Robert A Heinlein - Space Cadet

Space Cadet

Robert A Heinlein

1948

SNAFU ON VENUS

"I gather that you were sent here, in answer to my message?"

"Certainly," Matt said.

"Thank heaven for that-even if you guys were stupid enough to stumble

right into it. Now tell me-how many are there in the expedition. This is going

to be a tough nut to crack."

"This is the expedition, right in front of you."

"What? This is no time to joke. I sent for a regiment of marines, equipped

for amphibious operations."

"Maybe you did, but this is what you got. What's the situation?"

Burke seemed dazed. "It's no use," he said. "It's utterly hopeless."

"What's so hopeless? The natives seem friendly, on the whole. Tell us

what the difficulty was, so we can work it out with them."

"Friendly!" Burke gave a bitter laugh. "They killed all of my men. They're

going to kill me. And they'll kill you too. ..."

CONTENTS

I TERRA BASE

II ELIMINATION PROCESS

III OVER THE BUMPS

IV FIRST MUSTER

V INTO SPACE

VI "READING, AND 'RITING, AND 'RITHMETIC-"

VII TO MAKE A SPACEMAN

VIII TERRA STATION

IX LONG HAUL

X GUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS CUSTODES?

XI P.R.S. AES TRIPLEX

XII P.R.S. PATHFINDER

XIII LONG WAY HOME

XIV "THE NATIVES ARE FRIENDLY . . ."

XV PIE WITH A FORK

XVI P.R.S. ASTARTE

XVII HOTCAKES FOR BREAKFAST

XVIII IN THE COMMANDANT'S OFFICE

TERRA BASE

1

I

"To MATTHEW BROOKS DODSON," the paper in his hand read, "greetings:

"Having successfully completed the field elimination tests for appointment

to the position of cadet in the Interplanetary Patrol you are authorized to

report to the Commandant, Terra Base, Santa Barbara Field, Colorado, North

American Union, Terra, on or before One July 2075, for further examination.

"You are cautioned to remember that the majority of candidates taking

these final tests usually fail and you should provide-"

Matt folded the paper and stuck it back in his belt pouch. He did not care

to think about the chance of failure. The passenger across from him, a boy

about his own age, caught his eye. "That paper looks familiar, you a

candidate too?"

"That's right."

"Well, shake! M' name's Jarman-I'm from Texas."

"Glad to know you, Tex. I'm Matt Dodson, from Des Moines."

"Howdy, Matt. We ought to be about there-" The car sighed softly and

slowed; their chairs rocked to meet the rapid deceleration. The car stopped

and their chairs swung back to normal position. "We are there," Jarman

finished.

The telescreen at the end of the car, busy a moment before with a blonde

beauty demonstrating Sorkin's Super-

Stellar Soap, now read: TERRA BASE STATION. The two boys grabbed

their bags, and hurried out. A moment later, they were on the escalator,

mounting to the surface.

Facing the station a half mile away in the cool, thin air stood Hayworth

Hall, Earth headquarters of the fabulous Patrol. Matt stared at it, trying to

realize that he was at last seeing it.

Jarman nudged him. "Come on."

"Huh? Oh-sure." A pair of slidewalks stretched from the station to the hall;

they stepped onto the one running toward the building. The slidewalk was

crowded; more boys streamed out of the station behind them. Matt noticed

two boys with swarthy, thin features who were wearing high, tight turbans,

although dressed otherwise much like himself. Further down the walk he

glimpsed a tall, handsome youth whose impassive face was shiny black.

- The Texas boy hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked around.

"Granny, kill another chicken!" he said. "There's company for dinner.

Speaking of that," he went on, "I hope they don't wait lunch too long. I'm

hungry."

Matt dug a candy bar out of his pouch, split it and gave half to Jarman,

who accepted it gratefully. "You're a pal, Matt, I've been living on my own fat

ever since breakfast- and that's risky. Say, your telephone is sounding."

"Oh!" Matt fumbled in his pouch and got out his phone. "Hello?"

"That you, son?" came his father's voice.

"Yes, Dad."

"Did you get there all right?"

"Sure, I'm about to report in."

2

"How's your leg?"

"Leg's all right, Dad." His answer was not frank; his right leg, fresh from a

corrective operation for a short Achilles' tendon, was aching as he spoke.

"That's good. Now see here, Matt-if it should work out that you aren't

selected,. don't let it get you down. You call me at once and-"

^ "Sure, sure, Dad," Matt broke in. "Ill have to sign off-I'm in a crowd.

Good-by. Thanks for calling."

"Good-by, son. Good luck."

Tex Jarman looked at him understandingly. "Your folks always worry,

don't they? I fooled mine-packed my phone in my bag." The slidewalk swung

in a wide curve preparatory to heading back; they stepped off with the crowd,

in front of Hayworth Hall. Tex paused to read the inscription over the great

doorway. "Quis custodi- What does it say, Matt?"

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. That's Latin for: Who will watch the

guardians?"

"You read Latin, Matt?"

"No, I just remember that bit from a book about the Patrol."

The rotunda of Hayworth Hall was enormous and seemed even larger, for,

despite brilliant lighting at the floor level, the domed ceiling gave back no

reflection at all; it was midnight black-black and studded with stars. Familiar

stars-blazing Orion faced the tossing head of Taurus; the homely shape of

the Dipper balanced on its battered handle at north-northeast horizon; just

south of overhead the Seven Sisters shone.

The illusion of being outdoors at night was most persuasive. The lighted

walls and floor at the level at which people walked and talked and hurried

seemed no more than a little band of light, a circle of warmth and comfort,

against the awful depth of space, like prairie schooners drawn up for the night

under a sharp desert sky.

The boys caught their breaths, as did everyone who saw it for the first

time. But they could not stop to wonder as something else demanded their

attention. The floor of the rotunda was sunk many feet below the level at

which they entered; they stood on a balcony which extended around the

great room to enclose a huge, shallow, circular pit. In this pit a battered

spaceship lurched on a bed of rock and sand as if it had crash-landed from

the mimic sky above.

"It's the Kilroy-" Tex said, almost as if he doubted it.

"It must be," Matt agreed in a whisper. -

They moved to the balcony railing and read a plaque posted there:

USSF Rocket Ship Kilroy Was Here

FIRST INTERPLANETARY SHIP

From Terra to Mars and return-Lieut. Colonel Robert deFries Sims,

Commanding; Captain Saul S. Abrams; Master Sergeant Malcolm

MacGregor. None survived the return landing. Rest in Peace.

They crowded next to two other boys and stared at the Kilroy. Tex nudged

Matt. "See the gash in the dirt, where she skidded? Say, do you suppose

they just built right over her, where she lays'

3

One of the other two-a big-boned six-footer with tawny hair-answered,

"No, the Kilroy landed in North Africa."

"Then they must have fixed it to look like where she crashed. You a

candidate too?"

"That's right."

Tm Bill Jarman-from Texas. And this is Matt Dodson."

"I'm Oscar Jensen-and this is Pierre Armand."

"Howdy, Oscar. Glad to know you, Pierre."

"Call me Pete," Armand acknowledged. Matt noticed that he spoke Basic

English with an accent, but Matt was unable to place it. Oscar's speech was

strange, too-a suggestion of a lisp. He turned back to the ship.

"Imagine having the guts to go out into space in a cracker box like that,"

he said. "It scares me to think about it"

"Me, too," agreed Oscar Jensen.

"It's a dirty shame," Pierre said, softly.

"What is, Pete?" Jarman demanded.

"That their luck didn't hold. You can see it was an almost perfect landing-

they didn't just crash in, or there would have been nothing left but a hole in

the ground."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Say, there's a stairway down^ over on the far

side-see it, Matt? Do you suppose we could look through her?"

"Maybe," Matt told him, "but I think we had better put it off. We've got to

report in, you know."

"We had all better check in," agreed Jensen. "Coming, Pete?"

Armand reached for his bag. Oscar Jensen pushed him aside and picked

it up with his own. "That's not necessary!" Armand protested, but Oscar

ignored him.

Jarman looked at Pierre. "You sick, Pete?" he asked. "I noticed you

looked kind of peaked. What's the trouble?"

"If you are," put in Matt, "ask for a delay."

Armand looked embarrassed. "He's not sick and hell pass the exams,"

Jensen said firmly. "Forget it."

"Sho', sho'," Tex agreed. They followed the crowd and found a notice

which told all candidates to report to room 3108, third corridor. They located

corridor three, stepped on the slideway, and put down their baggage.

"Say, Matt," said Tex, "tell me-who was Kilroy?"

"Let me see," Matt answered. "He was somebody in the Second Global

War, an admiral, I think. Yeah, Admiral 'Bull' Kilroy, that sounds right."

"Funny they'd name it after an admiral."

"He was a flying admiral."

"You're a savvy cuss," Tex said admiringly. "I think I'll stick close to you

during the tests."

Matt brushed it off. "Just a fact I happened to pick up."

In room 3108 a decorative young lady waved aside their credentials but

demanded their thumb prints. She fed these into a machine at her elbow. The

machine quickly spit out instruction sheets headed by the name, serial

4

number, thumb print, and photograph of each candidate, together with

temporary messing and rooming assignments.

The girl handed out the sheets and told them to wait next door. She

abruptly turned away.

"I wish she hadn't been so brisk," complained Tex, as they went out. "I

wanted to get her telephone code. Say," he went on, studying his sheet,

"there's no time left on here for a siesta."

"Did you expect it?" asked Matt.

"Nope-but I can hope, can't I?" -

The room next door was filled with benches but the benches were filled

with boys. Jarman stopped at a bench which was crowded by three large

cases, an ornate portable

refresher kit, and a banjo case. A pink-faced youth sat next to this. "Your

stuff?" Tex asked him.

The young man grudgingly admitted it. "You won't mind if we move it and

sit down," Tex went on. He started putting the items on the floor. The owner

looked sulky but said nothing.

There was room for three. Tex insisted that the others sit down, then sat

down on his bag and leaned against Mart's knees, with his legs stretched out.

His footwear, thus displayed, were seen to be fine western boots, high-

heeled and fancy.

A candidate across from them stared at the boots, then spoke to the boy

next to him. "Pipe the cowboy!"

Tex snorted and started to get up. Matt put a hand on his shoulder,

shoving him back. "It's not worth it, Tex. We've got a busy day ahead."

Oscar nodded agreement. "Take it easy, fellow."

Tex subsided. "Well-all right. Just: the same," he added, "my Uncle Bodie

would stuff a man's feet in his mouth for less than that." He glared at the boy

across from him.

Pierre Armand leaned over and spoke to Tex. "Excuse me-but are those

really shoes for riding on horses?"

^Huh? What do you think they are? Skis?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! But you see, I've never seen a horse."

"What?"

"I have," announced Oscar, "in the zoo, that is."

"In a zoo?" repeated Tex.

"In the zoo at New Auckland."

"Oh-" said Tex. "I get it. You're a Venus colonial." Matt then recalled

where he had heard Oscar's vaguely familiar lisp before-in the speech of a

visiting lecturer. Tex turned to Pierre. "Pete, are you from Venus, too?"

"No, I'm-" Pete's voice was drowned out.

"Attention, please! Quiet!" The speaker was dressed in the severely plain,

oyster-white uniform of a space cadet. "All of you," he went on, speaking into

a hand amplifier, "who have odd serial numbers come with me. Bring your

baggage. Even numbers wait where you are."

"Odd numbers?" said Tex. "That's me!" He jumped up.

5

Matt looked at his instructions. "Me, too!"

The cadet came down the aisle in front of them. Matt and Tex waited for

him to pass. The cadet did not hold himself erectly; he crouched the merest

trifle, knees relaxed and springy, hands ready to grasp. His feet glided softly

over the floor. The effect was catlike, easy grace; Matt felt that if the room

were suddenly to turn topsy-turvy the cadet would land on his feet on the

ceiling-which was perfectly true.

Matt wanted very much to look like him.

As the cadet was passing, the boy with the plentiful baggage plucked at

his sleeve. "Hey, mister!"

The cadet turned suddenly and crouched, then checked himself as

quickly. "Yes?"

"I've got an odd number, but I can't carry all this stuff. Who can I get to

help me?"

"You can't." The cadet prodded the pile with his toe. "All of this is yours?"

"Yes. What do I do? I can't leave it here. Somebody'll steal it."

"I can't see why anyone would." The cadet eyed the pile with distaste.

"Lug it back to the station and ship it home. Or throw it away."

The youngster looked blank. "You'll have to, eventually," the cadet went

on. "When you make the lift to the school ship, twenty pounds is your total

allowance."

"But- Well, suppose I do, who's to help me get it to the station?"

"That's your problem. If you want to be in the Patrol, you'll have to learn to

cope with problems."

"But-"

"Shut up." The cadet turned away. Matt and Tex trailed along.

Five minutes later Matt, naked as an egg, was stuffing his bag and clothes

into a sack marked with his serial number. As ordered, he filed through a

door, clutching his orders and a remnant of dignity. He found himself in a

gang refresher which showered him, scrubbed him, rinsed him, and blew

him dry again, assembly-line style. His instruction sheet was waterproof;

he shook from it a few clinging drops.

For two hours he was prodded, poked, thumped, photographed, weighed,

X-rayed, injected, sampled, and examined until he was bewildered. He saw

Tex once, in another queue. Tex waved, slapped his own bare ribs, and

shivered. Matt started to speak but his own line started up.

The medicos examined his repaired leg, making him exercise it, inquired

the date of the operation, and asked if it hurt him. He found himself admitting

that it did. More pictures were taken; more tests were made. Presently he

was told, "That's all. Get back into line." ,

"Is it all right, sir?" Matt blurted out.

"Probably. You'll be given some exercises. Get along."

After a long time he came into a room in which several boys were

dressing. His path took him across a weighing platform; his body interrupted

electric-eye beams. Relays closed, an automatic sequence took place based

6

on his weight, height, and body dimensions. Presently a package slid down a

chute and plunked down in front of him.

It contained an undergarment, a blue coverall, a pair of soft boots, all in

his size.

The blue uniform he viewed as a makeshift, since he was anxious to swap

it for the equally plain, but oyster white, uniform of a cadet. The shoes

delighted him. He zipped them on, relishing their softness and glovelike fit. It

seemed as if he could stand on a coin and call it, heads or tails. "Cat feet"-his

first space boots! He took a few steps, trying to walk like the cadet he had

seen earlier.

"Dodson!"

"Coming." He hurried out and shortly found himself thrust into a room with

an older man in civilian clothes.

"Sit down. I'm Joseph Kelly." He took Mart's instruction sheet. "Matthew

Dodson . .. nice to know you, Matt."

"How do you do, Mr. Kelly."

"Not too badly. Why do you want to join the Patrol, Matt?"

"Why, uh, because-" Matt hesitated. "Well, to tell the

truth, sir, I'm so confused right now that I'm darned if I know!"

Kelly chuckled. "That's the best answer I've heard today. Do you have any

brothers or sisters, Matt?" The talk wandered along, with Kelly encouraging

Matt to talk. The questions were quite personal, but Matt was sophisticated

enough to realize that "Mr. Kelly" was probably a psychiatrist; he stammered

once or twice but he tried to answer honestly.

"Can you tell me now why you want to be in the Patrol?"

Matt thought about it "I've wanted, to go out into space ever since I can

remember."

"Travel around, see strange planets and strange people- that's

understandable, Matt. But why not the merchant service? The Academy is a

long, hard grind, and it's three to one you won't finish, even if you are sworn

in as a cadet- and not more than a quarter of the candidates will pass muster.

But you could enter the merchant school-I could have you transferred today-

and with your qualifications you'd be a cinch to win your pilot's ticket before

you are twenty. How about it?"

Matt looked stubborn.

"Why not, Matt? Why insist on trying to be an officer of the Patrol? They'll

turn you inside out and break your heart and no one will thank you for your

greatest efforts. They'll make you over into a man your own mother wouldn't

recognize-and you won't be any happier for it. Believe me, fellow-I know."

Matt did not say anything.

"You still want to try it, knowing chances are against you?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I do."

"Why, Matt?"

Matt still hesitated. Finally he answered in a low voice. "Well, people look

up to an officer in the Patrol."

7

Mr. Kelly looked at him. "That's enough reason for now, Matt. You'll find

others-or quit." A clock on the wall suddenly spoke up:

"Thirteen o'clock! Thirteen o'clock!" Then it added thoughtfully, "I'm

hungry."

"Mercy me!" said Kelly. "So am I. Let's go to lunch, Matt."

II

ELIMINATION PROCESS

MATTES INSTBUCTIONS told him to mess at table 147, East Refectory.

A map on the back of the sheet showed where East Refectory was;

unfortunately he did not know where Matt was-he had gotten turned around

in the course of the morning's rat race. He ran into no one at first but august

personages in the midnight black of officers of the Patrol and he could not

bring himself to stop one of them.

Eventually he got oriented by working back to the rotunda and starting

over, but it made him about ten minutes late. He walked down an endless line

of tables, searching for number 147 and feeling very conspicuous. He was

quite pink by the time he located it.

There was a cadet at the head of the table; the others wore the coveralls

of candidates. The cadet looked up and said, "Sit down, mister-over there on

the right. Why are you late?"

Matt gulped. "I got lost, sir."

Someone tittered. The cadet sent a cold glance down the table. "You. You

with the silly horse laugh-what's your name?"

"Uh, Schultz, sir."

"Mister Schultz, there is nothing funny about an honest answer. Have you

never been lost?"

"Why- Well, uh, once or twice, maybe."

"Hm ... I shall be interested in seeing your work in astrogation, if you get

that far." The cadet turned back to Matt. "Aren't you hungry? What's your

name?"

"Yes, sir. Matthew Dodson, sir." Matt looked hurriedly at

the controls in front of him, decided against soup, and punched the

"entree," "dessert," and "milk" buttons. The cadet was still watching him as

the table served him.

"I am Cadet Sabbatello. Don't you like soup, Mr. Dodson?"

"Yes, sir, but I was in a hurry."

"There's no hurry. Soup is good for you." Cadet Sabbatello stretched an

arm and punched Mart's "soup" button. "Besides, it gives the chef a chance

to clean up the galley." The cadet turned away, to Mart's relief. He ate

heartily. The soup was excellent, but the rest of the meal seemed dull

compared with what he had been used to at home.

He kept his ears open. One remark of the cadet stuck in his memory. "Mr.

van Zook, in the Patrol we never ask a man where he is from. It is all right for

Mr. Romolus to volunteer that he comes from Manila; it is incorrect for you to

ask him."

8

The afternoon was jammed with tests; intelligence, muscular control,

reflex, reaction time, sensory response. Others required him to do two or

more things at once. Some seemed downright silly. Matt did the best he

could.

He found himself at one point entering a room containing nothing but a

large, fixed chair. A loudspeaker addressed him: "Strap yourself into the

chair. The grips on the arms of the chair control a spot of light on the wall.

When the lights go out, you will see a lighted circle. Center your spot of light

in the circle and keep it centered."

Matt strapped himself down. A bright spot of light appeared on the wall in

front of him. He found that the control in his right hand moved the spot up and

down, while the one in his left hand moved it from side to side. "Easy!" Matt

told himself. "I wish they would start."

The lights in the room went out; the lighted target circle bobbed slowly up

and down. He found it not too difficult to bring his spot of light into the circle

and match the bobbing motion.

Then his chair turned upside down.

When he recovered from his surprise at finding himself hanging head

down in the dark, he saw that the spot of light

had drifted away from the circle. Frantically he brought them together,

swung past and had to correct.

The chair swung one way, the circle another, and a loud explosion took

place at his left ear. The chair bucked and teetered; a jolt of electricity

convulsed his hands and he lost j the circle entirely.

Matt began to get sore. He forced his spot back to the circle and nailed it.

"Gotcha!" ;

Smoke poured through the room, making him cough, ' watering his eyes,

and veiling the target. He squinted and; hung on grimly, intent only on

hanging onto that pesky circle of light-through more explosions, screaming

painful) noise, flashing lights, wind in his eyes, and endless, crazy emotions

of his chair. ' •

Suddenly the room lights flared up, and the mechanical 1 voice said: "Test

completed. Carry out your next assignment." •;

Once he was given a handful of beans and a small bottle, and was told to

sit down and place the bottle at a mark on ;,-the floor and locate in his mind

the exact position of the ; bottle. Then he was to close his eyes and drop the

beans one at a time into the bottle-if possible.

He could tell from the sound that he was not making many hits, but he

was mortified to find, when he opened his eyes, that only one bean rested in

the bottle.

He hid the bottom of his bottle in his fist and queued up at the examiner's

desk. Several of those lined up had a goodly number of beans in their bottles,

although he noted two with no beans at all. Presently he handed his bottle to

the examiner. "Dodson, Matthew, sir. One bean."

The examiner noted it without comment. Matt blurted out, "Excuse me, sir-

but what's to keep a person from cheating by peeking?"

9

Robert A Heinlein - Space Cadet

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