KING OF THE HILL
by JAMES BLISH
Illustrated by GRIFFITH
A madman can be prevented from
bomb-throwing—but a mad world?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It did Col. Hal Gascoigne no good whatsoever to know that he was theonly man aboard Satellite Vehicle 1. No good at all. He had stoppedreminding himself of the fact some time back.
And now, as he sat sweating in the perfectly balanced air in front ofthe bombardier board, one of the men spoke to him again:
"Colonel, sir—"
Gascoigne swung around in the seat, and the sergeant—Gascoigne couldalmost remember the man's name—threw him a snappy Air Force salute.
"Well?"
"Bomb one is primed, sir. Your orders?"
"My orders?" Gascoigne said wonderingly. But the man was alreadygone. Gascoigne couldn't actually see the sergeant leave the controlcabin, but he was no longer in it.
While he tried to remember, another voice rang in the cabin, as flatand razzy as all voices sound on an intercom.
"Radar room. On target."
A regular, meaningless peeping. The timing circuit had cut in.
Or had it? There was nobody in the radar room. There was nobody inthe bomb hold, either. There had never been anybody on board SV-1 butGascoigne, not since he had relieved Grinnell—and Grinnell had flownthe station up here in the first place.
Then who had that sergeant been? His name was—It was—
The hammering of the teletype blanked it out. The noise was as loud asa pom-pom in the echoing metal cave. He got up and coasted across thedeck to the machine, gliding in the gravity-free cabin with the ease ofa man to whom free fall is almost second nature.
The teletype was silent by the time he reached it, and at first thetape looked blank. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. There was themessage.
MNBVCXZ LKJ HGFDS PYTR AOIU EUIO QPALZM
He got out his copy of "The Well-Tempered Pogo" and checked thespeeches of Grundoon the Beaver-Chile for the key letter-sequence onwhich the code was based. There weren't very many choices. He had theclear in ten minutes.
BOMB ONE WASHINGTON1700 HRS TAMMANANY
There it was. That was what he had been priming the bomb for. But thereshould have been earlier orders, giving him the go-ahead to prime. Hebegan to rewind the paper.
It was all blank.
And—Washington? Why would the Joint Chiefs of Staff order him—
"Col. Gascoigne, sir—"
Gascoigne jerked around and returned the salute. "What's your name?" hesnapped.
"Sweeney, sir," the corporal said. Actually it didn't sound very muchlike Sweeney, or like anything else; it was just a noise. Yet the man'sface looked familiar. "Ready with bomb two, sir."
The corporal saluted, turned, took two steps, and faded. He did notvanish, but he did not go out the door, either. He simply receded,became darker and harder to distinguish, and was no longer there. Itwas as though he and Gascoigne had disagreed about the effects ofperspective in the glowing Earthlight, and Gascoigne had turned out tobe wrong.
Numbly, he finished rewinding the paper. There was no doubt about it.There the order stood, black on y