Chapter 59 countdown

The weather forecast is very accurate, the sky is clear and clear. Thousands of people came in vehicles, and the desert beyond the high barbed wire was packed. Among the crowds are food stalls and peddlers peddling all manner of souvenirs, balloons and straw hats.Beside the barbed wire fence, there are some tents, which were set up by people who arrived a few days in advance, in order to better watch the launch.State troopers patrol the crowds, but their main concern is keeping the traffic lanes open as the visitors are quiet and there is no confusion.Everyone patiently waiting to see the launch of a spaceship to send a human being to Mars is the highlight of the International Year of the Cosmos.

Inside the barbed wire, the atmosphere was also calm.Journalists and socialites were seated in designated places.Television and movie cameras are mounted on a large wooden platform.On the benches on one side of the platform, there are more than a dozen newspaper and magazine contributors from Europe and the United States; on the other side, there are more than 200 guests, most of whom are scientists and politicians. The most important guests, including three heads of state, were seated in a gazebo. A dozen ministers and several members of the royal family.Everyone sat quietly in their seats, and no one disturbed the scientists and technicians who were making final preparations.

"One more hour!" The trumpet announced loudly.The crowd on both sides of the barbed wire fell silent immediately, and all heads turned to the huge rocket on the launch pad.Under the sunlight, people had the illusion that the rocket was shaking slightly, as if it had already started and was about to soar into the sky. Leaning against the wall, Fakul, the officer in charge of security at the launch site, uneasily thought about possible accidents. He's held similar jobs before, but never quite as intensely as he is now.Not only because of the magnitude of the launch, but also because it is an international operation involving scientists from a dozen countries speaking a variety of languages, which is prone to error.It's even easier if someone wants to sabotage it.

Fakul frowned, trying to dispel the worries in his heart.He has taken all possible measures to prevent sabotage.For months, everyone involved in the launch, from the commander-in-chief to the waiters in the restaurant, has been closely investigated and monitored, and everyone's file has a thick stack, which contains the most secret details.No problems were found.Fakul's mood gradually brightened.In any case, he has done his best, and it can be said that he has a clear conscience. "Look, sir," said his jeep driver cheerfully, who was standing to one side. "Those women are already crying!" the driver grinned, pointing the antenna of his walkie-talkie twenty yards to the north, where the chairs were set up for the workers.Since the scientists are all working on the launch pad or in the main control room, the chairs are filled mostly with wives, children and off-duty staff.

The driver was right.Several women were secretly wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs.Fakul smiled tolerantly. After so many months of tension, it is finally coming to an end.Why not cry?If men can cry too, then they too can relax.He noticed one woman in particular, partly because of her beauty and partly because she kept standing.The sun was dazzling, so he squinted his eyes to see better.No, she didn't cry. He thought she was a little strange.She stood motionless like a statue, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her eyes fixed unblinking on the distant rocket. Fakul recognized her as the wife of the physicist Whitby.Looking at that woman, you'd think Waitby himself was about to climb into the Rockets, not Randazzo.Fakul shrugged.

Everyone reacts differently under intense stress.Still, he was a little surprised. In the main control room, Randazzo was calmly eating a chicken sandwich and drinking a glass of milk. He seemed uninterested in what was about to happen.Occasionally, he would take pleasure in glancing at the scientists, busy checking charts, making phone calls, and checking the rows of delicate instruments on the walls. In anyone else, Randazzo's insouciance would have given the impression that he was bluffing out of desperation, or that he was on drugs.But Randazzo was neither desperate nor on drugs.There was a serene smile on his handsome face; his strong, slender hands held the sandwich and milk without trembling, and his slender, muscular thighs were gracefully and casually crossed.You might think he's just taking a trip to New York, not a trip to Mars.

Sitting next to him were two famous doctors who watched his every move closely, and if he showed any uneasiness, they would record it.A well-known psychologist stands to one side with a notebook in his hand, but he has nothing to remember and instead looks uncomfortable. Randazzo, chosen from fifty volunteers, was brilliant and quickly mastered the art of manipulating the complex equipment of the spacecraft.A grueling physical test that knocked out many hopefuls did nothing for him, who once competed in the Olympiad and won four gold medals for his tiny country.Randazzo's hobbies are alone hunting bears with his bare hands, buying expensive orchids and writing plays in Latin.In addition, Randazzo is famous for his romantic nature.For this launch, he has lived a semi-closed life in recent weeks, but this does not prevent him from having an affair.

"Fifty minutes!" yelled the trumpet.Everyone in the room was shocked except the astronaut himself. Randazzo smiled faintly, and as the Commander-in-Chief walked past him, he jokingly said in German: "Don't forget to put enough steak on the ship, eh?" The commander-in-chief smiled and walked past him without saying a word.During the three-month voyage, the food was mainly in special, pill-like concentrates, and even this, the commander-in-chief felt, took up too much space, crowding out the protective sealing and cooling systems. However, the Commander-in-Chief is now worried about another matter.The spacecraft's temperature regulation system showed that its automatic control system was not so sensitive.In months of experimentation, this was the only device that wasn't perfect.Randazzo could, of course, be adjusted via the manual control system, but—"Put me through Whitby on the launch pad," the commander-in-chief ordered his communications officer.

As he waited, he looked out the window at the guests and the rocket in the distance. "Forty-five minutes!" The commander-in-chief wiped his perspiring brow with a handkerchief, thinking, the machine is too complex, with too many interconnected parts, too prone to error... "I am Whitby." The commander-in-chief asked sternly, "How about the temperature regulation system?" "It seems normal now," Whitby replied. "It seems!" the commander-in-chief roared. "Have you thought about it, if—" He controlled himself and did not continue.Of course Professor Whitby knew.If the automatic climate control system fails a little, if the manual system also fails, Randazzo will either be scorched or frozen.

"Whitby, if you have the slightest doubt, speak up now," said the Commander-in-Chief. "The thermoregulation system is normal, as far as I can tell," Whitby said softly. "That's all right," said the Commander-in-Chief. "Have all the daily necessities been packed?" "Everything's here except the food. Wait a minute—Dr. Anders is here with the food. Well, in two minutes, we can have everything installed. " "Very good," said the Commander-in-Chief, handing the microphone to the communications officer, who turned thoughtfully to survey the main control room.What a mess, he thought, but when his eyes fell on Randazzo he felt very optimistic.

In this huge operation, at least the human factor is not a problem.No wonder the newspapers called this man "Perfect." On the launch pad, Professor Whitby ticked off his final checklist with a pencil. "You're late, Max," he said reproachfully to the doctor, a tall, haggard-looking man who was helping two technicians load some long iron boxes into the elevator. "Only eighteen seconds late," said Dr. Anders calmly and precisely.Frowning, he looked at the iron boxes thoughtfully, then patted the one closest to him with satisfaction. "Okay," he said to the elevator man, "get them up there." He turned to Whitby. "I guess everything is installed?" He asked casually, because the two of them knew the procedure very well. Whitby looked up from the final checklist. "Of course," he said.There were black halos around his eyes. "Everything is ready," he added, "let's go." The pair climbed into the waiting jeep and waved to the remaining technicians, who stayed until ten minutes before the launch.They drove across the scorching desert towards the building and the watching crowd. "Is the perfect man all right?" asked Dr. Anders. Whitby glanced at him. "He's fine!" He scrunched up his face in disgust. "Physically he's probably perfect--and mentally, but..." He broke off. Dr. Anders raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Whitby said nothing more. "There are still thirty minutes!" Randazzo yawned and stretched. “It’s time for tuxedo,” he said, as two Nobel laureates approached with spacesuits of their own design. "Gentlemen, have you corrected the mistake?" he asked with a wink. The two scientists smiled at him, but the psychologist who stood aside moved closer with interest. "Excuse me, what is the mistake you said?" Landazo feigned surprise. "Ah, they didn't leave enough space, that's all." "Not enough space?" "There's no room for another female astronaut," Randazzo said in accented English. "Three months is a long time, isn't it?" The two scientists giggled, but the psychologist took the astronaut's words seriously and commented, "I think you must miss women." Randazzo responded with equal earnestness, "You You are right, sir, and besides, I must say frankly, women will miss me very much." "Twenty minutes left!" Security officer Fakul was walking down the corridor of the command building when he was startled by the sound of the horn.He was walking steadily, but his mind was troubled by two little things, which may or may not be connected--and if they were connected, it probably meant nothing. The first thing was the expression on Professor Whitby's face when he left the main control room after he made his final report to the commander in chief.Fakul only glanced at the face, but he couldn't forget the distorted face. Under normal circumstances, Fakul might think that this was just an anxiety about whether the launch would be successful, and it was not worth making a fuss about, but—but, he still remembered the beautiful woman standing there like a statue, With nervousness and worry all over his face, he stared hopelessly at the rocket in the distance.She is Whitby's wife. There's a third thing, or rather, a rumor.During these weeks, Randazzo was said to have had some affairs.Fakul found it incredible, because they had been paying close attention to Randazzo's every move, how could this happen? There was a burst of excited yells from the crowd outside, and Fakul shivered.He glanced at his watch.Yes, by now Randazzo should have left the main control room and was getting into the jeep—he felt overwhelmed.At this point, it would be inconceivable to go to the commander-in-chief just because of the expressions of a husband and a wife.However, he was still disturbed by it.He had been to the security room, checked the Waitbys' file, and found nothing suspicious.In the file there was a column for "best friends" with Max and Olga Anders, and Fakul copied their names.He needed more news quickly.If anything, the Anders should know. However, he searched for a long time in the area reserved for the staff, but he couldn't find Mrs. Anders, not even her husband. Now, Fakul came to the end of the corridor, where there was a door that said "Nutrition Laboratory," and he entered the laboratory, which was filled with huge sinks, tables and cabinets.The lab was empty, but Fakul still called out Dr. Anders' name. "Who is it?" Dr. Anders emerged from the freezer across the lab, wiping his hands with a towel. "Ah, Fakul, are you looking for me?" He carefully closed the door of the freezer. "I'm cleaning up," he explained, "and if it doesn't get cleaned up in time—" Fakul interrupted impatiently. "Dr. Anders, I want to ask you a personal question. I want you to answer it. I assure you, I ask it for a reason." Dr. Anders shrugged and did not answer.A horn echoed in the corridor: "Ten minutes!" Fakul found himself sweating profusely. By now, the astronauts should be seated in the cabin, the doors are about to close, and the last remaining crew members are getting into their jeeps—within a few minutes, the automatic control system will be activated.If he has any doubts, he must speak up quickly, not beating around the bush, wasting time. "Let me be blunt," Fakul said. "You and your wife know the Waitbys best. Tell me frankly, is Mrs. Waitby having an affair with Randazzo?" Dr. Anders stroked his thin chin thoughtfully, then walked to the window with his hands behind his back. "As far as I know," he said slowly, "there are." Fakul immediately reached for the phone. "One more question," he asked as he dialed the number. "Does Whitby know about it?" "I'm sure he knows." Fakul swears and shouts into the microphone, "This is Fakul. Find Professor Whitby immediately and take him to the nutrition lab—quickly." He dropped the phone and wiped his forehead vigorously.Dr. Anders looked at him curiously. "I can't believe it," Fakul said hoarsely. "We've been keeping tabs on him, almost every minute—" Dr. Anders seemed amused. "Mr Fakul, are you really surprised? Didn't you realize that if that perfect man really wanted something, he could think of all kinds of ways to avoid your surveillance? "He gave a short laugh. "That might spice things up, don't you think? Not only to win the other guy's wife, but to get out of the eyes of the security guards protecting him! For a guy who hunts bears with his bare hands for fun, What an exciting thing this is!" "I can't believe it," Fakul repeated, but his voice was drowned out by the horns: "Five more minutes!" Now, the automatic control system has started.Those electronic computers moved, issued millions of commands at lightning speed... Even now, the launch activity can be stopped.Fakul knew that in the main control room, the commander-in-chief was standing nervously, his hand on a button that said "Stop". Launch activity can be halted, but at great cost.Once those delicate instruments were running—and they are—stopping them all of a sudden would destroy half the equipment, delay the launch for months, and cost millions of dollars.No, he couldn't ruin everything because of one of his suspicions.Staring furiously at his clenched fists, he slowly realized that Dr. Anders was speaking. "You don't believe a faithful wife could be seduced into adultery, do you?" asked Dr. Anders, his lips twisted ironically. "Don't be a fool, Fakul! This Randazzo is no ordinary man - he's a perfect man! Besides, he's a hero, he's going to space, and maybe never coming back!" Anders Arms folded over chest, head tilted to one side. "What woman can resist the charm of such a man, this man secretly came to date her, this man is already a legendary figure—" The door was pushed open suddenly.Whitby walked in, his blond hair a mess. Behind him are two security guards. Fakul stood up.Shaking all over, feeling like he was losing control of his voice, he asked the question directly. Whitby blushed, then turned pale again.He glanced awkwardly at Anders, but Anders had already turned to the window again. "Yeah or no!" Fakul yelled. Whitby spread his hands in despair. "Yes, it's true—she told me herself last night—but I don't know what it has to do with you—" Fakul grabbed his collar with both hands and shook it violently. "Tell me, Waitby, what did you do—" Fakul was so nervous that he couldn't even speak coherently. Anders cut in dryly, "Sabotage the rocket?" Whitby broke free from the hands clutching his collar and staggered back a few steps. "Me? Rocket-busting?" He leaned limply on a counter, resting his head against the cabinet above. "Destroy, have you destroyed the rocket?" Fakul almost yelled. Whitby closed his eyes and waved feebly. "Are you crazy? You think I'm going to destroy—" He laughed, his body straightened, his head still resting on the cupboard. "Me?" he said, smiling bitterly. "No—no—I knew his reputation—yes, I suspected him—but with other women, with other wives!" He laughed again. "I never thought it would be my wife!" Dr. Anders walked quickly to Fakul. "Hi," he said softly, "he's not lying. All he's directly responsible for is the thermoregulation system, and—" His voice was drowned out by the sudden sound of a horn outside, starting the countdown to the last minute. "Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven..." In order for the other party to hear clearly, Dr. Anders had to shout loudly. "There is an automatic surveillance system, Fakul! If there is any problem, the commander-in-chief will know immediately!" "...fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight..." "There's a surveillance system!" shouted Dr. Anders. "You should know it yourself! Call and have him inspect it! " Fakul grabbed the phone and dialed the number with trembling fingers.Dr. Anders turned his head suddenly, staring out the window at the clear sky. "... Thirty-one, thirty, twenty-nine..." Fakul cursed the sound of the horn.If Whitby was lying—if Anders was lying too.They might be complicit... Maybe Anders had the same motive—"...nineteen, eighteen..." The call went through.But the communications officer refused to disturb the commander-in-chief. Fakul threatened him, begged him, ordered him— "nineteen……" Finally, the commander-in-chief's stern voice came from the microphone. Fakul yelled, "Is the thermoregulation system under surveillance?" "certainly!" "Is it working properly?" "...five, four..." The commander-in-chief shouted: "Of course!" Fakul dropped the microphone as if it were too heavy to hold, and it landed on the table with a thud, the building shook slightly, and the crowd outside erupted in thunderous shouts that seemed to grow louder . "It's taking off! It's taking off!" Two security guards rushed to the window to watch the slow rise of the flaming rocket. But the other three remained where they were: Fakul at the table, Anders five feet behind him, and Whitby at the counter against the wall. "You see," Dr. Anders said slowly, "everything is working." Whitby's body was still leaning against the counter in tense pain. "I thought about that, Fakul," he whispered. "Really, I thought about that. But I can't—no, not even because of that." Then all of a sudden his nervousness disappeared.His body relaxed so quickly that he almost fell, his head flung forward, and the cupboard door that his head was resting on was slammed open. Dozens of small pills rained down on Whitby's head and shoulders, rolling more and more all over the floor.The whole house seemed to be strewn with pills, and more were falling out of cupboards. Fakul bent down curiously and picked up a grain.The pill was soft to the touch, reminding him of yeast flakes. He glanced at Whitby. Whitby's face was pale, his eyes widened, and he looked behind Fakul. "My God, Max!" he whispered. Fakul turned around when he heard the cheers of the crowd and the sound of excited horns: "Phase 1 successful, phase 1 successful..." He looked at the yeast-like pill in his hand, then at Ender Dr. Si. The chemist's thin face twisted strangely, and he was smiling silently, as if waiting for him to say something amazing. "These,"—Fakur waved his hand at the pills on the floor—"these should be on the spaceship, right?" Dr. Anders crossed his arms and nodded almost imperceptibly. "You mean—you deliberately loaded empty food crates into the ship? You wanted him to starve to death in space?" "Ah, no," said Dr. Anders. "He doesn't have to starve." Fakul stared at him. "But if the pantry is empty—" Whitby put in. "No, the food crate is not empty! Weighed at the launch pad! They are full! " Fakul shook his head and wiped his face with his hands, as if trying to erase some terrible thought. "It's full? It's full—of what?" But Dr. Anders just calmly repeated what he had just said: "He doesn't have to starve." Whitby staggered a few steps like an old man, and didn't stop until he bumped into a heavy counter.When he spoke, his voice was very low, but his words seemed to condense in the air like smoke. "Where is Olga, Max? Where is she? Where is your wife?" Dr. Anders didn't answer, his eyes were fixed on the blue sky outside the window.