The Collected Stories

by Earl

  Parletti has examined the surrounding’formations with the telescope. He has devised a complete crater-theory from the one we can see—a crater that shows signs of having been eaten out! With an amused smile that covers a serious meaning, he suggests that long ages ago the moon had an acidic atmosphere. This condensed gradually, forming pools all over the moon’s surface. The pools steadily ate their way down into the rock.

  Markers has sketched the sun’s corona and halo a dozen times, as it subtly changes from hour to hour. He predicts that when interplanetary travel passes into an active stage, the moon will quickly be equipped with a great astronomical observatory. A telescope on the moon has twice the effectiveness of one on Earth because of perfect visibility.

  The nearest mountain looks scalable. It is about two miles high. It has unweathered outcroppings’ that form a regular series of giant steps to the peak. Swinerton, whose hobby on Earth was mountain-climbing, says he could negotiate it in twelve hours. I wouldn’t doubt it, in this ridiculously light gravitation. Greaves can jump twenty feet high without effort.

  Though slightly feverish from his broken arm, Dordeaux induced the others into singing. It helps relieve our nerves. They are singing Tipperary now. “There’s a long, long trail a-winding—”

  * * * * *

  Eight hundred and fifty-first day. (11 A.M.)

  Only six more hours of daylight left!

  We realize the difficulties facing you in locating us. We can’t seem to hit a mutually recognizable landmark or topographical formation. We don’t remember the two mountain ranges forming a cross that you mention. Perhaps you are still too far west of us. Are you certain that you can’t make out three large craters forming a triangle? It is very definite here on Swinerton’s map.

  I thought perhaps I could tell you when you were drawing near by watching for an increasing strength of your radio signal, but I haven’t noticed a bit of variation. I surmise from that that you are. still, a. considerable distance away. I think I know why your attempts to locate my transmitter at the bisection of two or three beam-lines failed. I’ve been getting echoes from all directions. The mountains must be loaded with magnetized metals.

  Markers has checked the longitude again; it still comes out close to thirty degrees west. Assuming an error of five per cent at the most, we are within thirty miles to the east or west of that position. Similarly, we are within thirty miles to the north or south of our computed latitude. So we have hopes that you will find us yet, though you have an area of three thousand square miles to explore, with no recognizable landmarks to go by.

  The seleno-cell outside our ship is steadily flashing out its sparks, about every ten seconds. This should be visible within a radius of ten miles. Captain Atwell, staring at the mountain peak looming near, says that a seleno-cell placed up there would be visible for fifty miles at least. But that is a useless thought. Ironically, even if we did wish to try getting it up there, no one can approach the cell now without being electrocuted. It will keep operating while there is sunlight. The two other seleno-cells we had, lie useless on Mars.

  WE talk of nothing but Earth here. How it will look to us after our long absence. How green and lovely its fields, how sweet its air, how wonderful its foods—and its security. Earth is paradise! Greaves swears that after arrival he will fall down to the ground, bury himself in glorious mud, and stay there for three days. All of us have fantastic notions of what we want to do when we get back. Parletti is going to eat a roast steer, complete. Personally, I’m just going to fill my lungs with good, clean air, again and again and again—

  Message from Captain Atwell to Captain Macklyn.

  Macklyn, only desperation brings me to ask this. In six hours, if we are, not found, we will be plunged into two long weeks of Lunar night. Our chances of living through that period are mighty slim. I have brought these six men to Mars and back, surviving many perils. I would hate to have them doomed now. Thus, I suggest, though it entails great risk for your ship, that you lower your vessel to within a mile of the moon’s surface. If you then describe a large circle and keep shifting its center, you will soon have passed over most of this territory. You cannot fail to see us at a mile’s height. But it will take constant rocket power and diligent maneuvering to do this.

  I make no appeal for myself, Macklyn. I appeal only for these six brave men at my side.

  EIGHT-HUNDRED and fifty-first day. (6 P.M.)

  Black, chilling night surrounds us! Captain Atwell wishes to thank you men of the rescue ship for your gallant effort, flying your ship at only a half mile above the moon’s dangerous surface. It was our fate not to be found.

  All of us watched closely for your ship, in every direction. Once Bordeaux thought he saw a black speck and a tiny red rocket flare, but when the rest of us looked, nothing was there.

  However, there is one remaining hope, now that we are surrounded by the utter blackness of night. We have a few ounces of fuel left in our tank We will discharge it from our uppermost rocket-tube. It should make a bright beacon if burned slowly with oxygen, perhaps enough to land by.

  Markers suggests that you rise to a height of ten miles wherever you are and watch below in all directions. Signal me when you are in position and we will then light the flare.

  * * * * *

  Eight hundred and fifty-first day. (7 P.M.)

  Captain Atwell to Captain Macklyn.

  No! You must not try landing, though you saw our flare and were able to approach part way before it went out. I forbid the landing attempt, Macklyn, as you wouldn’t have one chance in a million of landing without a bad crack-up in the dark.

  We had expected the flare to burn a while longer. Fifteen more minutes and it would have given you time to approach and land. But too late now. However, my men and I join in saying, for the offer alone—God bless you!

  You must now go back to Earth and come back in two weeks. Or, if you have plenty of supplies, you can rise to a height of a thousand miles, or so and simply drift there, unpowered, and wait. You must be prepared, if you locate our ship when daylight comes again, for the possibility of finding dead men instead of living.

  Gillway speaking. Our morale is still high. We have faced worse hazards. Captain Atwell had put us on emergency rations from the moment of landing. Our oxygen consumption is down to one-third normal. Beyond a general feeling of lassitude, there are no ill effects.

  Parletti carefully examined our air-supply and says that by a stretch of imagination five of us, or at the most six, could live on it for two weeks. How seven of us can survive, the Lord only knows.

  Must conserve battery-current for heating unit. Martian Expedition Number One signing off until the Lunar dawn.

  EIGHT HUNDRED and sixty-fourth day. 3 A.M.)

  Hello to those aboard the rescue ships!

  Martian Expedition Number One resuming contact after two weeks. Dawn silently stole over this desolate world an hour ago, recharging my depleted batteries. It was a glorious sight to see the sunlight again—but painful also. When last we saw the sun, there were seven of us. Now there are only five!

  Outside our airlocks lie the bodies of Swinerton and Dordeaux. They voluntarily sacrificed their lives, so that the rest of us might survive. God rest their souls!

  We five that are left now have about four or five hours of oxygen left. We hope you can find us in that time.

  Now to go back two weeks: After the black of Lunar night had closed in on us, despair came with it. We were hopeful when our last bit of fuel was used as a flare, but when that failed, we knew our situation was really desperate.

  Our air supply, no matter how many times Parletti and Markers figured it out, could not last seven men for two weeks, even at the one-fourth normal consumption rate which we had already cut it to. Finally, at the end of that first day, Swinerton tried to get out at the air-lock but Greaves stopped him just in time.

  Swinerton simply explained, “One of us has to go now, or seven of us will go in the next two. week
s!”

  We all looked at one another haggardly. There was no escaping that deadly logic. Captain Atwell then said, “Men, my leadership is no longer needed—”

  The rest of us shouted him down on that before he got any further. Each of us volunteered to sacrifice himself. Melodramatic? The world will never understand. The decisive voice of Captain Atwell finally quieted us: “We will draw lots!”

  That, of course, was the only way. Using the time-honored short and long sticks, Captain Atwell offered lots to each of us. He drew last, with Parletti holding the sticks. Seven times the process was repeated, to eliminate us one by one.

  Finally it narrowed down to Swinerton and Dordeaux. I will never forget that final scene. None of us will. Swinerton tight-lipped but calm. Dordeaux pale, favoring his broken arm. The rest of us far more nervous than they. It is engraved in our memories forever.

  Each drew three times—with death standing over their shoulders, watching. Swinerton drew two shorts and one long. He looked up with a brief, grim smile. The odds were strongly against him.

  Dordeaux drew three shorts in a row, however. Swinerton looked dazed at this sudden reprieve. Dordeaux wasted no time. After a simple farewell and handshake with each of us, but with a depth in each movement that those on Earth will never know, he stepped out of the air-lock.

  We saw him stagger away from the ship, out into the airless void. He turned into the deepest shadow of the ship, away from the ports, so that we would not see him die. Not many words were spoken in our. cabin in the next hour.

  In answer to your query, our map does not show the mountains you mention to the northeast, nor can we see any. But it is. likely that Swinerton left them out in his hasty sketching, as he did not have much time while the ship was maneuvering down.

  Will resume in an hour, when my batteries build up more of a charge from the sunlight.

  FOUR A.M.

  After Dordeaux was gone, we settled down to a routine to pass the interminable hours. We clung to the floor as much as possible to breathe less oxygen, but we seldom slept. Captain Atwell forced us to keep a card game going with rotating partners. The vague interest in this and the noises it made helped us to forget the awful stillness about us.

  At times, though, there would be moments of utter, stifling silence which would hold us in a sort of hypnotic trance until someone coughed. Then we would all cough and scrape our feet and make noises, not wanting it to happen again.

  We could not use the radio, naturally, since our batteries were not any too well charged. I reported that the current would never last. So Atwell ordered that the one dim bulb we had burning to be on only half the time. He also cut the heating unit’s output to its barest minimum. Thereafter, we existed in a temperature not much above freezing, with all available clothing on our bodies. Radiation of heat from our ship, over the days, mounted up, though it was a slow process.

  Our food rations also had to be cut, for that too had reached slim proportions. One-quarter protein-stick a day and one biscuit for each of us, washed down with a gill of water.

  The thought of seeing Earth once more kept us alive. We also speculated what a sensation our pictures and records of former Martian civilization will create. These will eventually be found and brought back to Earth, even if we are not. That thought alone comforts us.

  We are keeping sharp watch at our ports in every direction. If we sight your ship, I will radio immediately.

  Air gauge pretty low now.

  FIVE A.M.

  It is simple to tell of Swinerton and why he lies outside—dead.

  Soon after Dordeaux had gone, Swinerton addressed us all and insisted that he should follow him. Five, he argued, would have an excellent chance of surviving, whereas six was still doubtful, as Parletti admitted. By drawing of lots, Swinerton insisted, he was next to go anyway. Swinerton did not say these things in any exaggerated fashion. There was no fanaticism in him. He was one of those rare individuals who think things out calmly and dispassionately and then do them, or try.

  Captain Atwell, however, sternly forbade any further discussion of the subject. Thereafter, he slept and rested almost continuously rolled in. blankets before the air-lock. Swinerton had a gleam of determination in his eyes.

  The second night—Parletti, whose bunk is just over Swinerton’s, heard a strange, stifled gasping. We found Swinerton with a strip of cloth twisted tightly around his neck. His purpose,” though he would not say a word, had been to strangle himself quietly so that we would have a longer and better chance.

  We all kept an eye on him after that. It was no good to talk to him, tell him he was wrong. Perhaps he was insane. But it is not for us to judge.

  He seemed to get over it in the next three days. We relaxed our vigil. He joined in our card game and conversation as though nothing untoward had happened. But he would sit for hours when the cabin was dark, staring out of a port at the looming, jagged mountain nearby as though still thinking he would like meet its challenge and climb it.

  We all spent much time at the ports for that matter. Somehow, the moon is a fairyland in the starlight, its harshness softened. Surprisingly, in this airlessness, the starlight has considerable strength. Every detail of the night scene stands out.

  The third night Swinerton was gone! Atwell had fallen into an exhausted sleep at the air-lock. Before he could jump up when he heard the levers squeak, Swinerton had got into the lock chamber. Atwell stood by helplessly, hearing the outer lock swing out and then clamp shut again. We found the captain there, shoulders sagging, eyes dull.

  “There went the bravest man the world has ever known!” he said hoarsely. And that, if we who are left are not alive to carry it out, is to be the epitaph engraved on Swinerton’s tomb. Remember!

  * * * * *

  Six A.M.

  There is not much more to tell of those two bitter weeks. Aching lungs, starved bodies, blue-cold fingers—and the silence. That damnable silence!

  Well, we have survived it and when we saw the first bit of the sun’s rim climb over the horizon, it was the end of an eternity.

  The coming of the sun has raised our spirits as well as our thermometer. We are keeping sharp watch for your ship. We are not losing hope. We have cut our oxygen stream a little lower again. You have been searching for three hours so, far, since the dawn. There are one or two hours to go.

  Atwell has just announced something strange. The huge shadow of our guardian-mountain has retreated enough to reveal the space before our ship: The seleno-cell is gone!

  Furthermore, Swinerton’s body cannot be seen anywhere around the ship! The corpse of brave Dordeaux is plainly visible.

  And now a third thing. An air-helmet and small oxygen bottle which goes with it are gone!

  What does this all add up to? We can guess but it seems incredible. Captain Atwell has just gone out in our spare air helmet to bury Dordeaux. We will then hold a brief mass for him. He deserves that if it’s the last thing we have the strength to do.

  SIX forty-two A.M.

  Attention, rescue ship!

  Markers has just noticed a moving light among the stars to the west. If it isn’t a comet, it may be your ship. There is a breathless silence in our cabin, and a prayer on every lip. Our oxygen gauge’s needle is almost touching the zero mark.

  Yes—it must be your ship!

  Or rather, the orange-red flare of your rockets. Slow down and turn east immediately—but I see I am giving you needless directions.

  You are now approaching, as we can see the rocket blast getting brighter.

  You are now crossing the mountain range. The plateau beyond is the one we are on. We can make out the outline of your ship now. Captain Atwell says not to lower for a landing from that direction, as the space is shorter that way. Swing south and come up to us from that direction.

  You can see our ship now? Thank God—we are saved!

  It is plain now. Those giant blue sparks that are playing around the peak of the mountain nearest us, and whi
ch you saw from fifty miles away, are from our missing seleno-cell!

  Swinerton’s body must lie beside it, lifeless since ten days ago, when he left us. None of us suspected at the time that he had taken the air-helmet. He had oxygen enough for about twelve hours. He had said he could climb that mountain in twelve hours. And he did it, in the starlight and carrying the seleno-cell!

  We, have already written Swinerton’s epitaph. We cannot add to it. Someday we will have those words engraved on the side of that mountain, in letters of gold.

  But now, what shall we say of Dordeaux? Burying him, Captain Atwell noticed his one hand half open, holding something he had been clutching before death overtook him., It was simply a bit of wood one of the short sticks we had used in drawing lots. We had noticed Dordeaux fumbling the sticks he drew each, time with his two hands, but we had attributed this to his broken arm. Now it is obvious that the sticks he showed and the sticks he drew were not the same!

  He had an eighth substitute short stick all the time, with which he made certain his own sacrifice!

  WE can see your ship lower now, a long sleek craft. Careful! Keep the nose up! There! As you touched and plowed along, a sparkling shower of pumice-spray surrounded you, like snow.

  And as your ship stops, not a half mile away, my companions are cheering and screaming and pounding one another on the back—I’ll join them in a moment. Soon you will be coming to us, in air-helmets, to take us into your ship. Soon we will be on Earth! We can hardly believe it yet.

  By the grace of God, five of us live to see this great moment. But only at the price of others whose names will go down, forever in the history of man.

  Martian Expedition Number One signing off.

  THE ATOM SMASHER

  John Tarkton invented Atomic Power, then died, a victim of his own creation. To the world he left a potent heritage of unleashed power; to Dr. Henry Lewis a terrific burden of responsibility