Prelude to Space by Arthur C. Clarke Page B

only a man of obvious brilliance, but one
     of wide culture and sympathies. Dirk wondered how he got on with his equally brilliant
     but ferociously forthright colleague, Sir Robert. Two such contrasting personalities
     would either work together very well—or not at all.
    At the age of fifty, Professor Maxton was generally regarded as the world’s leading
     atomic engineer. He had played a major part in the development of nuclear propulsion
     systems for aircraft, and the drive units of the “Prometheus” were based almost entirely
     on his designs. The fact that such a man, who could have demanded almost any price
     from industry, was willing to work here at a nominal salary, seemed to Dirk a very
     significant point.
    Maxton called out to a fair-haired young man in the late twenties who was just passing.
    “Come here a minute, Ray—I’ve got another job for you!”
    The other approached with a rueful grin.
    “I hope it’s nothing tough. I’ve got a bit of a headache this morning.”
    The D.D.-G. grinned at Dirk but refrained, after an obvious struggle, from making
     any comment.
    He introduced them briefly.
    “Dr. Alexson—Ray Collins, my personal assistant. Ray’s line is hyperdynamics—short,
     but only just, for hypersonic aerodynamics, in case you didn’t know. Ray—Dr. Alexson’s
     a history specialist, so I guess you wonder what he’s doing here. He hopes to be the
     Gibbon of astronautics.”
    “Not the ‘Decline and Fall of Interplanetary,’ I hope! Pleased to meet you.”
    “I want you to help Dr. Alexson with any technical queries. I’ve only just rescued
     him from the clammy clutches of McAndrew’s mob, so he’ll probably have some pretty
     weird ideas about things.”
    He turned to survey the surrounding chaos, found that his assistants were undermining
     the precarious seat he had adopted, and shifted to another packing case.
    “I’d better explain,” he continued, “though you probably know it already, that our
     little technical empire has three main divisions. Ray here is one of the airborne
     experts; he’s concerned with getting the ship safely through the atmosphere—in both
     directions—with the minimum of wear and tear. His section used to be looked down upon
     by the space-hounds, who regarded the atmosphere as just a nuisance. They’ve changed
     their tune now that we’ve shown them how to use the air as a free fuel supply—for
     the first part of the trip at least.”
    That was one of the hundred or so points that Dirk had never properly understood,
     and he made a mental note, putting it first on his list of questions.
    “Then there are the astronomers and mathematicians, who form a tight little trade-union
     of their own—though they’ve suffered some pretty heavy infiltration from the electronics
     engineers with their calculating machines. They, of course, have to compute orbits
     and do our mathematical donkey-work, which is very extensive indeed. Sir Robert himself
     is in charge of their affairs.
    “Finally there are the rocket engineers, bless ’em. You won’t find many here, for
     they’re nearly all in Australia.
    “So that’s the set-up, though I’ve neglected several groups like the communications
     and control people, and the medical experts. I’ll turn you over to Ray now, and he’ll
     look after you.”
    Dirk winced slightly at the phrase; he felt that rather too many people had been “looking
     after him.” Collins led him to a small office not far away where they sat down and
     exchanged cigarettes. After puffing thoughtfully for some time, the aerodynamicist
     jerked his thumb toward the door and remarked:
    “What do you think of the Chief?”
    “I’m a bit biased, you know; we’re from the same State. He seems a most remarkable
     man—cultured as well as technically brilliant. It’s not a usual combination. And he’s
     been very helpful.”
    Collins began to wax enthusiastic.
    “That’s perfectly true. He’s the best chap