by Jerry
The most spectacular phenomenon of the aurora borealis was insignificant compared with the marvelous play of light and colors which we witnessed as the sunlight filtered to us through the earth’s atmospheric envelope. Almost in the twinkling of an eye the sun had leaped clear of the concealing globe and its corona became clearly visible. Old Sol looked as if it had suddenly increased enormously in size. Instead of appearing to be round, it was irregular in size with great jagged tongues of flame shooting out in all directions.
The stars, too, seemed much bigger, brighter, and more numerous than when observed from the surface of the earth. They shone with marvelous splendor against a jet black sky.
It wasn’t long before we began to notice the effects of being relieved from the gravitational attraction of the earth. We learned that it was safer to remain seated and to avoid any sudden motion. Once, when I forgot myself and took a quick step in the direction of the water olla or cooler, I shot up into the air like a toy balloon and bumped my head against the roof of the cabin.
After assuring himself that I was not hurt, Professor Banning said, “Here, try these on.”
He handed me a pair of sandals made of iron.
“Strap them on so the iron parts are under the soles of your shoes,” he explained. “They are magnetized so they will stick to the steel wall of the flyer.”
I strapped on the sandals and found to my astonishment that I could walk like a fly, up the walls and along the ceiling, with my head pointing downward.
All three of us noticed peculiar physiological and psychological effects which Professor Banning told us were due largely to the sudden removal of the earth’s gravitation to which our bodies had always been accustomed.
A feeling of nausea, like that which a person experiences when he is in a rapidly descending elevator, was one of the most noticeable symptoms. We were also troubled with severe headaches which were no doubt due to expansion of our brains accompanying the removal of gravitational pressure.
Mentally we were all three afflicted with the most excruciating pangs of home sickness. There was something about being away out there in space, thousands of miles from any other solid substance, that made me feel desperately lonesome and melancholy, in spite of the fact that there was no one on earth for whom I cared anywhere near as much as for the two friends who were but a few feet away from me, where I could look at them and converse with them at will. But the marvelous power which the human body has to adapt itself to all sorts of unfamiliar conditions soon enabled us to overcome our disagreeable sensations and mental reactions.
It wasn’t long before the half moon ahead of us loomed up with such gigantic proportions that we realized it was time to prepare for a landing.
CHAPTER VII
We Alight on the Moon
WHEN it is recalled that we were approaching the moon at the terrific speed of about 134,000 miles per hour, the difficulty of alighting without annihilating ourselves and our machine becomes apparent.
We could, of course, diminish our speed somewhat by discharging our rocket tubes in a direction opposite to that in which we were moving, but it would have been necessary to start this braking process when we were only half way to our destination, and this would have consumed a great amount of time as well as fuel.
We employed the same principle that a man uses when he boards a moving street car. Everybody knows, that if a person should run toward an approaching vehicle and attempt to hop aboard it as it rushes by, he would be certain to meet with an accident. On the other hand, if he moves as fast as he can in the same direction as the street car is traveling, he has a much better chance to board it safely.
As we clashed toward the moon, Berglin steered with the rocket devices in such a way that we made a wide horseshoe turn around the moon. We were then traveling in the same direction as the moon and at approximately the same speed. I then sent a charge through the four dimensional rocket tube, which brought us into the gravitational field of the moon. This caused an increase in our velocity.
Within a few moments we found ourselves flying swiftly at an altitude of about ten thousand feet above the surface of the moon.
It was then that we began to appreciate the marvelous beauty of the earth’s fair satellite. Having gazed at the weird lunar landscapes, gorgeous and cataclysmic in their grandeur, we could easily understand why a noted scientist, whose knowledge of the moon was confined to telescopic observation, made the statement that the earth’s satellite is the greatest scenic resort in the Solar System and in many ways the most fascinating object within the confines of the (telescopically) visible Universe.
Though we needed no explanations to appreciate the incomparable beauties of the panorama which quickly unfolded itself beneath us, Berglin and I felt doubly fortunate in being personally conducted by a man of Professor Banning’s accurate and profound learning. There seemed to be no subject, scientific or otherwise, of which Professor Banning did not have a thorough and masterful knowledge. He certainly was well informed regarding the moon.
“Do you know, boys,” he told us, “it just happens that we have approached the moon from the region nearest to its south pole. Notice that marvelous chain of mountains over there. They are the Liebnitz Mountains. Nelson figured out that one of those summits has an elevation of nearly thirty-six thousand feet, which is about seven thousand feet higher than Mount Everest, the highest peak on the earth!
“When you consider that the moon itself is only one forty-ninth as large as the earth and has less than one-fourteenth of the surface area of our planet, you can appreciate how big these mountains are in proportion to the size of the sphere on which they are located. If the moon were expanded to the size of the earth, the Liebnitz Mountains would be at least seventy-nine thousand, two-hundred feet, or more than fifteen miles high!
“Now if you’ll look off to the left a little you’ll see one of the most interesting sights in the Universe. Those are the Doerfel Mountains. Flammarion called them and the Leibnitz Mountains “the mountains of eternal light.” Notice that the Doerfel Mountains are now on the part of the moon which is not illuminated by the sun, yet the peaks are so high above the surface that they actually jut out of the shadow and into the sunlit portion of space above the moon.”
With amazement and admiration approaching awe, Berglin and I silently observed these marvels which never before had been beheld at such close range by human eyes. The dazzling beauty of the brilliant, illuminated peaks, as contrasted with the Stygian darkness of the main bodies of the mountains, was accentuated by the fact that they were covered with hoar frost which sparkled and glittered like myriads of gigantic diamonds.
Finally Berglin broke the spell with, “Well, Professor, where shall we land?”
“Do you see that circular formation straight ahead and a little to the right? That is a crater or ring mountain, and is known as Clavius. The space inside the crater ought to be both level and solid; in fact it should make an ideal landing field.”
Within a short time we were circling over the crater and Berglin guided the Amundsen so skillfully that we alighted safely without the suggestion of a jar or bump almost in the exact center of the ring.
Then an amazing thing happened. When we looked out of the windows expecting to find a ring of mountains surrounding us on all sides, we were astonished to discover that the walls had disappeared completely, and, except for a few peaks which rose from the surface of the interior and which were clearly visible, we found ourselves in what looked like a vast plain extending to the horizon in all directions.
“What in the world has happened to our ring of mountains!” I exclaimed.
“That’s easily explained,” Professor Banning responded. “The space inside this crater is no less than one hundred and forty miles in diameter. The wall to the west of us is seventeen thousand, three hundred feet high, and the east wall is over three miles high. That sounds as if they ought to be big enough to be seen even at a distance of seventy miles, but the fact
of the matter is that, because of the curvature of the moon’s surface, the peaks of our mountain walls are actually below the horizon.”
“Shall we put on our suits and take a stroll around?” I suggested.
“Not yet,” the Professor decided. “I believe we can see all there is to see here without getting outside the space flyer. Suppose we taxi for a few miles toward the west until we come in sight of the mountain wall.”
Berglin turned on enough power through the rear rocket tubes to set us in motion and soon we were spinning along in a series of long hops at a speed of about seventy miles per hour.
In about half an hour the peaks of the crater rim hove in sight and a little while later we were able to distinguish the entire wall of hills ahead of us.
“Not much use in trying to do any exploring here,” the Professor muttered. “It’s just as I expected. Although these ring mountains slope very gently on the outside, their sides are rather steep on the inside. I’d estimate that those hills ahead of us have an inclination of at least forty-five degrees and that’s too steep to climb in comfort, even on the moon. I guess we may as well fly out of this crater and land in some place outside where we’ll have a better chance to do some real exploring.”
“How about flying around to the other side of the moon—the half that is never seen from the earth!” I exclaimed eagerly.
“Plenty of time for that later. What I’d like to do first is to see if we can’t solve some of the puzzles on this side of the moon—puzzles that have baffled the selenographers for the past hundred years.”
CHAPTER VIII
Caught in a Lunar Trap
“ONE of the first things I’d like to settle,” Professor Banning continued, “is the nature and composition of the streaks or rays which no one has yet succeeded in explaining satisfactorily. A large number of these streaks radiate from the ring mountain Tycho, which is not far from here. Suppose we take to the air—or rather to the ether and see how these streaks look from above at close range.”
Pursuant to the Professor’s suggestion, Berglin “gave the gun” to our rocket tubes and, without the slightest difficulty, our flyer rose and soared over the walls of Clavius. Tycho is about one hundred and fifty miles due north of Clavius, and it took but a few minutes to cover this distance.
“Shall we set her down?” Berglin asked.
“Not yet,” Banning instructed. “Let us fly around for a while and get a bird’s eye view of this formation.”
It was truly a remarkable sight! Tycho reminded me of a collossal hub from which radiated over a hundred of the remarkable streaks with almost as much regularity as the spokes of a gigantic wheel. There was however a considerable amount of variation in the thickness and length of the rays. The largest of them extended in a northwesterly direction in a line which was remarkably straight. The marvelous thing about it was that it seemed to disregard utterly every obstacle which lay in its path.
Not far from Tycho we saw a ring mountain of considerable size which Professor Banning told us was called Saussure. It did not deflect the large ray in the slightest degree. Up one side of the southerly wall the streak climbed—down the other side, across the interior, up to the summit of the north wall and down to the plain, along which it could be seen, stretching out to the horizon.
Continuing in a northwesterly direction, we gained altitude, so that more and more of the ray came into view. We followed its path to the place where it crossed a large depression which we learned was known as the Sea of Serenity. This so-called sea did not contain any water, of course, although the greenish, silvery luster of its surface created a remarkable illusion that suggested a lake of mercury.
Despite the brightness of the sea itself, the great ray, cutting directly through the middle of it, stood out with dazzling brilliancy.
“That ray is about ten miles wide and over 2,000 miles long,” Banning informed us. “It starts at Tycho near the south pole and terminates at the Sea of Cold close to the opposite edge of the moon. The most astonishing thing is its straightness. It’s just as if some superior being had laid a flexible rule along the surface of the moon and had traced the ray with ink made of diamond dust.”
“It sure does!” was my banal response to my friend’s beautiful flight of fancy.
“What do you suppose that streak is made of?” Colonel Berglin asked Banning.
“That’s one thing I hope to find out. One of the favorite theories is that these rays started as cracks formed in the surface of the moon when it cooled from a molten state. This is supported by the fact when a glass sphere is heated and then cooled suddenly by plunging it into cold water, cracks are formed which are very similar in character to the rays on the moon.”
This prompted a remark from Berglin: “But if they are just cracks, they would be like crevasses or canyons. They look to me as if they are flush with the surface.”
“That’s true, and the logical explanation is that the cracks were subsequently filled in with some substance which reflects the light. Suppose, for instance that at one time there were rivers and lakes on the moon, which is not only possible but very probable. Suppose that water which had passed over rocks containing soluble minerals had poured into the cracks in the surface of the moon. The water would be evaporated by the heat, leaving the mineral matter deposited in the cracks. After a while the cracks would be filled to the top with material which would be entirely different from the soil around it.
“Another possibility it that the cracks became filled with molten metal which oozed up from within the moon and subsequently cooled and solidified.
“But now that we are here, what’s the use of supposing any more? Let’s go down there and find out definitely.”
We picked a spot in the Sea of Serenity which looked like an ideal place to land. It was as level as a baseball diamond and was covered with a fine, silvery dust. Berglin made a perfect landing, setting the flyer down gently and accurately.
Then something horrible—something totally unexpected—happened. Like a scuttled ship plunging into the depths of the ocean our flyer sank into that treacherous sea of fine dust. Quickly the light was blotted out as the dust covered our windows and engulfed us. Down, down we went until we must have been at least thirty feet beneath the surface. When we finally came to a standstill we had the feeling of being supported on a cushion rather than resting on firm ground.
I leaped to my feet and as I did so the impact of my shoes against the floor sent us down a few feet further.
“My God!” I cried in a voice which must have reverberated with terror. “We’re buried alive! What a horrible death! Oh, why did we come on this trip?”
Neither Berglin nor Banning displayed any signs of fear or other emotion, which made me feel rather ashamed of myself after the first shock of fright had passed off.
“Don’t get excited,” Banning admonished me. “And, above everything, don’t lose your head. We’ve all been in worse scrapes than this before and we’ve gotten out of them. Just make up your mind that we are going to get out of this one.”
“O.K., Professor. I’ll try to get a grip on myself,” I assured him. “Sorry I lost control of myself. But when I felt myself sinking, sinking—it made me feel so helpless that——”
“I understand,” the Professor said in his most kindly tones. “And now suppose we plan a way to get out of this hole.”
“I don’t see any reason why we can’t fly out,” Berglin volunteered. “If this dust is so fine and so loose that it let us sink this far, it ought to be just as easy for us to get through it on the way out.”
“That sounds reasonable enough,” said Banning. “It won’t hurt to try, anyway.”
Berglin took his place at the controls and started the rocket motor. Cautiously he directed a blast through the rear tubes. At first we sank a few feet further. This was probably caused by the loosening of the dust behind and beneath us. But as Berglin increased the power, the Amundsen began to move forward and upward, steadi
ly gaining momentum until it suddenly burst into the full glare of the lunar sunshine.
“Hurrah!” I yelled. “It worked! We’re out of it! We’re safe! And now, for the love of mud, let’s steer clear out of those blankety-blank seas.”
“Where do we go now?” This from Berglin.
“Turn south,” was Banning’s laconic order.
After we had flown in the direction indicated for a few minutes, Banning said, “See the ring mountain just ahead? That is Rhetius. I think we’ll be able to land safely in that level place just to the west of it.” Following these instructions, Berglin set the flyer down and I heaved a sigh of relief as I felt the machine come to rest on solid ground.
“This is almost the center of the lunar disk which is visible from the earth,” Professor Banning remarked. “It’s a good place to take possession.”
“Take possession?” I exclaimed. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I hold a commission which authorizes me to take possession of the moon in the name of the Government of the United States of America!”
CHAPTER IX
Taking Possession of the Moon
WHEN Professor Banning announced his intention of taking possession of the moon in the name of the United States Government, I thought at first he was joking, but he soon convinced me that he was in dead earnest. To me it seemed ridiculous, a futile thing to do—for of what use could a dead, barren, uninviting world like the moon be to any nation?
Knowing Professor Banning as well as I did, however, I felt positive that there must be some strong valid reason behind his seemingly useless act, so I said nothing.
“Well, my boy,” Banning said to me in a jubilant voice, “at last the time has come to try out our space suits! What do you say if we go for a little lunar hike?”