Recoil
By George O. Smith
Illustrated by Orban
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Walter Franks sat in the director's office; his feet on the director'sdesk. He was smoking one of the director's cigarettes. He was drinkingthe director's liquor, filched shamelessly from the director's privatefiling cabinet where it reposed in the drawer marked "S." Drawer "B"would have given beer, but Walt preferred Scotch.
He leaned forward and tossed the director's cigarette into thedirector's wastebasket and then he pressed the button on the desk andlooked up.
But it was not the director's secretary who entered. It was his own,but that did not disturb Franks. He knew that the director's secretarywas off on Mars enjoying a honeymoon with the director.
Jeanne entered and smiled. "Must you call me in here to witness youwasting the company's time?" she asked in mock anger.
"Now look, Jeanne, this is what Channing does."
"No dice. You can't behave as Don Channing behaves. The reason is myhusband."
"I didn't call to have you sit on my lap. I want to know if the mail isin."
"I thought so," she said. "And so I brought it in with me. Anythingmore?"
"Not until you get a divorce," laughed Franks.
"You should live so long," she said with a smile. She stuck her tongueout at him.
Walt thumbed his way through the mail, making notations on some, andsetting others aside for closer reading. He came to one and tossed itacross the desk at Jeanne. She took the message and read:
Dear Acting Director:
Having a wonderful honeymoon; glad you aren't here!
Don and Arden.
"Wonderful stuff, love," smiled Franks.
"It is," agreed Jeanne. A dreamy look came into her eyes.
"Scram, Jeanne. There are times when you can't work worth a darn.Usually when you're thinking of that husband of yours. What's he gotthat I haven't?"
"Me," said Jeanne slyly. She arose and started for the door. "Oh," shesaid, "I almost forgot. Warren phoned up and said that the turret isready for a try-out."
"Fine," said Walt. "Swell." He unfolded himself from the chair withalacrity and almost beat the girl to the door.
"My," she laughed, "you can move after all."
"Sure," he grinned. "Now I have something for which to live."
"I hope it's worth it. You've sunk a lot of change into that bug-house."
"I know, but we can stand it. After all, since Don took over thisaffair, Interplanetary Communications is an up and running business.We're out of the Government subsidy class now, and are making money. Ifthis works, we'll make more. It's worth a gamble."
"What are you trying to build?" asked Jeanne.
"Why, since this business of contacting ships-at-space has become souniversally liked, we have a tough time keeping ships in the mobilebeam. That's because they are always ducking out of the way of loosemeteorites and stuff, and that screws up their course. We can't see'em, and must take their position on the basis of their expectedcourse. We never know whether we hit 'em until they land.
"Now I've been trying to devise a space gun that will blast meteorsdirectly instead of avoiding them by coupling the meteor detector tothe autopilot."
"Gonna shoot 'em out of existence?"
"Not exactly. Popping at them with