Damon Knight (ed) by First Contact

Author:First Contact [Contact, First]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

GOLDFISH BOWL

BY ROBERT A HEINLEIN

On the horizon lay the immobile cloud which capped the incredible waterspouts known as the Pillars of Hawaii.

Captain Blake lowered his binoculars. “There they stand, gentlemen.”

In addition to the naval personnel of the watch, the bridge of the hydrographic survey ship U. S. S. Mahan held two civilians; the captain’s words were addressed to them. The elder and smaller of the pair peered intently through a spyglass he had borrowed from the quartermaster. “I can’t make them out,” he complained.

“Here—try my glasses, doctor,” Blake suggested, passing over his binoculars. He turned to the officer of the deck and added, “Have the forward range finder manned, if you please, Mr. Mott.” Lieutenant Mott caught the eye of the bos’n’s mate of the watch, listening from a discreet distance, and jerked a thumb upward. The petty officer stepped to the microphone, piped a shrill stand-by, and the metallic voice of the loud-speaker filled the ship, drowning out the next words of the captain: “Raaaaange one! Maaaaaaaan and cast loose!”

“I asked,” the captain repeated, “if that was any better.”

“I think I see them,” Jacobson Graves acknowledged. “Two dark vertical stripes, from the cloud to the horizon.”

“That’s it.”

The other civilian, Bill Eisenberg, had taken the telescope when Graves had surrendered it for the binoculars. “I got ‘em too,” he announced. “There’s nothing wrong with this ‘scope, Doc. But they don’t look as big as I had expected,” he admitted.

“They are still beyond the horizon,” Blake explained. “You see only the upper segments. But they stand just under eleven thousand feet from water line to cloud-if they are still running true to form.”

Graves looked up quickly. “Why the mental reservation? Haven’t they been?”

Captain Blake shrugged. “Sure. Right on the nose. But they ought not to be there at all-four months ago they did not exist. How do I know what they will be doing today-or tomorrow?”

Graves nodded. “I see your point-and agree with it. Can we estimate their height from the distance?”

“I’ll see.” Blake stuck his head into the charthouse. “Any reading, Archie?”

“Just a second, captain.” The navigator stuck his face against a voice tube and called out, “Range!”

A muffled voice replied, “Range one-no reading.”

“Something greater than twenty miles,” Blake told Graves cheerfully. “You’ll have to wait, doctor.”

Lieutenant Mott directed the quartermaster to make three bells; the captain left the bridge, leaving word that he was to be informed when the ship approached the critical limit of three miles from the Pillars. Somewhat reluctantly, Graves and Eisenberg followed him down; they had barely time enough to dress before dining with the captain.

Captain Blake’s manners were old-fashioned; he did not permit the conversation to turn to shop talk until the dinner had reached the coffee and cigars stage. “Well, gentlemen,” he began, as he lit up, “just what is it you propose to do?

“Didn’t the Navy Department tell you?” Graves asked with a quick look.

“Not much. I have had one letter, directing me to place my ship and command at your disposal

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