The Odyssey of Sam Meecham Read online

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  _This story may, in a sense, be tongue-in-cheek. But the underlying struggle, if you look into the characters' hearts, is terrifyingly real and human--the kind of struggle so many of us go through. But Sam Meecham was lucky. He not only got what he wanted, but something he hadn't realized he wanted._

  the odyssey of sam meecham

  _by ... Charles E. Fritch_

  Sam Meecham did not realize that his chance discovery of unlimited power would bring back that which he had lost eight long years ago.

  To look at Sam Meecham you'd never have dreamed he was a man of decisionand potential explorer of the unknown. In fact, there were times whenSam wouldn't either. He was a pink, frail-looking person with a weakchin and shoulders used to stooping, and stereotyped thinkingimmediately relegated him to the ranks of the meek and mannerly. These,oddly enough, happened to be his characteristics--but that was before hediscovered the hyperdrive.

  In his capacity as an atomic engine inspector, his work was mostuncreative. He was a small cog in a large cog-laden machine. Agovernment worker helping to produce engines that would send suppliesand immigrants and tourists to the U.S. Sector of the Moon Colony.

  Day after day, week after week, freshly made engines would come slidingdown the conveyor belt. And mechanically Sam Meecham would attach toeach two wires that led from a machine by his side, flip a switch, andif the dial on his machine read at least fifty, he could pass themachine on as being adequate for the job of Moon ferry. He'd beenattaching those two wires in place and watching fifties for five years,and it looked as though he'd be doing it for fifty-five more.

  Then one day a defectively wired machine came sliding along, anddutifully Sam hooked it up and flipped the switch. Automatically, hiseyes glanced disinterestedly at the dial showing Comparative Thrust. Hiseyes bugged. The needle had passed fifty, had gone to the 100 mark(never before reached), struck the metal projection, bent, and waswhirling in a rapid circle!

  Sam quickly cut off the motor, then he glanced furtively about to see ifanyone had noticed. The room was a flurry of men busy at routine tasksand none of them seemed particularly interested in anything that wasgoing on at his table.

  Sam checked his own machine and found the tester in perfect workingorder. He hesitated a brief moment, then flipped the switch again. Hewas prepared for the whir of the dial now but still it frightened him alittle. There must be something wrong; no atomic engine could have thatmuch Comparative Thrust. Yet--the tester was perfect.

  Sam Meecham shut off the tester and stood very still for a minute andthought about it. His glance fell on the intricate wiring within theatomic engine and he saw with a start that it looked different fromusual. Wires were where wires had never been before, where wires werenot supposed to be.

  With another quick glance about him Sam began copying the wiring patternon a sheet of paper. He thrust the paper into his pocket as the foremancame up to him.

  "Say, Meecham," the foreman said, "that last engine okay?"

  Sam Meecham hesitated briefly, then said, "The wiring was a littlefouled up. Busted the dial on the tester."

  The foreman shook his head. "I was afraid of that. Some wireman on thethird floor came in half drunk a few minutes ago. That was only hisfirst machine, so the others ought to be okay." He jabbed a finger atthe engine. "You'd better send it back up."

  When the foreman was gone Sam checked the wiring with his diagram tomake certain he hadn't made any mistakes, and then he disconnected someof the wires--just in case.

  For the first time in years Sam Meecham felt a new freedom. He'd alwaysbeen a dreamer hampered by cold reality--a man with his head in thestars and his feet chained to solid earth. He'd wanted to go to the Moonwhen the government first started colonizing; but Dorothy, his wife,talked him out of it.

  At various times he had felt that secret longing, that beckoning of thestars, but each time he had shelved the desire and turned to attachinghis two wires of the tester to their proper terminals on each atomicengine, and then when his shift was up he turned homeward to face anexistence equally uninspiring.

  The moment he had seen that needle pass into the hundreds, Sam Meechamknew what he was going to do. He had planned it years ago, when he firststood alone in the night and gazed upward at the glittering diamondsthat lay beyond reach. Even then he had known what he would do if everthe opportunity presented itself. In those moments of self-pity thatcame too often, however, he had told himself that it was only wishfulthinking and cursed himself for being a weakling and a dreamer who didnothing about his dreams. But he had resolved that someday he _would_ goout among the stars.

  That day had come, and as Sam Meecham went homeward that evening he felthis heart beat in time with the pulsing light of the stars overhead. Butwith this new exultation he felt a desperate fear. A fear that he mightagain bypass his opportunity as he had done so often before. Yet he knewthat this was his greatest chance, perhaps his last chance. He must bebrave and strong, and above all confident that his intense longing wouldmake his venture successful.

  "How did everything go?" Dorothy asked when he came in.

  It was a mechanical question and he answered it mechanically, "Okay.Everything went as usual."

  He didn't want to look at her. She had grown plump since they hadmarried eight years ago, and by not looking at her he could somehowpretend she was still slim and attractive.

  She was lying on a couch, wearing a housecoat, and didn't look up fromthe magazine in front of her. "Supper's on the table," she said.

  For eight years he'd had flat, uninspiring meals, meals that kept onefrom starving and no more. His complaints had met with more hostilitythan he cared to cope with, and always, meekly he had retired fromthe scene of battle wishing he had submitted and thus avoided thetongue-lashing before which he felt so helpless.

  Once more in the surroundings that bred it, a familiar, distastefulhelplessness rose to envelop Sam Meecham. It came across him as afeeling of despair and bewilderment, and he wondered sickly if he wouldever escape this.

  _Yes_, he told himself, clenching his fists determinedly. But he wouldhave to bide his time. Slowly, not really tasting it, he ate the cold,uninviting meal set on the table.

  Securing the engine was the least of his worries--at least from acommercial standpoint. The factory was turning out atomic engines atalmost production-line rates, and civilians could easily get them forprivate use--so long as they operated them at low speeds and within theatmosphere of Earth.

  That last thought drew a long secret laugh from Sam Meecham. At lowspeeds. The government considered anything above a 50 CT as high speed.And here he was with a secret that could enable him to travel at--whoknows what speeds? He could give it to the government later, but rightnow he had his own use for it.

  Dorothy would prove an obstacle, however. She always was an obstacle,and there was no reason to assume she wouldn't be one now. And he wasright about that. The following payday, when he took his check andsplurged it on an atomic engine, Dorothy was madder than a Uranium pileapproaching critical mass.

  "Here I scrimp and save on that measly paycheck you bring home," shewailed, "and you go out and buy luxuries we don't need if we couldafford them. Look at this dress! It's old--all my clothes are old. Andyou know why? You want to know why?"

  Sam Meecham already knew why. It was because as a manager of hisfinancial affairs Dorothy was a flop. Often he had wanted to tell herso, but the more times he attempted to open his mouth the louder she hadwailed. It was a lot easier just to let her explode and then fizzle out.Even now he had the desire to shout at her to see what
would happen. Buther shrieks made him grow sullen and unsure of himself. Perhaps he _had_wasted the money. After all, the engine they had in their outdated modelrocket was good for a few years more. But for a long trip throughspace--it would never do.

  The explosion was over and she was merely sizzling. She had folded herarms resolutely, determined that he should cancel the order for theengine immediately.

  Sam Meecham felt a wave of helplessness surge over him. He felt lost andbewildered. Perhaps she was right; maybe it _was_ foolish. Here he was:Sam Meecham, thirty-five, whose mediocre living was made attaching twowires to two terminals day after day, week after week--a man whosuddenly saw a pointer go unexpectedly beyond the fifty mark, and whoimmediately began having delusions of grandeur. He was a dreamer--butdreams and reality were two different things, and sometimes he confusedthem. He shook his head, feeling like a fool.

  "Well?" Dorothy's face was before