Houlihan's Equation

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _Every writer must seek his own Flowery Kingdom in imagination's wide demesne, and if that search can begin and end on Earth his problem has been greatly simplified. In post-war Japan Walt Sheldon has found not only serenity, but complete freedom to write undisturbed about the things he treasures most. A one-time Air Force officer, he has turned to fantasy in his lighter moments, to bring us such brightly sparkling little gems as this._

  houlihan's equation

  _by ... Walt Sheldon_

  The tiny spaceship had been built for a journey to a star. But its small, mischievous pilots had a rendezvous with destiny--on Earth.

  I must admit that at first I wasn't sure I was hearing those noises. Itwas in a park near the nuclear propulsion center--a cool, green spot,with the leaves all telling each other to hush, be quiet, and the softbreeze stirring them up again. I had known precisely such a secludedlittle green sanctuary just over the hill from Mr. Riordan's farm when Iwas a boy.

  Now it was a place I came to when I had a problem to thrash out. Thatmorning I had been trying to work out an equation to give thecoefficient of discharge for the matter in combustion. You may call itgas, if you wish, for we treated it like gas at the center forconvenience--as it came from the rocket tubes in our engine.

  Without this coefficient to give us control, we would have lacked aworkable equation when we set about putting the first moon rocket aroundthose extraordinary engines of ours, which were still in the undevelopedblueprint stage.

  I see I shall have to explain this, although I had hoped to get rightalong with my story. When you start from scratch, matter dischargedfrom any orifice has a velocity directly proportional to the square rootof the pressure-head driving it. But when you actually put thingstogether, contractions or expansions in the gas, surface roughness andother factors make the velocity a bit smaller.

  At the terrible discharge speed of nuclear explosion--which is what thedrive amounts to despite the fact that it is simply water in whichnuclear salts have been previously dissolved--this small factor makesquite a difference. I had to figure everything into it--diameter of thenozzle, sharpness of the edge, the velocity of approach to the point ofdischarge, atomic weight and structure-- Oh, there is so much of thisthat if you're not a nuclear engineer yourself it's certain to wearyyou.

  Perhaps you had better take my word for it that without thisequation--correctly stated, mind you--mankind would be well advised notto make a first trip to the moon. And all this talk of coefficients andequations sits strangely, you might say, upon the tongue of a man namedKevin Francis Houlihan. But I am, after all, a scientist. If I had notbeen a specialist in my field I would hardly have found myself engagedin vital research at the center.

  Anyway, I heard these little noises in the park. They sounded like smallworking sounds, blending in eerily mysterious fashion with a chorus ofsmall voices. I thought at first it might be children at play, but thenat the time I was a bit absent-minded. I tiptoed to the edge of thetrees, not wanting to deprive any small scalawags of their pleasure, andpeered out between the branches. And what do you suppose I saw? Notchildren, but a group of little people, hard at work.

  There was a leader, an older one with a crank face. He was beating theair with his arms and piping: "Over here, now! All right, bring thoseelectrical connections over here--and see you're not slow as treacleabout it!"

  There were perhaps fifty of the little people. I was more than startledby it, too. I had not seen little people in--oh, close to thirty years.I had seen them first as a boy of eight, and then, very briefly again,on my tenth birthday. And I had become convinced they could _never_ beseen here in America. I had never seen them so busy, either. They werebuilding something in the middle of the glade. It was long and shiny andupright and a little over five feet in height.

  "Come along now, people!" said this crotchety one, looking straight atme. "Stop starin' and get to work! You'll not be needin' to mind thatman standin' there! You know he can't see nor hear us!"

  Oh, it was good to hear the rich old tongue again. I smiled, and theforeman of the leprechauns--if that's what he was--saw me smile andbecame stiff and alert for a moment, as though suspecting that perhapsI actually could see him. Then he shrugged and turned away, clearlydeeming such a thing impossible.

  I said, "Just a minute, friend, and I'll beg your pardon. It so happensI _can_ see you."

  He whirled to face me again, staring open-mouthed. Then he said, "What?What's that, now?"

  "I can see you," I said.

  "Ohhh!" he said and put his palms to his cheekbones. "Saints be with us!He's a believer! Run everybody--run for your lives!"

  And they all began running, in as many directions as there were littlesouls. They began to scurry behind the trees and bushes, and a slopingembankment nearby.

  "No, wait!" I said. "Don't go away! I'll not be hurting you!"

  They continued to scurry.

  I knew what it was they feared. "I don't intend catching one of you!" Isaid. "Come back, you daft little creatures!"

  But the glade was silent, and they had all disappeared. They thought Iwanted their crock of gold, of course. I'd be entitled to it if I couldcatch one and keep him. Or so the legends affirmed, though I've wonderedoften about the truth of them. But I was after no gold. I only wanted tohear the music of an Irish tongue. I was lonely here in America, even ifI had latched on to a fine job of work for almost shamefully generouspay. You see, in a place as full of science as the nuclear propulsioncenter there is not much time for the old things. I very much wanted totalk to the little people.

  I walked over to the center of the glade where the curious shiny objectwas standing. It was as smooth as glass and shaped like a huge cigar.There were a pair of triangular fins down at the bottom, and stubbywings amidships. Of course it was a spaceship, or a miniature replica ofone. I looked at it more closely. Everything seemed almost miraculouslycomplete and workable.

  I shook my head in wonder, then stepped back from the spaceship andlooked about the glade. I knew they were all hiding nearby, watching meapprehensively. I lifted my head to them.

  "Listen to me now, little people!" I called out. "My name's Houlihan ofthe Roscommon Houlihans. I am descended from King Niall himself--or soat least my father used to say! Come on out now, and pass the time o'day!"

  Then I waited, but they didn't answer. The little people always had beenshy. Yet without reaching a decision in so many words I knew suddenlythat I _had_ to talk to them. I'd come to the glen to work out a knottyproblem, and I was up against a blank wall. Simply because I was solonely that my mind had become clogged.

  I knew that if I could just once hear the old tongue again, and talkabout the old things, I might be able to think the problem through to asatisfactory conclusion.

  So I stepped back to the tiny spaceship, and this time I struck it aresounding blow with my fist. "Hear me now, little people! If you don'tshow yourselves and come out and talk to me, I'll wreck this spaceshipfrom stem to stern!"

  * * * * *

  I heard only the leaves rustling softly.

  "Do you understand? I'll give you until I count three to make anappearance! One!"

  The glade remained deathly silent.

  "Two!"

  I thought I heard a stirring somewhere, as if a small, brittle twig hadsnapped in the underbrush.

  "_Three!_"

  And with that the little people suddenly appeared.

  The leader--he seemed more wizened and bent than before--approached meslowly and warily as I stood there. The others all followed at a safedistance. I smiled to reassure them and t
hen waved my arm in a friendlygesture of greeting.

  "Good morning," I said.

  "Good morning," the foreman said with some caution. "My name is Keech."

  "And mine's Houlihan, as I've told you. Are you convinced now that Ihave no intention of doing you any injury?"

  "Mr. Houlihan," said Keech, drawing a kind of peppered dignity up abouthimself, "in such matters I am never fully convinced. After living formany centuries I am all too acutely aware of the perversity of humannature."

  "Yes," I said. "Well, as you will quickly see, all I want to do istalk." I nodded as I spoke, and sat down cross-legged upon the grass.

  "Any Irishman wants to talk, Mr. Houlihan."

  "And often that's _all_ he wants," I said. "Sit down with me now,