still looking at Bannister.

  "This is it, Den. They're coming out now."

  "Yes, I see them. What are they set for?"

  "Twelve degrees."

  "I'm dropping like a stone, Harry. Tell them to ease up on the brake.Bannister, do you hear me? Bring them in or they'll tear off. This isnot flying, anymore." His voice sounded as if he was having difficultybreathing.

  "Harry," he called.

  They held the brakes at twelve degrees, of course. The calculationsdictated that. They tore away in fifteen seconds.

  "Bannister! They're gone," Dennis shouted. "They're gone, Bannister,you butcher. Now what do you say?"

  Bannister's face didn't flinch. He watched the controls steadily.

  "Try half-degree rudder in either direction," I said.

  Bannister looked at me for a second. "His direction is vertical,Captain. Would you attempt a rudder manipulation in a vertical dive?"

  "Not a terminal velocity drive, Bannister. He said it's not flyinganymore. Lord knows which way he's falling."

  "So?"

  "So I'd try anything. You've got to slow him."

  "Or return him to level flight."

  "At this speed?"

  We both looked at the controls now. The ship was accelerating again,and dropping so rapidly I couldn't follow the revolutions counter.

  "Engage the ailerons," Bannister ordered. "Point seven degrees,negative."

  Dennis came back on. "Harry, what are you doing? The ship is fallingapart. The ailerons. It won't help. Listen, Harry, you've got to becareful. The flight configuration is so tenuous, anything can turnthis thing into a falling stone. It had to happen, I knew, but I don'twant to believe it now. This sitting here with that noise gettinglouder. It's spiraling out at me, getting bigger. Now it's smalleragain. I'm afraid, Harry. The ailerons, Harry, they're gone. Verytenuous. They're gone. I can't see anything. The screens are black. Nomore shaking. No more noise. It's quiet and I hear myself breathing,Harry. Harry, the wrist straps on the suits are too tight. And thehelmet, when you want to scratch your face, you can go mad. AndHarry--"

  * * * * *

  That was the end of the communications. Something in the transmittermust have gone. They never found out. He didn't hit until almost aminute later, and nobody ever saw it. The tracking screen followed himdown very precisely and very silently. There was no retrievinganything, of course. You don't conduct salvage operations in themiddle of the south Atlantic.

  * * * * *

  I turned in my report after that. No one had asked for it, so it wentthrough unorthodox channels. It took an awfully long time and mysuspension did not become effective until after the second shot. I wasthe pilot on that one, you know. I got them to install the duplicatecontrols, over the insistence by Bannister that resorting to them,even in the event that it became necessary, would prove nothing. Heeven went as far as to talk about load redistribution electric controldesign. As a matter of fact, I thought he had me for a while, but Ithink in the end they decided to try to avoid the waste of anothervehicle. At least, that might be the kind of argument that would carryweight. The vehicles were enormously expensive, you realize.

  I made it all right, as I said. It took me nine hours and then some,once they dropped me from orbit. I switched off the automatic controlsat the point where the dive brakes were to have been engaged. Thistime, the brakes had not responded to the auto controls and they didnot open at all. I found out readily enough why Lynds was againstopening them at that point. Metal fatigue had brought the ship to apoint where even a shift in my position could cause it to stop flying.

  I came down in Australia and the braking 'chute tore right out when Ireleased it. I skidded nine miles. A Royal Australian Air Forcehelicopter picked me up two hours later.

  I learned of the suspension while in the hospital. I didn't get outuntil just in time to get to London for the hearing. My evidence andForrest's, and Lynds' recorded voice all served to no purpose. Youdon't become a hero by proving an expert wrong. It doesn't work thatway. It would not do to have Bannister looked upon as a bad gambit,not after all they went through to stay in power after putting him in.The reason, after all, was all in the way you looked at it. And ahuman element could always be overlooked in the cause of humanendeavor. Especially when the constituents never find out about it.

  * * * * *

  After that, they started experimentation with powered returns. Theatmosphere has been conquered, and now there remained the last stage.They never did it successfully. They couldn't. But it did not reallymatter. What it all proved was that they did not really need pilotsfor what Bannister was after. He had started with a premise of testingman's reactions to space probes under actual conditions, but what hewas actually doing was testing space probes alone, with man as anecessary evil to contend with to give the project a reason.

  It was all like putting a man in a racing car traveling flat out onthe Salts in Bonneville, Utah. He'll survive, of course. But put theman in the car with no controls for him to operate and then run thething completely through remote transmission, and you've eliminatedthe purpose for the man. Survival as an afterthought might be a thingto test, if you didn't care a hoot about man. Survival for its ownsake doesn't mean anything unless I've missed the wh
ole point ofliving, somewhere along the line.

  Bannister once described to me the firing of a prototype V-2. Thefiring took place after sunset. When the rocket had achieved a certainaltitude, it suddenly took on a brilliant yellow glow. It had passedbeyond the shadow of the earth and risen into the sunlight. Here wasBannister's passion. He was out to establish the feasibility ofputting a rocket vehicle on the moon. It could have a man in it, or amonkey. Both were just as useless. Neither could fly the thing back,even if it did get down in one piece. It could tell us nothing aboutthe moon we didn't already know. Getting it down in one piece, ofcourse, was the