Fallen Star by James Blish Read Free Book Online Page B

the Earth, its gravitational field—let me see—glaciers, and the weather, oceanography, earthquakes…. I forget the rest,
     but it’s a large order. There’s a rocket programme for studying the upper atmosphere, and of course the satellites—they ought
     to yield all kinds of basic information.”
    “I can’t quite picture the Commodore as part of a vast fellowship of dedicated basic research men,” Harriet said gloomily.
     “But I suppose it takes all kinds. I was hoping you’d see through him, and give me some ammunition for separating him from
     his Pfistner sponsorship. I can’t do it by myself, I’ve proven that. But you let me down.”
    “Sorry, carrot-top. He’s peculiar, but I think his expeditionis worth while. Otherwise I’d be backing out of it as fast as ever my little legs could run.”
    “Well, the least you can do is to see me home.”
    I had had just enough to drink so that the idea tempted me, but I didn’t need much Super-Ego to see what my personal devil
     would make of such an opportunity. I backed out, ungraciously but fast.
    I was half-way back to Pelham on the 8.35 before I realized that I had completely forgotten to ask the Commodore about salary.

Four
    J UST to be on the safe side, I called Ellen Fremd the next day and gave her the meat of Farnsworth’s pet idea. To my surprise,
     she was interested, though she showed her usual intellectual caution.
    “I think the chances are very much against his finding anything,” she told me over the phone. “I he whole idea of an asteroidal
     protoplanet is speculative. It’s just as likely that the asteroids are the debris of a planet that failed to form in the very
     beginning, because the mass of Jupiter kept scattering the components. But there is this recent work on the helium content
     of meteorites; that’s what you saw in
Nature.
It suggests that certain types of them were molten only a few million years ago, and that they weren’t exposed to space at
     the time. It’s difficult to understand how that could be possible, unless they were part of some quite sizeable solid body
     back then.”
    “Frankly, Ellen, you flabbergast me. I thought the idea was a fugitive from a science-fiction story. If Farnsworth did grapple
     up a big chunk from the ocean bottom up North, would the IGY be interested in it?”
    “Certainly,” Ellen said. “As a matter of fact, at least two of the projects on the satellite Flight Priority List have a bearing
     on it. Let’s see if I have the list here…. Yes. There’s ESP-4, measurement of interplanetary matter, under Maurice Dubin at
     Cambridge; and ESP-7, measurement of meteoric dust erosion of the satellite skin, under Singer at the University of Maryland.
     So if Farnsworth finds anything that leads US to alter our current ideas of meteor density in space—asany data tending to support the protoplanet hypothesis would do—we would be most interested.
    “Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “the Arctic Ocean isn’t heavily iced over, as most people seem to think. And Farnsworth’s
     notion that it’s been ice-covered ever since the end of the Pliocene is possibly a little simplistic. After all, the last
     Ice Age ended less than 11,000 years ago. Anyhow, Julian, it’s well worth looking into, I think.”
    I thanked her and hung up, feeling a little dizzy. I was not in spectacularly good shape anyhow, thanks to a protracted argument
     with Midge which had lasted for three quarts of ale after I had gotten home the previous night. I think Midge might have passed
     over my new association with a Notorious Woman like Jayne Wynn, or my being much too late for dinner without having phoned,
     or my having been out drinking with Harriet. The combination, however, was too much for her. The argument was dull and lengthy,
     as are all arguments which are essentially about nothing, and the end-product was one of those awful hangovers which fill
     the whole of the next day with an inexplicable