"Smith, E E 'Doc' - Spacehounds Of Ipc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

"Accumulators!"
"700,000 kilofrank-hoursЧall x."
Having thus checked and tested every function of his department, Breckenridge
plugged into "Captain," and when the green light went on:
"Chief pilot check-outЧall x," he reported briefly.
"All x," acknowledged the speaker, and the chief pilot unplugged. Fifteen minutes
remained, during which time one department head after another would report to the
captain of the liner that everything in his charge was ready for the stupendous flight.
"All x, Steve?" Breckenridge turned to the computer. "How do you check
acceleration and power with the observatory?"
"Not so good, old bean," the younger man frowned in thought. "They figure like
astronomers, not navigators. They've made no allowances for anything, not even the
reversalЧand I figure four thousandths for that and for minor detours. Then there's
check-station error . . ."
"Check-station errors! Why, they're always rightЧ that's what they're for!"
"Don't fool yourselfЧthey've got troubles of their own, the same as anybody else.
In fact, from a study of the charts of the last few weeks, I'm pretty sure that E 2 is at
least four thousand kilometers this side of where he thinks he is, that W4i is ten or
twelve thousand beyond his station, and that they've both got a lateral displacement
that's simply fierce. I'm going to check up, and argue with them about it as we pass.
Then there's another thingЧthey figure to only two places, and we've got to have the
third place almost solid if we expect to get a smooth curve. A hundredth of a centimeter
of acceleration means a lot on a long trip when they're holding us as close as they are.
We'll ride this trip on 981.286 centimetersЧwith our scheduled mass that means thirty
six point oh four seven kilofranks plus equilibrium power. All set to go," the computer
stated, as he changed, by fractions of seconds of arc, the course-plotters of the
automatic integrating goniometer.
"You're the doctorЧbut I'm glad it's you that'll have to explain to the observatory,"
and Breckenridge set his exceedingly delicate excess power potentiometer exactly upon
the indicated figure. "Well, we've got a few minutes left for a chin-chin before we lift her
off."
"What's all this commotion about? Dish out the low-down."
"Well, it's like this, Steve. We pilots are having one sweet timeЧwe're being
growled at on every trip. The management squawks if we're thirty seconds plus or
minus at the terminal, and the passenger department squalls if we change acceleration
five centimeters total enrouteЧclaims it upsets the dainty customers and loses business
for the road. They're tightening up on us all the time. A couple of years ago, you
remember, it didn't make any difference what we did with the acceleration as long as we
checked in somewhere near zero timeЧwe used to spin 'em dizzy when we reversed at
the halfway stationЧbut that kind of stuff doesn't go any more. We've got to hold the
acceleration constant and close to normal, got to hold our schedule on zero, plus or
minus ten seconds, and yet we've got to make any detours they tell us to, such as this
seven-million kilometer thing they handed us just now. To make things worse, we've got
to take orders at every check-station, and yet we get the blame for everything that
happens as a consequence of obeying those orders! Of course, I know as well as you
do that it's rotten technique to change acceleration at every check-station; but we've told
'em over and over that we can't do any better until they put a real computer on every
ship and tell the check-stations to report meteorites and other obstructions to us and
then to let us alone. So you'd better recommend us some computers!"
"You're getting rotten computation, that's a sure thing, and I don't blame you