READING RECOMMENDATIONS: SPACE JOCKEY AND THE LONG WATCH BY ROBERT A.HEINLEIN

Hello dear readers! Today I'm back with more reading recommendations and  reviews. I shall review two short stories from  Robert A. Heinlein's. Both of them are from his The Green Hills of Earth/ The Menace From Earth short story collection. I have a copy of it at home and I often pick it up! In my last post I reviewed Delilah and the Space-Rigger, the first story in the copy I own. Today I'll review the second and the third short story in this book. 

DO YOU WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT ROBERT A.HEINLEIN'S WORKS?

READ MORE OF MY REVIEWS:

SHORT STORIES: DELILAH AND THE SPACE-RIGGER

NOVELLAS: WALDO    MAGIC INC.

NOVELS: PODKANYE OF MARS ,   SPACE CADET  ,  THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST ,   BEYOND THIS HORIZON , STARSHIP TROOPERS, THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS, THE ORPHAN'S OF THE SKY

MY REVIEW FOR A SHORT STORY "SPACE JOCKEY"

"Space Jockey" 4 /5

THE OPENING OF THE STORY: 

Originally published in on 26th of April, 1947, Space Jockey is set in near future. Depicting a life of a rocket pilot, the story is wonderfully crafted and executed. This story opens with a dialogue between a wife and a husband. The husband is called to work and the way resents not only him not spending time with her but also the fact his job puts him in danger: 

UST as they were leaving the telephone called his name. "Don't answer it," she pleaded. "We'll miss the curtain."

"Who is it?" he called out. The viewplate lighted; he recognized Olga Pierce, and behind her the Colorado Springs office of Trans-Lunar Transit.

"Calling Mr. Pemberton. Calling—Oh, it's you, Jake. You're on. Flight 27, Supra-New York to Space Terminal. I'll have a copter pick you up in twenty minutes."

"How come?" he protested. "I'm fourth down on the call board."

"You were fourth down. Now you are standby pilot to Hicks—and he just got a psycho down-check."

"Hicks got psychoed? That's silly!"

"Happens to the best, chum. Be ready. 'Bye now."

His wife was twisting sixteen dollars worth of lace handkerchief to a shapeless mass. "Jake, this is ridiculous. For three months I haven't seen enough of you to know what you look like.

"Sorry, kid. Take Helen to the show."

"Oh, Jake, I don't care about the show; I wanted to get you where they couldn't reach you for once."

"They would have called me at the theater."

"Oh, no! I wiped out the record you'd left."

"Phyllis! Are you trying to get me fired?"

"Don't look at me that way." She waited, hoping that he would speak, regretting the side issue, and wondering how to tell him that her own fretfulness was caused, not by disappointment, but by gnawing worry for his safety every time he went out into space.

I quite enjoyed the dialogue between the wife and the husband, it sounded very natural. It's not always easy to write natural sounding dialogue but Heinlein's certainly got it right in this one. Now, that I think about it, dialogue can be a great tool in a short story because in the shorter formats, the writer doesn't really have the time to elaborate on descriptions of his characters. Therefore, the dialogue can be a great way of developing characters. You can get a lot of information about a character from a dialogue. Not just about one character! In fact, a dialogue can be a great way of showing the reading the dynamic between the two characters. In this dialogue, we can easily establish that the husband and wife really care about one another, even if they have some opposing views on things. 

She went on desperately, "You don't have to take this flight, darling; you've been on Earth less than the time limit. Please, Jake!"

He was peeling off his tux. "I've told you a thousand times: a pilot doesn't get a regular run by playing space-lawyer with the rule book. Wiping out my follow-up message—why did you do it, Phyllis? Trying to ground me?"

"No, darling, but I thought just this once—"

"When they offer me a flight I take it." He walked stiffly out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later, dressed for space and apparently in good humor; he was whistling: "—the caller called Casey at ha' past four; he kissed his—" He broke off when he saw her face, and set his mouth, ''Where's my coverall?"

"I'll get it. Let me fix you something to eat."

"You know I can't take high acceleration on a full stomach. And why lose thirty bucks to lift another pound?"

Dressed as he was, in shorts, singlet, sandals, and pocket belt, he was already good for about minus-fifty pounds in weight bonus; she started to tell him the weight penalty on a sandwich and a cup of coffee did not matter to them, but it was just one more possible cause for misunderstanding.

Neither of them said much until the taxicab clumped on the roof. He kissed her goodbye and told her not to come outside. She obeyed—until she heard the helicopter take off. Then she climbed to the roof and watched it out of sight.

After that the story focuses a bit more on science and technology. Heinlein is consider to be one of 'hard science' writers, like Asimov, meaning that he liked to get the science details right. This story is another wonderful example of his future histories. Heinlein really planned out all the details. His world building is quite impressive. Heinlein doesn't only plan the technological advancements of the future human society, he also considers the geopolitical and social elements. If you read the following paragraphs, you'll see why a rocket pilot might be in more demand than a space ship pilot, at least when the Earth Moon flight is at stake. 

The traveling-public gripes at the lack of direct Earth-to-Moon service, but it takes three types of rocket ships and two space-station changes to make a fiddling quarter-million-mile jump for a good reason: Money.

The Commerce Commission has set the charges for the present three-stage lift from here to the Moon at thirty dollars a pound. Would direct service be cheaper?—a ship designed to blast off from Earth, make an airless landing on the Moon, return and make an atmosphere landing, would be so cluttered up with heavy special equipment used only once in the trip that it could not show a profit at a thousand dollars a pound! Imagine combining a ferry boat, a subway train, and an express elevator—

So Trans-Lunar uses rockets braced for catapulting, and winged for landing on return to Earth to make the terrific lift from Earth to our satellite station Supra-New York. The long middle lap, from there to where Space Terminal circles the Moon, calls for comfort-but no landing gear. The Flying Dutchman and the Philip Nolan never land; they were even assembled in space, and they resemble winged rockets like the Skysprite and the Firefly as little as a Pullman train resembles a parachute.

The Moonbat and the Gremlin are good only for the jump from Space Terminal down to Luna . . . no wings, cocoon-like acceleration-and-crash hammocks, fractional controls on  their enormous jets.

After a very detailed (yet written with clear ease) insight into rocket flights and current state of the affairs, Heinlein takes us back into the personal life of the protagonist. As he prepares for launch,  Pemberton thinks about his wife Phyllis and seriously considers changing his job. If we really had rocket pilots, they might feel like our protagonist. It is easy for a reader to imagine the pilots feeling the strain of such a job. On one hand, the challenges our space jockey faces are similar to challenges any hard-working  professional pilot might feel.  On the other hand, some of the challenges are directly connected to his life in space. 

Seven minutes to go—Pemberton flipped the switch permitting the robot-pilot to blast away when its clock told it to. He waited, hands poised over the manual controls, ready to take over if the robot failed, and felt the old, inescapable sick excitement building up inside him.

Even as adrenaline poured into him, stretching his time sense, throbbing in his ears, his mind kept turning back to Phyllis.

He admitted she had a kick coming—spacemen shouldn't marry. Not that she'd starve if he messed up a landing, but a gal doesn't want insurance; she wants a husband—minus six minutes.

If he got a regular run she could live in Space Terminal. No good-idle women at Space Terminal went bad. Oh, Phyllis wouldn't become a tramp or a rum bum; she'd just go bats.

Five minutes more-he didn't care much for Space Terminal himself. Nor for space! "The Romance of Interplanetary Travel"—it looked well in print, but he knew what it was: A job. Monotony. No scenery. Bursts of work, tedious waits. No home life.

Why didn't he get an honest job and stay home nights?

He knew! Because he was a space jockey and too old to change.

Heinlein goes on to reveal more about the challenges of being a rocket pilot for a living. So, I would say that Heinlein does a great job of both constructing a believable future society and making it feel realistic. I liked the personal approach to this short story and how it focuses so much on the marriage of Pemberton and  Phyllis. What follows is an insight into Pemberton's life as a space jockey. Then there is a job offer, he will have to think about (and consult with his wife about). 

CONCLUSION- SPACE JOCKEY IS A WELL WRITTEN AND ROUNDED STORY

This story depicts a life of a rocket pilot in a realistic way. By that I mean, it is not romanticized at all. The life of the protagonist of the story is quite stressful and hectic. Nevertheless, the protagonist enjoys his job. So, the main inner conflict of the pilot protagonist is not so much professional as it is personal.

Our particular protagonist is troubled by the fact that his wife is lonely and wants to save his marriage. Moreover, the world building is this story is fantastic. Space Jockey is an interesting and human science fiction story that I really enjoyed. Therefore, I would recommend it. 

MY REVIEW OF THE SHORT STORY "THE LONG WATCH"

"The Long Watch" 5/5

I read this one before I read Space Cadet, so I didn't really understand the concept of Space Patrol fully or everything it was supposed to mean and stand for. However, that didn't stop me from enjoying this story. This story does have a connection to Space Patrol and its history but it can be read on its own. The story is set in near future (now already past for us). Heinlein imagined this story in 1999 but unfortunately in 2023 the world is nowhere near as advanced as Heinlein imagined it. He got many things right in his future histories but he underestimated the greed of politicians. 

Anyhow, the basic plot is as follows:  John Ezra,  a member of the Space Patrol (i.e) an international organization of scientist in charge of Earth's remaining nuclear weapons finds himself in a difficult situation. John is an apolitical young bomb officer and physicist working at the Space Patrol's lunar base. Unbeknownst to him, there is a military uprising happening. His superior Towers requests a meeting with him. Soon John finds out that Towers and others are planning a military uprising. They want to see nuclear bombs to destroy some cities of Earth and force Earth's military to obey them. John will have to find a way to outsmart them if he doesn't want his family to live in a military dictatorship. 

The story opens introducing us to its protagonist  John Ezra being radioactive, indicating he is in big trouble: 

JOHNNY DAHLQUIST blew smoke at the Geiger counter. He grinned wryly and tried it again. His whole body was radioactive by now. Even his breath, the smoke from his cigarette, could make the Geiger counter scream.

How long had he been here? Time doesn't mean much on the Moon. Two days? Three? A week? He let his mind run back: the last clearly marked time in his mind was when the Executive Officer had sent for him, right after breakfast—

The writer then takes us back into past and we get to learn more about the cause for John's radioactivity. John is called in for a talk with Colonel Towers, a man he admires but what he is about to hear is not admirable. It seems Colonel Towers wants to take some desperate measures:

"Lieutenant Dahlquist, reporting to the Executive Officer."

Colonel Towers looked up. "Ah, John Ezra. Sit down, Johnny. Cigarette?"

Johnny sat down, mystified but flattered. He admired Colonel Towers, for his brilliance, his ability to dominate, and for his battle record. Johnny had no battle record; he had been commissioned on completing his doctor's degree in nuclear physics and was now junior bomb officer of Moon Base.

The Colonel wanted to talk politics; Johnny was puzzled. Finally Towers had come to the point; it was not safe (so he said) to leave control of the world in political hands; power must be held by a scientifically selected group. In short—the Patrol.

Johnny was startled rather than shocked. As an abstract idea, Towers' notion sounded plausible. The League of Nations had folded up; what would keep the United Nations from breaking up, too, and thus lead to another World War. "And you know how bad such a war would be, Johnny."

Johnny agreed. Towers said he was glad that Johnny got the point. The senior bomb officer could handle the work, but it was better to have both specialists.

So, John starts to realize what Colonel Towers wants from him. He also understand that he will have to play along if he wants to stop their plan. 

Johnny sat up with a jerk. "You are going to do something about it?" He had thought the Exec was just talking.

Towers smiled. "We're not politicians; we don't just talk. We act."

Johnny whistled. "When does this start?"

Towers flipped a switch. Johnny was startled to hear his own voice, then identified the recorded conversation as having taken place in the junior officers' messroom. A political argument he remembered, which he had walked out on . . . a good thing, too! But being spied on annoyed him.

Towers switched it off. "We have acted," he said. "We know who is safe and who isn't. Take Kelly—" He waved at the loud-speaker. "Kelly is politically unreliable. You noticed he wasn't at breakfast?"

"Huh? I thought he was on watch."

"Kelly's watch-standing days are over. Oh, relax; he isn't hurt."

Johnny thought this over. "Which list am I on?" he asked. "Safe or unsafe?"

"Your name has a question mark after it. But I have said all along that you could be depended on." He grinned engagingly. "You won't make a liar of me, Johnny?"

Dahlquist didn't answer; Towers said sharply, "Come now—what do you think of it? Speak up."

"Well, if you ask me, you've bitten off more than you can chew. While it's true that Moon Base controls the Earth, Moon Base itself is a sitting duck for a ship. One bomb—blooie!"

Towers picked up a message form and handed it over; it read: I HAVE YOUR CLEAN LAUNDRY—ZACK. "That means every bomb in the Trygve Lie has been put out of commission. I have reports from every ship we need worry about." He stood up. "Think it over and see me after lunch. Major Morgan needs your help right away to change control frequencies on the bombs."

"The control frequencies?"

"Naturally. We don't want the bombs jammed before they reach their targets."

"What? You said the idea was to prevent war."

Towers brushed it aside. "There won't be a war—just a psychological demonstration, an unimportant town or two. A little bloodletting to save an all-out war. Simple arithmetic."

As the conversation continues, things get more chilling, leading up to the moment when Colonel Towers casually mentions destroying an Earth's town or two. John is buying time, asking for the Commanding officer, but the officer is dead.

He put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "You aren't squeamish, or you wouldn't be a bomb officer. Think of it as a surgical operation. And think of your family."

Johnny Dahlquist had been thinking of his family. "Please, sir, I want to see the Commanding Officer."

Towers frowned. "The Commodore is not available. As you know, I speak for him. See me again—after lunch."

The Commodore was decidedly not available; the Commodore was dead. But Johnny did not know that.

The next chapter opens with John taking action and trying to lock himself with the bombs. He is determined not to let them be used against any city. 

He got up, crushed out the butt, and headed for the Base's west airlock. There he got into his space suit and went to the lockmaster. "Open her up, Smitty."

The marine looked surprised. "Can't let anyone out on the surface without word from Colonel Towers, sir. Hadn't you heard?"

"Oh, yes! Give me your order book." Dahlquist took it, wrote a pass for himself, and signed it "by direction of Colonel Towers." He added, "Better call the Executive Officer and check it."

The lockmaster read it and stuck the book in his pocket. "Oh, no, Lieutenant. Your word's good."

"Hate to disturb the Executive Officer, eh? Don't blame you." He stepped in, closed the inner door, and waited for the air to be sucked out.

Out on the Moon's surface he blinked at the light and hurried to the track-rocket terminus; a car was waiting. He squeezed in, pulled down the hood, and punched the starting button. The rocket car flung itself at the hills, dived through and came out on a plain studded with projectile rockets, like candles on a cake. Quickly it dived into a second tunnel through more hills. There was a stomach-wrenching deceleration and the car stopped at the underground atom-bomb armory.

As Dahlquist climbed out he switched on his walkie-talkie. The space-suited guard at the entrance came to port-arms. Dahlquist said, "Morning, Lopez," and walked by him to the airlock. He pulled it open.

The guard motioned him back. "Hey! Nobody goes in without the Executive Officer's say-so." He shifted his gun, fumbled in his pouch and got out a paper. "Read it, Lieutenant."

Dahlquist waved it away. "I drafted that order myself. You read it; you've misinterpreted it."

"I don't see how, Lieutenant."

Dahlquist snatched the paper, glanced at it, then pointed to a line. "See? '—except persons specifically designated by the Executive Officer.' That's the bomb officers, Major Morgan and me."

The guard looked worried. Dahlquist said, "Damn it, look up 'specifically designated'—it's under 'Bomb Room, Security, Procedure for,' in your standing orders. Don't tell me you left them in the barracks!"

"Oh, no, sir! I've got 'em." The guard reached into his pouch. Dahlquist gave him. back the sheet; the guard took it, hesitated, then leaned his weapon against his hip, shifted the paper to his left hand, and dug into his pouch with his right.

Dahlquist grabbed the gun, shoved it between the guard's legs, and jerked. He threw the weapon away and ducked into the airlock. As he slammed the door he saw the guard struggling to his feet and reaching for his side arm. He dogged the outer door shut and felt a tingle in his fingers as a slug struck the door.

He flung himself at the inner door, jerked the spill lever, rushed back to the outer door and hung his weight on the handle. At once he could feel it stir. The guard was lifting up; the lieutenant was pulling down, with only his low Moon weight to anchor him. Slowly the handle raised before his eyes.

Air from the bomb room rushed into the lock through the spill valve. Dahlquist felt his space suit settle on his body as the pressure in the lock began to equal the pressure in the suit. He quit straining and let the guard raise the handle. It did not matter; thirteen tons of air pressure now held the door closed.

He latched open the inner door to the bomb room, so that it could not swing shut. As long as it was open, the airlock could not operate; no one could enter.

Before him in the room, one for each projectile rocket, were the atom bombs, spaced in rows far enough apart to defeat any faint possibility of spontaneous chain reaction. They were the deadliest things in the known universe, but they were his babies. He had placed himself between them and anyone who would misuse them.

But, now that he was here, he had no plan to use his temporary advantage.

The speaker on the wall sputtered into life. "Hey! Lieutenant! What goes on here? You gone crazy?" Dahlquist did not answer. Let Lopez stay confused—it would take him that much longer to make up his mind what to do. And Johnny Dahlquist needed as many minutes as he could squeeze. Lopez went on protesting. Finally he shut up.

Johnny had followed a blind urge not to let the bombs—his bombs!—be used for "demonstrations on unimportant towns." But what to do next? Well, Towers couldn't get through the lock. Johnny would sit tight until hell froze over.

Don't kid yourself, John Ezra! Towers could get in. Some high explosive against the outer door—then the air would whoosh out, our boy Johnny would drown in blood from his burst lungs—and the bombs would be sitting there, unhurt. They were built to stand the jump from Moon to Earth; vacuum would not hurt them at all.

He decided to stay in his space suit; explosive decompression didn't appeal to him. Come to think about it, death from old age was his choice.*

*All quotes quoted from this source.

So, that's the plot. Will John be able to stop Colonel Towers from coming in or not? He will be able to outsmart of all those who are in on the military uprising? I won't give you any spoilers but I will say that Ezra Pound will have to make some really difficult decisions. 

CONCLUSION: 

I immensely enjoyed this story. The plot of this story is about a fight between duty and virtue (rightness). A young man has to choose between following orders (duty) and doing what is right (virtue). Another important theme is self-sacrifice. The story was beautifully written. The writing is quite simple and even economic, but very to point. I found "The Long Watch" very touching, actually. One of the best stories in this collection.

 

As always, thank you for visiting. Take care!