LITMIR.BIZ

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we haven't even recognized, so to speak."

      "Because there's more to be learned from them than from the others?"

      "That's it!" Rick was glad he had finally put his feelings into words. "We'll keep an eye on those two," he said emphatically.

      On the sixth day of their stay in Las Vegas, Lomac called. The boys hurried to the office and were told they could report to the base personnel office at once. They were given a map showing the location of the base. Scarlet Lake, they learned, was about two hours' drive northwest of Las Vegas.

      They packed hurriedly, checked out, and loaded the jeep. After a brief stop for gas, they headed out Route 95. Within a few minutes they had left Las Vegas behind and were in open desert country.

      The jeep was not capable of fast travel, and nearly an hour passed before they saw signs of civilization. It was the air force base at Indian Springs. They stopped for a coke, and topped off the gas tank. Rick bought a canteen and a desert water bag at the general store, and filled both.

      A few miles beyond Indian Springs they saw the entrance road to the Atomic Energy Commission's Nevada Test Site, and the Sixth Army's Camp Desert Rock. After that, there was no sign of civilization for miles.

      A few miles before the town of Lathrop Wells, Scotty spotted their turnoff. The sign was small and inconspicuous. It simply read: "Scarlet Lake," and an arrow was painted underneath the name.

      The paving ended after a mile or two and became a very good dirt road. The jeep was climbing steadily now, and in a short time Scotty shifted to second gear.

      "We must be nearly out of Nevada and into California," Scotty commented.

      "Almost," Rick agreed. "According to the map, the base is right next to Death Valley." Suddenly he leaned forward as the jeep rounded a turn. Far below and still many miles away was the pinkish gleam of a dry lake bed. Scarlet Lake!

      "I see where they got the name," Scotty said.

      Rick grinned. "Scarlet Lake makes sense but some of the other names around here don't. Did you notice the town marked 'Steamboat' on the map? And not enough water to float a bar of soap."

      "See anything of the base?"

      "Not yet."

      Five miles later they began to see signs that Scarlet Lake was occupied. Black strips indicated aircraft runways. Then, tiny concrete squares came into view. But not until they were in the valley, only a mile from the base, could they see buildings.

      The buildings turned out to be a few single-story administrative shacks clustered around a check-in point. A uniformed guard waved them into a parking lot and told them to report to Security for badges.

      They walked into the building marked "Security Office, Badge Division" and found a counter with another guard behind it. He took their names and asked for identification, then directed them to stand with chins resting on a tray. He slipped plastic letters into slots and formed their names, then took pictures with a fixed camera.

      "Sit down and wait," he said. "We'll have these for you in five minutes."

      Rick looked his surprise. "Can you process the pictures that fast?"

      "Don't have to. This is a Polaroid camera."

      Rick joined Scotty on a wooden bench. "I expected a barbed-wire fence. But there's no fence at all."

      "The whole desert is a fence, I guess," Scotty surmised. "The only access roads are probably guarded, and the only other ways to get into the base would be by foot or horseback. No one could make it on foot, and anyone on horseback would attract instant attention."

      Scotty probably was right, Rick thought. Still, it wasn't at all what he expected.

      In a few moments the guard was back. He handed them laminated plastic badges with their names and pictures. At the bottom of Rick's were the numbers one, two, and three. Scotty's badge had only the numbers two and three.

      "What do these mean?" Rick asked.

      "Those are the areas where you're allowed to go. Area One is the blockhouse. Area Two is the main base and firing pads. Area Three is the machine shop and maintenance depot. You can go anywhere. Scott can go anywhere but inside the blockhouse. Sign these, please." He handed them forms in which they agreed to be bound by all security regulations, under penalty of the Espionage Act. They signed, and returned the forms.

      "Go through the gate," the guard directed, "and report to the reception desk in Building Five. That's personnel. They'll take it from there."

      They returned to the jeep and drove to the gate. The guard inspected their badges, compared the pictures with their faces, then waved them on.

      "Taking no chances," Rick remarked. "There's Building Five."

      The personnel office gave them another map, showing installations and buildings on the base itself, and assigned them to bunks nine and ten in Barracks Seven. Rick was told to report at eight in the morning to Dr. Gould in Building Twelve, while Scotty was told to report to Mr. Rhodes in Maintenance Building Twenty-three. They received a leaflet marked: "Read This."

      They followed the map for another three miles, leaving the gate buildings out of sight behind a ridge of rock. Their map showed that the main cluster of buildings was three miles from the gate and nine miles from the blockhouse and the firing pads on the dry lake bed. Again, Rick began to appreciate Western distances.

      The boys found their barracks without difficulty, and moved into a room containing four bunks. It wasn't elaborate, but it was adequate for a camp of this kind. It was clear that the other bunks were occupied, but at the moment their bunkmates were apparently out.

      Rick stowed his gear in the locker with his bed number on it, then sat down to read the leaflet. It was a directory of camp facilities, plus a written lecture on security. He was allowed to say what kind of work he did, and that was about all.

      "Let's look the place over," he suggested.

      They located the mess halls, the base movie house, post exchange, and post office. There was also a laundry and a snack bar. Set off by itself was a recreation hall, equipped with TV sets, comfortable chairs, card tables, and pool tables.

      Rick followed the map to the laboratory buildings, and was surprised to find that they were enormous sheds, like hangars. Most of the doors were wide open, and he caught glimpses of shapes that could only have been rocket sections. His pulse quickened. There was an atmosphere of excitement, of big jobs being performed. At least his quick imagination told him there was.

      Then, in one shed he saw the broken remains of a rocket. From its size he concluded that it must be the Viking that had crashed. The sight brought sharp realization of the real job he and Scotty were here to do.

      Rick checked his map. "Our barracks has space for eighty bunks. And, according to this, there are twenty-eight barracks."

      "Interesting facts about Scarlet Lake," Scotty declaimed. "What about it?"

      "That's over two thousand men."

      "A lot of men," Scotty agreed. "What are you getting at?"

      "Needles in haystacks. Out of more than two thousand we're supposed to pick one – the Earthman!"

      CHAPTER V

      Project Pegasus

      Dr. Gerald Gould, known to the staff as "Gee-Gee," looked more like a high school football coach than a scientist. His blond hair was cropped short, and his face was boyish except for a beautifully waxed military-style mustache. His speech was a remarkable combination of slang and rocket jargon.

      He asked, "Do you know vector analysis?"

      Rick shook his head. "No, sir."

      "Hmmm. Well, boy-oh, we'll plant you with the electronic cooks in the spaghetti department. It says in your job application that you've had plenty of experience in circuit wiring. Roger?"

      "Yes, sir." Rick understood that he was to join the technicians in the wiring department. His eyes kept wandering into the huge shed that housed the project on which he was to work. He identified rocket sections,

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