The Scarlet Lake Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

Rick took over and checked again. And once more Earle's voice sounded, harsh and definite. "The board is green."

Gee-Gee slammed the access port door and locked the patented fasteners with a few turns of his screw driver. "We're done," he said flatly. "Come on down."

Rick followed, jumping to the ground from the lowest platform. He looked around, dazed. The sky was pink in the east. It was dawn. Where had the night gone? He stared amazed at grotesque figures that waited, silent, patient, like beings from another world. Then he realized it was the fueling crew dressed in protective clothing, swathed like strange cocoons in plastic that would keep their vulnerable human skins from the harm of corrosive liquid and fumes.

Gee-Gee led him to the blockhouse, and the walk across the barren plain cleared the mists from Rick's head. He knew, as clearly and finally as anyone can ever know anything, that the electronic circuits were all in order and functioning.

The massive door of the blockhouse was open. Inside were two dozen men, each with his own place and his own job. Rick knew some of them by sight, but he knew few names. This was the Orion crew. He looked at them with respect. They had made the great rocket on which he had worked all night. They had created it from sketches on paper, followed it through all the stages of construction until now it was ready.

A loud-speaker crackled, then boomed, "The time is now zero minus ninety minutes."

They were the fastest ninety minutes Rick had ever spent. He was enthralled by the activity in the blockhouse, and, careful to keep out of the way, he walked from station to station. Now and then he looked through the thick glass ports, and he saw the green mist of boron hydride as fuel throbbed slowly into the rocket's tanks.

A thin, bald scientist in a scarlet sports shirt picked up a microphone and spoke into it. "Tracking stations, report your readiness. Stand by. Lathrop Wells, report."

A loud-speaker over his head replied instantly. "Lathrop Wells ready and tracking."

Tonopah, Indian Springs, Mercury, Death Valley Junction, Shorty's Well, Chloride Cliff, Jubilee Pass: All ready and tracking. Then:

"Careless Mesa."

Big Mac's voice boomed forth. "Careless Mesa ready and tracking."

The time: "Zero minus thirty minutes!"

One by one red lights on the main board winked out and green lights came on in their places, showing circuits and controls in operation. Only a few red lights remained now. Rick looked through the glass ports and saw the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched, taking in everything. He didn't even notice when the massive door was swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss.

"Zero minus five minutes."

At last the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean, beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth.

Rick couldn't tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of the red lights flick out, the green glow showing readiness.

Then, zero minus five … four … three … two … one …

FIRE!

A steady hand threw the final switch.

Green flame stabbed from Orion's tail, grew to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket's nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket's voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered, the shuddering increased.

A yell of pure horror burst from Rick's throat. High on the rocket's side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider … wider …

The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out – silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick went out with them.

The desert was alive with sound now, with the roaring torch of rocket propellant and the scream of sirens. Speeding down from the base camp came the fire engines, to save what could be saved, to help still the flames so the Orion crew might find out what had gone wrong.

Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust.

Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines and ran to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events.

"What happened to it?" Scotty asked hoarsely.

Rick shook his head. He couldn't talk.

The firemen were already at work. Crews from the trucks, protected by asbestos and plastic, carried hoses to the very edge of the roaring propellant and began to smother it with mounds of foam. The men who had followed with shovels and picks were also at work, hastily digging a trench to prevent the spread of the fiery liquid.

Someone yelled, then another yelled. Rick looked up in time to see the rocket split wide open and most of the remaining tons of propellant gush out. The firemen saw it, too, saw that they would be engulfed. They turned and ran.

Horrified, Rick saw a fireman, clumsy in his protective suit, trip and fall before the oncoming flood of flaming boron hydride.

Scotty moved, instinctively, his finely trained body responding with perfect co-ordination. Straight toward the oncoming flood he ran, into the edge of the flames, leaping the rapidly widening trench. Rick ran, too, but Scotty's fast reaction had carried his pal beyond reach. He saw the husky ex-marine stoop into the flames, pick up the fallen fireman, and literally throw him across the trench to safety.

Then Rick was at his friend's side, slapping at the burning places on his clothes, rushing him away from the spreading propellant. But Scotty wasn't through. He helped the fireman to his feet and pulled at the protective suit. Rick saw instantly what had happened. The suit had been torn in the fall, and some propellant had gotten in through the rents. The fireman was burning under the protective cover!

Other hands came to help and they got the man out of his cover, out of his burning clothes. Then the first-aid squad moved in.

Not until the fireman had been cared for did Scotty say, almost apologetically, "Any of that stuff left? I've got a couple of burns."

Then Rick noticed for the first time that his own hands were scorched and in need of the soothing unguent. By the time he and Scotty were smeared with the ointment, the fire was out.

The boys watched as water was sprayed over the white-hot wreckage until at last the safety officer pronounced the torn remnants cool enough for inspection. Then John Gordon and the senior staff moved in.

It was past noon before they emerged from their inch-by-inch examination of the rocket, but no one left to eat, to change clothes, or even to sit down. No one thought of it.

John Gordon motioned to Dr. Albert Hiller, the Orion project officer. Hiller nodded. He spoke quietly, but not one of the hundreds watching missed a single word.

"Apparently a fuel-pump bearing froze at the critical moment. With an unstable fuel like boron hydride, that made the difference. Internal pressure was too much for the shell to take."

The engineer paused, and the tense, waiting silence became almost too much to bear. Hiller knew what the men were waiting for.

"We found no pictures," he said. "We'll continue the examination in the laboratory, of course. But as of this moment we cannot say whether it was the kind of accident that rocketeers always have to expect, or whether someone tampered with the pump. By someone, I mean – the Earthman."

CHAPTER IX

Ghost Town Clue

Rick refused point-blank to go to bed. He wasn't tired, he insisted, and he meant it.

Scotty yielded. "Okay. I see your point. It's hard enough to sleep in the daytime anyway, but when you're all keyed up, it's impossible. Didn't lunch make you sleepy at all?"

"A little, but that shower and change of clothes woke me up again. Scotty, I'll never forget that horrible instant when I realized that Orion wasn't going to take off. Honest, it was like watching something beautiful die. It…"

Hank Leeming, their security officer roommate, came into the bunkroom in time to hear Rick's last comment. Hank was young, usually smiling. He wasn't smiling now. "I was in the blockhouse when the first one blew. I know how you feel, Rick. It makes you want to lay violent hands on the man responsible."

The security officer changed the subject abruptly. "Luis Hermosa wants to see the boy who saved his life, and the one who helped."

"You mean the fireman who fell in the propellant?" Scotty asked.

"That's the one. He's in the infirmary. Can you both go?"

Scotty shrugged. "Sure. If he wants us to. But he doesn't owe us anything. Someone else would have dragged him out if we hadn't."

"If you hadn't," Rick corrected. "I didn't move fast enough."

"Neither did anyone else," Hank pointed out. "Don't be overmodest about it, Scotty. Go and see him."

The infirmary, operated by Lomac, was only a block away. Rick and Scotty walked over and checked in at the reception desk.

The infirmary clerk directed them to one of the four rooms in the little base hospital. "Go right in."

Luis Hermosa was awake. Rick knew he must be in pain from his burns, which were extensive, but his smile gave no evidence of it. It was a warm smile that demanded a smile in return.

"This morning there was no chance to give you my thanks," he greeted them. "I asked for you to come so that you may know how I feel."

Scotty put a hand gently on one of the bandaged ones. "No thanks are necessary."

Luis shook his head. "It was a brave thing. You might also have been caught by the fuel, and you did not even have a suit such as I wore. When I and my family light candles to thank God and to ask His blessing for you, we will want to give Him your names."

They told him their names, and his lips moved as he repeated them. Then he waved them to chairs. "Please sit down and talk with me for a few minutes. This is not a place where one can extend the hospitality of his house, but I can at least offer you chairs."

Keen brown eyes surveyed them. "You are both very young, eh? What are you doing here?"

"Working," Scotty answered. "I'm in vehicle maintenance and Rick is in Pegasus electronics."

"So? It is an exciting place in which to work. Even I, a fireman, feel this excitement. Tell me, do you think this hombre de terra, this Earthman, was the cause of the tragedy this morning? I call it a tragedy, because it was so. So much work, so much love went into that rocket! Sangre de Cristo! It was a terrible thing."

"No one seems to know for sure," Rick replied. "The project officer couldn't say. But there was no Earthman picture."

The bandaged hands spread expressively. "A picture could have been burned. Now perhaps we will never know. You understand, I have thought much about this thing. Once I believed this Earthman made the rockets go bad because he must think such things are against the will of God. But when I heard of the thefts, I no longer thought so. I thought about how a thief could take his stolen wealth from this guarded place."

"We've wondered about that, too," Scotty said.

"You decided something?"

Rick leaned forward on his chair. Luis Hermosa had started him thinking again.

"The thief couldn't get his stolen goods from the base if he went through a gate in his own car, could he?"

"He would not dare," Luis replied, "because he knows the guards check the trunks of cars, and sometimes even look under seats. He might be unlucky. He would know this."

"Spot check," Scotty nodded.

Rick hadn't known about the spot check, but it made sense. He continued, "So there's only one way. The thief has to take the stolen supplies from the base in an official vehicle."

"Such vehicles are not checked," Luis agreed excitedly. "But also, such vehicles are not taken far from this camp. If a truck, say, were gone too long, would it not be noticed?"

"It certainly would," Scotty stated.

"There must be only a few places where the thief could go," Rick said thoughtfully. "When he reaches one, he must hide his stolen goods and leave them. Later, by traveling a long way to reach the spot from the main road, he could get the stolen stuff with his own car. Or, maybe someone from outside who doesn't work on the base at all could go to the hiding place and pick them up. Can you think of any other way?"

Luis and Scotty couldn't, and said so.

Rick asked, "What are the possible places?"

"What would such a place need to be like?" Luis asked, then answered his own question, "It would need to be on a road, not only leading from the base, but to the outside. Also, it would need to be a lonely place, would it not? And it would need to be a place where the things could be hidden and not be seen, but where a helper from outside could find them easily. You see, I follow your reasoning. Where is such a place?"

The boys waited. Luis knew the area. He might have a good idea.

"There is one which is perfect. It is called Steamboat."

"But that's a town," Rick objected. "People would notice a truck from the base."

Luis chuckled. "People, yes. Ghosts, no. An evil man like this Earthman would not care what a ghost saw, would he? Ah, but you are new here, and you do not know. Steamboat is a town without people. No one has lived there for forty years."

"A ghost town," Scotty said in surprise. "But don't tourists go to ghost towns?"

"They do," Luis agreed. "They go to Searchlight, and to Rhyolite, and to Calico, and other ghost towns near here. But they do not go to Steamboat. It is on bad roads, many miles from the nearest good highway. Besides, who has heard of Steamboat? No newspaper writes about it, and no one advertises it. You cannot even buy a souvenir at Steamboat. There is no one to sell them. Ghosts do not peddle souvenirs."

Luis chuckled at his own joke. "You have a good head, Mr. Brant. I will think about this. Perhaps you will think some more, too, and we will compare notes later. Will you come to visit me again?"

"We'll come," they promised.

Outside in the brilliant sunlight, Rick said to Scotty, "You bet we'll go to see him again! How did you like his idea about the ghost town?"

"It can be reached from Careless Mesa," Scotty pointed out. "I wish we'd known it was a ghost town. We could have explored it some afternoon."

Rick said what had been on his mind since Luis made his suggestion. "I think we'd better pay it a visit."

"When?"

"What's the matter with right now?"

"Nothing, I guess. But why the rush?"

Rick wasn't sure himself. "Maybe there isn't any rush. But on the other hand, maybe there is. Look, we've kind of assumed Mac and Pancho are in on this, haven't we? Well, their movements must be pretty well known, at least while they're at work."

"They have to check their truck in and out. Why?"

"Let's talk about it over a coke. It's hot."

They hiked to the recreation hall and got cokes from the automatic dispenser. Rick set his thoughts in order.

"I'm not so sure about Mac and Pancho. They were at Careless Mesa this morning. At least I'm certain Mac was, because I heard his voice when he checked in by radio. And probably Pancho was, too, because it takes two men to handle a radar unit. One of them might have been able to sabotage a rocket, although I doubt it, but how could they take advantage of the confusion to steal the transistors when they're not even on the base?"

Scotty finished his coke and banged the bottle on the table for emphasis. "Okay. They couldn't. But why are you so sure they couldn't sabotage a rocket?"

"I'm not sure," Rick replied. "But now that I've seen how the base works, it seems to me that only someone who works on the rockets could sabotage one."

"Careful," Scotty said with a groan. "You're dumping the only suspects we have."

Rick grinned ruefully. "I know it. Anyway, we have to keep moving, even if it means starting all over again. So let's start at Steamboat."

"Okay. And just for the fun of it, I'll check the vehicle board. It won't hurt to know how much time Mac and Pancho have spent off the base in their truck. Suppose I gas up the jeep and meet you at the barracks?"

"I'll check out with Pegasus. Will you have any trouble?"

"No. Everything just about closes down the day of a shoot. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The boys parted at the door of the recreation hall and Rick started back to the barracks. As he passed the main administrative building, John Gordon fell in step.

"If I knew you two, I'd be mighty proud of both of you," the scientist said whimsically. "You for the job you did with Gee-Gee last night, and Scotty for pulling that fireman out this morning."

Rick smiled his thanks. "Anything new?"

"Not so far. Tom Preston is having the warehouses checked, just in case. But it's a terrific job going through an inventory item by item."

"Can you find out if the clerks leave the warehouses during a shoot?" Rick asked.

"Tom has already gone to work on that. I'll find a way to let you know. Keep in touch, Rick."

Rick continued on to the barracks, mind churning with confused thoughts. If only they had a few hard facts to work on! There wasn't a single definite clue to anyone. And, after last night, how could he suspect any of the dedicated, hard-working rocketeers? Impossible to imagine that anyone who had worked so hard on one of the projects could deliberately sabotage it. Yet, there was no other answer. No one outside the technical and scientific staff would have the opportunity or knowledge.

"At least," he concluded ruefully, "if we assume it's someone with ready access to the projects, we've cut down the size of the haystack. We're looking for one man out of only about five hundred!"

CHAPTER X

Stranded in Steamboat

The road to Steamboat led by Careless Mesa, then through a series of twists and turns down to comparatively level country again. According to the map, the ghost town was in a valley next to a dry lake bed.

Rick glanced at his watch. "It's going to be late when we get there."

"Maybe that's good," Scotty returned. "If anyone is in the town we'll see lights. This country is so wide open it would be hard to sneak up on the town in daylight."

"It would, if there was anything to sneak up for. Haven't you got the feeling this is a wild-goose chase?"

Scotty dodged a deep hole in the road. "It could be. But we can't just sit around waiting for the Earthman to hand us a calling card. Besides, Mac and Pancho were gone long enough to reach Steamboat and return to base this morning." That was what the vehicle-control board had shown.

"They might have been just waiting at Careless Mesa," Rick pointed out. "We have no evidence they went to Steamboat. Besides, if anything was stolen during the shoot this morning, they couldn't have been in on it."

"That's true. But we can't lose by looking the town over. Besides, I've never seen a real ghost town."

Rick watched the desert go by, his mind busy with the problems. As Scotty had said, if Mac and Pancho weren't in on the thefts, someone was. That someone had to get the stolen goods off the base and to a location from which it could be carried to civilization. He toyed with the idea that the stolen transistors might simply have been destroyed or hidden by the Earthman in order to hold up work at the base. That didn't seem likely.

The facts of time and distance certainly eliminated Mac and Pancho. During the shoots they were miles away. They had little or no opportunity to get close to the rockets. It was only reasonable to cross them – and all other radar-tracking teams – off the suspect list. Yet, Rick couldn't forget his initial feeling about the pair.

Scotty pointed. "Isn't that a town?"

The jeep had topped a gentle rise. Below lay a small, dry lake bed. At one edge of the dry lake, nestled in low foothills, were gray, weathered buildings. It was almost certainly Steamboat.

Scotty stopped the jeep and they surveyed the countryside with care. There was no sign of movement, no sign of a dust cloud from any other vehicle.

The sun was low in the west. In a short time it would be out of sight beyond the mountains, then darkness would close in. Rick reached into the jeep's glove compartment and found the flashlight he had stowed there. He checked it, then asked, "What are we waiting for?"

"Ideas," Scotty replied. "What say we roll right on through the town without stopping, then turn and come back through that wash at the base of the hills?"

Rick looked to where the dark-haired boy pointed. He saw the shadow of a gully that followed the foothills closely.

"Think it's necessary?" he asked.

Scotty shrugged. "Probably not. But it's better to be careful than sorry later."

"Okay with me. Let's go."

Scotty put the jeep in gear and they rolled swiftly down to the level of the dry lake bed and toward Steamboat. A few minutes later they entered the town.

Rick inspected the buildings with care. It looked like the setting for a Western motion picture, except for the lack of people and horses, and the lack of paint. He identified a pair of stores, a two-story building that could only have been a hotel, a livery stable, and several buildings without identification of any kind. There was only one street, and they were on it. Nowhere was there a sign of life. Then they were through the town, and the road climbed gently toward the foothills.

Scotty held the jeep at a steady speed for over a mile. As the road gradually curved around a rock outcropping, he said, "Look behind and tell me when the town is out of sight."

Rick turned in his seat in time to see Steamboat vanish behind the outcropping. "Now."

Scotty brought the jeep to a halt. "The road should fork pretty soon, shouldn't it?"

"That's right. Left fork to Pahrump Valley, right fork to Death Valley."

"Let's hit the ditch." Scotty reached down and put the jeep into four-wheel drive, then turned left off the road.

The bottom of the dry wash was alternately sandy and studded with boulders. Scotty picked his way with care, but it was a rough ride. Once or twice he stopped while Rick climbed the slope of the wash for a survey of the situation. Finally they pulled to a halt and both boys reconnoitered ahead, to find a good way out of the wash and onto the road. Satisfied that getting from the wash onto level ground would pose no problems, they turned off the jeep engine and settled down to wait.

Again, Rick felt the futility of what they were doing. They might wait for weeks without ever seeing another human being.

"There's going to be a moon," Scotty remarked.

Rick looked up at the slim crescent. "Yes, but not much of a moon. I'd rather depend on a flashlight."

Scotty stirred restlessly. "Maybe we should have explored the town."

"Maybe. It's too late now, except to explore by flashlight. We can always come back during daylight."

They fell silent while darkness settled in. Rick began to feel drowsy now that the excitement was at an end. He let his head droop. Presently he slept.

Suddenly he realized Scotty was shaking him. "I'm awake," he whispered. "What's up? What time is it?"

"Nearly nine. I was going to let you sleep for a while before starting back." Scotty's voice was low. "A car came along the road. Not from the base. The other way. It was traveling without lights. It stopped in town."

"Let's go," Rick whispered. He got out of the jeep, Scotty on his heels. They moved carefully up the slope of the wash and emerged on the open desert behind the town.

Scotty took his arm. "Follow me." The dark-haired boy moved into the lead.

They moved in a bent-over position, making their way from bush to bush, careful to move silently. Rick's pulse began to hammer. Why should anyone come to the ghost town, especially in a darkened vehicle? For the first time he felt hope. They might find out something of importance after all!