FORBIDDEN FLIGHT

                         By Chester B. Conant

                        A Future Fiction Brief

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
          Future combined with Science Fiction October 1941.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


But for the internal sounds of the ship hurtling through space the
silence was complete. It was not long since they had left Earth on
their perilously romantic expedition. In the enforced inactivity
aboard ship, the half-dozen members of the crew were reliving the
events of the past few months, particularly that final meeting of the
Junior Rocketeers, an organization of younger space pilots, most of
them still in their twenties. The society had been organized late in
the 21st Century by the Board of Interuniversal Transportation, Youth
Commission, to interest the space-conscious youth of the World in "the
furthering of scientific expeditions to planets yet unexplored to
extend the knowledge of man." Into this organization had poured young
men and women from all walks of life interested in making their hobby
of rocketing important as an aid to scientific advancement.

Its success was attested by the fact that the Tellurian Army of
Maintenance consistently recruited officers from its membership to be
trained as assistant commanders of its extraplanetary forces.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I am here, Friends, to plead the cause of sanity," Dr. Henry Neist
began. Hurt eyes stared at the speaker with disappointment and
astonishment. The doctor paused. For a moment, he had the feeling
that they hadn't heard, so stunning was the silence. The members of
the Junior Rocketeers were thinking, trying to understand, since Dr.
Neist was their last hope of official sanction. This same Dr. Neist had
been their greatest supporter before and during their many previous
expeditions, had helped them, lending his time and patience, even
when all others had forsaken them. He had stood as a bulwark for them
against the sneering disapproval of the World, the only member of the
Board of Interuniversal Transportation who had aided them, fighting
with them and for them to the last.

Now he was standing there on the platform with the others--against
them. Small wonder it was difficult for them to follow his words, to
comprehend his meaning. He fully realized their disappointment and it
was only painfully that he continued.

"In the past I have worked with you side by side against a world of
doubters and scoffers." He was reading their thoughts. "But I cannot
support you in this endeavor. I wish I could...." Dr. Neist paused
resignedly. "I'm not thinking of myself, Friends, believe me. The
thought of exile to the barren Anos does not frighten me as it hasn't
in the past. Twelve of your associates have disappeared--perished--in
flights of exploration to Uranus. Yes, surely perished, for if they
were alive we should most certainly have heard from them. We are no
longer living in the experimental era of the 21st Century. Space travel
is an accomplished fact. We have almost completely conquered space.
But for a few unexplored, outlying planets, we should have complete
knowledge of what was once a great, mysterious universe.

"With such knowledge, Friends, with interuniversal communications
perfected, can you still believe that twelve young people could become
so lost in space that it were impossible for them to phone us? Think!
They had two complete auxiliary sets of uniphones with which they
could contact any planet in our universe. The sets were in perfect
condition, had been checked and rechecked. Could there have been an
accident so inconceivable as to have ruined their phones and left
their ship damaged beyond repair? The Staluminum hulls must have been
crushed--destroyed--before their instruments could even be touched.

"The two previous expeditions to Uranus have failed horribly, as never
before in this century of enlightenment and research. The second
expedition should never have been allowed, yet you ask for a third.
It's sheer suicide, Friends--sheer suicide. Don't you see that?...
I cannot give you my sanction." The last with a definite finality,
almost fatalistic in tone. The lines in Dr. Neist's face deepened; he
looked like a tired old man as he sank into his seat. He felt their
disappointment keenly; perhaps as much as they did themselves.

But the Junior Rocketeers did not realize this at the time. Neist's
decision meant the abandonment of an expedition of months of planning,
during which they had hardly slept, working night and day to bring
their venture to a successful conclusion.

Disconsolately, they trouped out of the hall, hardly speaking. One
boy, Reggie Bowan, much younger than his fellows, who had joined the
organization hardly a month previously, wiped tears from his eyes as he
walked. He expressed the feelings of his dry-eyed but as fully affected
seniors.

That night they met in their spacious quarters which were at once
laboratory, hangar and factory, wherein they had planned and built the
ships which had carried their members to glory on the many expeditions
since the inception of their organization only a quarter-century before.

"Are all the entrances being carefully watched?" asked Jason Day. "You
haven't forgotten the East Office? The Doctor usually enters from
there. We can't trust anyone now."

"The East Office also, Friend Jason--Rita's guarding it." Jason Day was
local president of the society. Without turning his long dark face,
he assented, "Good. We must work fast, now, and with all possible
caution. The Quest has been checked a hundred times; almost everything
is ready. I assume you've all had your quota for the evening meal.
Dinner is the last meal you'll get on Earth. We'll breakfast on the
ship."

Little more than an hour later, the great roar of the Starterocket
tubes announced the beginning of the outlawed excursion. Having
succeeded in catapulting their burden into space, the incipient rockets
now settled down, smouldering, to rest. A thick, black smoke hid them
from view.

"Starterockets cleared, Friend Jason," announced young Bowan. No
tears now. The lad's face was beaming with a mixture of happiness and
perspiration as he awaited further instructions. Jason threw the switch
that started the ship's rocket engines almost before the boy's words
were finished.

Blanche Holm, the pretty co-pilot, bustled about getting things in
readiness for the long, forbidden journey. Humming happily, she
set gears and levers in preparation for her turn at the controls.
Rita Balter, the only other girl aboard ship, was unpacking and
re-packing tools and gear while others were similarly occupied in the
after-compartments of the Quest.

       *       *       *       *       *

In his observatory, where he had paced the floor ceaselessly all night,
Dr. Neist watched with deep emotion as the Rocketeers sped into the
infinite. Painted along the ship's side in ragged blue he had read:
URANUS OR BUST. He smiled sadly at their youthful exuberance. The young
fools.... He knew they'd do it. Those old fossils on the Board must
have been mad to think they were going to give up the idea after these
exhaustive weeks of careful planning. He wished they had. Jason Day was
his favorite protege: brilliant, ambitious--they were all a lot of fine
kids. He shrugged his shoulders wearily....

       *       *       *       *       *

A gleaming bronze bullet sped smoothly through space, seeming to nose
into the very stars. Inside the bullet Jason was getting ready to take
his turn at the controls. He found Blanche weary yet cheerful, looking
forward to a rest in the sleeping quarters.

"Look at the indicator, Blanche!" he cried. The needle was quivering
madly. "We're nearing it!"

"I know," she replied. "I've been watching it all night. It's been
motionless until now. We must just have entered the range of its
magnetic field."

"I'll take over," Jason said, excitedly. "You'd better get some sleep."

"I can't sleep now. Let me have a stimulette, will you? I've used all
mine."

"Sure ... here." He handed her a capsule. "Blanche--?"

"Yes?"

"I'm thinking it wasn't far from here--"

"Yes, Jay, I know. We'll find out soon enough."

"Perhaps too soon. Blanche, you know how I feel about you."

"Of course."

"Maybe we should have married before we left."

"Why so pessimistic, darling? This isn't like you."

"I don't know." He forced a laugh. "Maybe it's the atmosphere."

It was at that moment, peering through the obsoglass in front of him,
that he saw it.

"Blanche! Look at that!"

In front of them and a few short miles above them stretched a high
fuzzy blanket of haze. Beyond it the torn and twisted remains of the
ships of the two previous expeditions, a gruesome chaos of almost
unrecognizable wreckage. All this could be seen but dimly through the
yellow film.

A moment more and they would pierce the blanket. A feeling of impending
doom seized them. Horror-stricken, they huddled together, the
instruments and dials now forgotten. The indicator which warned them
of their approach had long since burst into fragments, the magnetic
pull on the great needle too much even for the duraglass shield to
withstand.

The Quest pierced the yellow haze. There was a terrific explosion.
Great forces, like unseen hands, tore at the ship, rending the strong
Staluminum hull to fragments as though it were an eggshell. When the
last fragments had come to rest there was nothing to be seen of the
former occupants but a few crimson splotches here and there, scattered
about the wreckage.

Only one huge Staluminum plate which had been thrown clear of the ship
at the beginning of the explosion remained recognizable. Still legible
on one side of the bronze-hued plate were two words:--OR BUST.