by Jerry
“O.K., Chief!” I replied. I tried to speak in a matter-of-fact way, but I am afraid I betrayed the fact that I was suffering a bit from “buck fever”. Somehow or other, the prospect of meandering around through the weird, ghostly landscape of the moon was anything but attractive to me. There was nothing to do but go through with it, however, and I would rather have perished on the spot than to have either Banning or Berglin know that I was afraid.
For several reasons, only two space suits were included in the equipment of the Amundsen. One reason was that they took up considerable room, and space was naturally at a premium. Professor Banning had also decided that at no time during our trip would be advisable for all three of us to leave the Amundsen. Since Berglin was the official pilot of our flyer it was only natural that he should be the one chosen to stay with the ship, at least during our first trial.
The space suit invented by Professor Banning was built on the principle of a pneumatic tire—in fact, the major portion of it was constructed by a prominent manufacturer of automobile tires. The exterior of the suit corresponded to the casing of a tire. It looked for all the world like a well known trade character used in the advertising of a pneumatic tire concern—the Michelin—a man composed of tires cemented together by their sides, so as to give the appearance of a corrugated surface.
These outer walls of the suit were built with extra strength, like the heavy duty cord tires used on large motor trucks. On the inside was a lining of flexible rubber, similar to that used in making inner tubes. These linings were cemented to the collar of the suit with an airtight joint. To the shoulder plate was attached a heavy glass globe which could be screwed on like the helmet of a diver’s costume.
A knapsack fastened to the back of the suit contained in very compact space a tank of oxygen, a storage battery, miniature radio sending and receiving sets, a cooling device, and an air-purifying system.
The waistline was encompassed by a wide leather belt fitted with hooks to which were attached a hammer, a drill, a small pickaxe and a large trowel. The belt also contained several pockets which were designed to receive samples of soil and rock to be collected during our exploration.
Before getting into our space suits, Professor Banning and I each donned a union suit made of wool. It had a tight-fitting hood which covered the head and lower part of face, leaving only the eyes and nose exposed. Into this hood were built the earphones and also the microphone of the radio apparatus.
The fabric of the undergarment was interwoven with fine electric wires, like an electric heating pad. Connected with the suit was a cable containing the wires for the heating device, the radio sets and also the apparatus for controlling the air supply and the cooling system. This cable was plugged into the knapsack through an outlet on the inside of the collar.
Having thus prepared ourselves we put on the space suits and Berglin screwed our glass helmets in place. When thus equipped, we each represented a complete plant for existing independently in the airless space surrounding the moon.
The radio enabled us to communicate with each other and also kept us in close touch with Berglin, who had a corresponding outfit inside the Amundsen. With our oxygen tanks and our air-purifying apparatus we could breathe comfortably for at least ten hours. If the temperature became uncomfortably low, we could turn on the electric heat—if we found it too hot we could keep ourselves cool by means of our refrigerating device.
For grasping tools, picking up objects, and similar acts, Banning had provided a pair of very ingenious mechanical hands which were operated by grips inside the arms of the suits.
Our airlock was just large enough for one person at a time. Professor Banning insisted on being the first one to use it. Carrying a stick wrapped in bunting, he entered the narrow chamber and closed the door. A few minutes later we heard the grating of the outer door and soon the grotesque form of the professor clad in his outlandish costume came into a position where we could see him through the window of the flyer.
With an unmistakable gesture, he beckoned me to follow him. As familiar as I was with the operation of the radio device, I was so startled that I nearly jumped out of my space suit when I heard his voice in my ear say, “Come on, my boy! It’s fine out here!”
I turned the valve which allowed air from the flyer to pass into the airlock. Then I opened the door and stepped into the small closet. Fastening the door tightly, I pressed the button which operated the air pump. When the indicator pointed to zero, I unfastened the outer door and stepped awkwardly out upon the surface of the moon.
I had expected to feel a series of peculiar sensations, but except for a feeling of buoyant freedom, I felt just about the same as I did when I was inside the Amundsen. But when I attempted to stride forth at my usual hiking speed, I suddenly discovered that I was in a new and different environment.
The step which would ordinarily have carried me a yard or so was more like the leap of a kangaroo. It sent me into the air in a rainbow loop which was fully ten feet high and fifteen feet long. It was so unexpected that I wasn’t prepared to make a safe landing. My body pitched forward and I landed in a heap, tumbling over and over on the ground before I recovered by balance.
Banning waited until he saw me scramble to my feet. Then, after he had apparently assured himself that I was not hurt, he laughed uproariously. Thanks to the radio, I got full benefit of his hilarity.
In my earphones I heard the Professor’s voice say, “Excuse me for laughing, but you looked so comical that I couldn’t help it. Your tumble didn’t hurt you, did it?”
“Not a bit,” I assured him. “I don’t blame you for laughing. Guess I did look funny. I feel almost as if I was inside a balloon.”
“You’ll soon get used to it. But until you do you’d better move very slowly and carefully. Don’t forget that the force of gravitation here on the moon is only about one-sixth as strong as it is on the earth.”
“It didn’t take me long to find that out,” was my reply.
With awkward, shambling steps, Banning walked to a spot where there were a number of rocks lying loose on the ground. He gathered together a score of these stones and built a small monument. Then he unwound the bunting from his staff, revealing an American flag, which he placed in such a way that the stones held the pole upright. There was not the slightest vestige of a breeze on the airless moon, of course, so the flag hung listlessly from the staff.
The sight of our national emblem amid the incongruous surroundings of the lunar landscape sent an incomparable thrill of patriotism through me and made my spine tingle. I brought my heels together and raised my mechanical hand to my forehead in a grotesque, but none the less respectful salute. When I took a quick glance over my shoulder, I could see Berglin standing at attention with his face toward the flag.
Professor Banning also saluted, as he pronounced these words in an impressive voice: “I hereby take possession of this land and all the remainder of the land on the moon in the name of the United States of America.”
CHAPTER X
The Explosion
AFTER completing the formality of taking possession of the moon, Professor Banning walked westward toward the great ray, which was but a short distance from the place where we had alighted. Cautiously and awkwardly, I shuffled after him. When he arrived at the edge of the glittering streak, he detached from his belt a drill. Then he squatted down, holding the drill in an upright position.
“Take your hammer,” he instructed me, “and see if you can hit the head of this drill without cracking the fingers of my mechanical hand.”
Following his orders I grasped my hammer and succeeded in striking the drill squarely with the first blow.
It seemed to have very little effect. The hammer felt extremely light, which was due of course to the small amount of attraction which the moon exerted on it. After what seemed like over an hour of feeble tapping, I managed to sink the drill down about ten inches.
To my great relief, Banning said, “I think that’s de
ep enough.” Fumbling in one of his voluminous pockets he drew forth a small sack. From it he poured into the hole a handful of powder, which I recognized as radatomite, the same explosive as we used for fuel in operating the Amundsen.
From his belt he removed a coil of wire with a small cylindrical object attached to one end. This he placed over the charge of explosive. Filling the hole with loose dirt, he tapped it down with the upper end or head of the drill.
Then he said to me, “You see that boulder over there? I mean the one that’s about six feet in diameter. Go and fetch it here for me, will you please?”
“You want me to fetch that enormous rock for you?” I exclaimed. “Say, what do you think I am, Hercules, Samson, or some other professional strong man!”
“You don’t need to be a Samson to lift that stone. Suppose you go over there and try.”
I walked up to the boulder and managed to get a good grip on it with my mechanical fingers. Then I braced myself and gave a mighty heave. Much to my astonishment it came up so easily that it threw me off my balance and I sat down, with the great rock resting on my lap. Had an earthly stone as large as that fallen on me, I would have been seriously crushed beneath the weight of it, but the lunar rock rested on my legs as lightly as if it had been made of cork.
Scrambling to my feet again, I had no difficulty in lifting the rock and carrying it to Banning. He rolled it into a position directly over the hole containing the charge of explosive. Then he walked away, uncoiling the wire behind him.
I stepped back a few yards and stopped to watch, but the Professor continued to put more and more distance between himself and the charge. “Better come over here,” he cautioned me. “That’s liable to make things fly for some distance.”
It was fortunate for me that I heeded his warning.
Banning exploded the charge by making an electrical connection with the storage battery which was part of his equipment.
Expecting a loud detonation, I stood with my mouth open. But not even the faintest ghost of a sound reached my waiting ears. Amid a deathly silence the ground seemed to burst open, sending a geyser of glittering lumps high into the air. The huge boulder shot into the air as if it were a toy balloon. But instead of dropping like a similar object would fall on the earth, it seemed to float down, slowly and leisurely. The fragments torn from the great ray behaved in a similar manner, of course. It was fortunate for us that they did descend with moderated velocity, for several of them came so close to us that we had to move quickly to get out of their way. It would have been rather difficult, if not impossible, to dodge missiles like that, had they dropped upon us with the speed of falling bodies on the earth.
His pedagogic training coming to the surface, Professor Banning took this occasion to point out the scientific aspects of this phenomenon.
“You see,” he explained. “The effect of that explosion was a great deal greater here than it would have been on earth, because there was a smaller amount of resistance to overcome. The fragments were thrown about six times as far as they would have been back home. This is due to the fact that the force of gravitation is only about one-sixth as strong here as it is on earth. For the same reason, when the pieces started to come down, they fell at a much slower speed than they would have done on our terrestrial sphere.
“The earth’s gravitation makes a freely falling body drop a little over sixteen feet the first second. On the moon, the same object would fall only two feet and eight inches during the first second.”
“But how come I didn’t hear the explosion?” I asked. “You ought to be able to answer that if you just use your brains. You know, of course, that sound can only travel through a solid, a liquid, or a gas. It will not penetrate a vacuum. The reason you didn’t hear any sound was that there was nothing between you and the explosion which was capable of transmitting sound.”
“But how about your voice coming to me over the radio?”
“That’s altogether different. Radio waves don’t need a material conductor. They travel through the ether and there’s plenty of ether even on the moon.”
“Why, of course, I know that. I just didn’t use my head—that’s all.”
The Professor began to coil the wire.
“Suppose we gather up some of these samples we blew loose,” he suggested.
Following Banning’s example I picked up a few fragments of the material torn from the great ray. It was easy to recognize them by their silvery, metallic luster.
This accomplished, I asked, “Now, what do we do, Professor?”
“Do you see that ring mountain off there to your left? That is Rhetius. Now that we are here we may as well go over and take a look at it.”
“O.K., Professor,” I agreed, and started to walk in the direction which he had indicated.
“Hey, there!” He called after me. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to hike over to that ring mountain.”
“Hiking over there? Do you realize that it’s nearly a hundred miles from here?”
“A hundred miles from here? Why, it looks as if it’s only a mile or two away.”
“You must remember that things look altogether different here on the moon. The reason that crater looks so close is that there is no atmosphere between us and it. On earth we judge distances by the relative size of familiar objects and also by the clearness or haziness of the images cast on our retinas. Here the distant objects are nearly as clearly visible as those that are close by. Furthermore, we can only guess at the real size of distant objects and for that reason we can not make comparisons with any degree of accuracy.
“Of course, you could walk over there if you insist. With practice you ought to be able to travel pretty fast—say twenty miles an hour—so it will take you only about five hours to get there. But, for my part, I believe I’ll have Berglin taxi me over there. No use exerting myself unnecessarily.”
“Count me in on the taxi party, too,” I said. “Hiking a hundred miles all by myself doesn’t exactly appeal to me, even if I am a much faster walker up here than I ever dreamed I could be.”
CHAPTER XI
A Perilous Hike
IN turn, Professor Banning and I entered the Amundsen through the airlock. Since the trip was to be a short one, we did not remove our space suits. It took but a few minutes for Berglin to cover the hundred miles that separated us from our objective. Once more the two of us emerged from the space flyer and strolled across the surface of the moon.
As the Professor had anticipated, we found that the external slopes of the ring mountain were not at all steep. I estimated the grade to be approximately five per cent. On the other hand, the interior walls were quite precipitous, ranging from twenty-five to fifty per cent, in grade.
By this time we had become accustomed enough to our new environment so that we could move along at a pretty brisk pace, covering the ground in a series of long leaps. Up the gently sloping sides of Rhetius we hopped until we stood on the rim of the crater.
Here a marvelous sight met our eyes. Rhetius was by no means large compared with some of the other ring mountains. When compared with any similar formation on earth, however, it was a veritable giant.
“This crater is about twenty miles across,” Professor Banning elucidated. “Just how big this is can be estimated by comparing it with the largest crater rings on the earth, of which there are only three which can boast a diameter as great as fifteen miles. They are Aso San in Japan, Lake Bourbon on the Island of Luzon in the Philippines, and a crater in northern Kamchatka. There are several large crater lakes in the United States, but not one of them is more than seven miles in diameter.
“Here on the moon there are many ring mountains that are over a hundred miles wide. The largest of all is Bailly. It measures about one hundred and eighty miles across.”
As we stood on the rim of Rhetius, we could clearly distinguish the rugged and magnificent outlines of the opposite wall. In the center of the ring was a picturesque cone shaped mount
ain, which resembled a small volcano within a larger crater.
The colorings of the landscape were gorgeous. Never before had I seen such a riot of purple and green and magenta and orange as were splashed with reckless lavishness all over the incomparable scenery.
For some time we stood there feasting our eyes on this rare vista, then, half reluctantly, half eagerly, we retraced our steps.
Professor Banning was content with leaps of moderate length, covering approximately ten yards at each step. But I, with the characteristic willfulness of youth, must needs attempt to establish a record for a lunar broad jump.
First I tried a few standing jumps and derived a tremendous amount of enjoyment from feeling myself soar up into the air for a height of ten feet or more. I expected to get a jolt when I landed but found that I alighted slowly and gently. This also was due to the fact that my body was being pulled down with only a fraction of the gravitational attraction on the earth.
Next I attempted a hop, skip, and a jump, and found that I could leap both higher and further than from a standing start and still land without trouble. I then decided that I was ready to make a running broad jump that would far exceed the greatest accomplishments of the world’s leading athletes. In this I succeeded with a vengeance.
Because of the difficulty in judging distance in the deceptive airless space surrounding the moon, I did not realize how close I was to the rim of a titanic gorge. When I reached the highest point of my lob, I found myself headed right into the maw of this horrible chasm. I tried to emulate the figure of a cat I once saw in a movie animated cartoon, which jumped off a high cliff and, changing its mind in midflight, pulled itself through the air and back to the top of the precipice.
With me, however, this scheme didn’t seem to work very well. No matter how frantically I waved my arms and kicked my legs, I continued to drop with increasing acceleration—straight into the cleft.
Sometimes I marvel at the inconsistencies of the human mind—especially with respect to such qualities as pluck, nerve, and courage. I’ve heard of men who have repeatedly charged deadly machines gun nests without flinching, but who whimpered like babies when threatened with the cold steel of a trench knife. There are those who have braved the perils of life aboard a submarine, who couldn’t be hired to ride in an elevator.