by Earl
“The lifeboat slowed down, but at ten miles we were still sinking fast. At five miles, Halloway screeched that he had the underjets going full blast. Swinerton yelled that we were still dropping at a hundred miles an hour. A landing at that speed would crush us like an eggshell.
“We thought we were lost. Halloway saved us. Gave her the gun from the rear rockets! As he figured, the thick atmosphere acted as enough of a resistant medium to turn the nose up. Fine, except that the swoop tied our stomachs in knots. Swinerton and I went out like lights. Halloway held onto his senses, God knows how, and brought the ship down to the surface, still on even keel and racing forward like an express train.
“How to land? Halloway had to figure it all out himself. Barely able to see the ground, through the murky air, he spotted a small lake of liquid gases. Landed her on that, sending up spray for a hundred feet. The sudden cooling on our hull worked through the cabin, and Swinerton and I came to just in time to feel the ship coast to a stop, and then rock gently in the waves of liquid ammonia and methane.
“Gently, did I say? It was about as gentle as a fifty-foot giant rocking a cradle. We were literally slapped from side to side, as the rollers of the Jupiter lake rumbled along under the impetus of raging wind and supergravity.
“But we were saved, and thankful to the bottom of our souls. Halloway eased us toward shore on low rocket blasts, and we beached on what is probably frozen sulphur dioxide. Then we just slumped in our seats, dozing and recuperating from the last eighteen hours. Eventually we crawled around for food, and I set about fixing up the radio. Several wires had ripped loose.
“Well, here we are. We haven’t gone outside yet, but it’s grand to know we’re the first men ever to land on Jupiter’s surface. We doubt even the ancient Martians tried it, since this gravity is six times what they were born to on Mars!
“Mentally we’re glad of the achievement. But not physically. Each of us feels like he is carrying a mountain on his back. We weigh about five hundred pounds apiece. Our muscles are aching, with that load. We’re going to rest by lying flat on the floor, for the next twelve hours, and then plan our next move.
“Signing off till then.”
Gillway again, on Ganymede.
That was the message that drove us wild with joy. We’re still cheering, with the suspense of the last thirty-six hours over. But we’re sobering down now. That was only the landing. Now the men have to search for lead ore. How long will that take? And how long can they stand that bone-crushing gravity?
We are permitting ourselves hope. But, to be candid, the odds are still against us.
Will resume tomorrow, when Parletti’s next report comes in.
From here on, will be sending daily messages, keeping you up to date. Saving power is not important now.
TWO-HUNDRED-SEVENTY-NINTH day.
Parletti’s report came in an hour ago. I will give only his reports from now on. Events at camp, here on Ganymede, are at a standstill. We are just marking time till our men on Jupiter accomplish their mission, if they do.
Calling Ganymede (Parletti signaled). We woke up this morning feeling as though we had slept under a pile of rocks. The gravity, frankly, is horrible. Even arising from the floor was an effort. We had to turn on our stomachs, slowly push ourselves to hands and knees, and stagger erect while holding on to the wall hand-rails. Then we stood there swaying, while our leg muscles gradually took up the burden of our five hundred pounds of weight.
We felt a little better after eating, and drinking water. Our first job was to figure out where we were. Swinerton climbed to the conning tower and took a look around. He couldn’t see very far in the thick, cloudy mist.
It is distinctly a reddish mist, as of course this is the Great Red Spot area. It is never still. It whips back and forth tempestuously, often shaking the ship. Our gauge showed that the atmospheric pressure was ninety pounds to the square inch. We suspect the vapors are very nearly fluid, from pressure alone, down here at the surface.
The lighting is very peculiar down here. Above are six thousand miles of heavy vapor, including krypton, methane, ammonia, bromine hydride, heavy hydrogen, and polymerized nitrogen. If there’s oxygen, it can only be in some combined form, as nitrous oxide.
Sunlight barely worms through this gas-porridge, as a ghastly pale glow. None of the moons can be seen through the pall. We feel as though we’re at the bottom of a gaseous ocean, in a submarine.
Swinerton suddenly yelped.
“Life!” he gasped. “There’s life down here!”
Halloway and I saw it ourselves a moment later, as it flapped past our window. A small winged creature with a hawk’s beak that circled the lifeboat as though in curiosity, then lazily soared away. It seemed almost to float in the dense medium, more like a fish swimming than a bird flying. But just imagine any creature living in this hell-brew air! Swinerton says its metabolism must be utterly alien to anything we can conceive.
“Never mind that,” I said when the surprise was over. “What we want is lead ore. Our best chance of finding it is at the rim of that giant hole. Can you see it?”
Swinerton couldn’t, though Jupiter’s curvature is so slight that hundreds of miles of land must lie within straight-line vision, beyond the mist-curtains. We had to guess where we were. We knew we were east of the great pit, for we had sighted it coming down. But how far? There was only one way to find out.
Halloway, at the controls, eased the ship into the lake again, and we took off. Our hearts stopped, when it seemed we couldn’t get up at all. Marooned on Jupiter, we thought, held fast by its gravity like flies on flypaper!
IT took all the power of the rockets to lift us, inch by inch, even after an accelerated run of ten miles! This gravity is simply stupendous. Only the dense air, acting as a lifting medium because of our great speed, raised us at all. After that, with minimum velocity at one thousand miles per hour, the ship continued rising.
We rose a few miles then and flew west. From this high viewpoint, we saw our lake stretching off into the cloaked distance.
“Quite a sizable lake,” Swinerton commented.
“Lake?” I returned, and I had to laugh. “Judging by the slow curve of the shore, this ‘lake’ is probably four or five thousand miles in diameter. It’s the size of the Pacific Ocean. And yet, set in the center of a giant continent one hundred thousand miles long, it’s no more than Lake Superior in North America.” Hours later a mountain range loomed before us. In the poor visibility, we were surprised.
“Up, Halloway,” I shouted quickly, remembering the photographs we had taken from Ganymede. “Up! Those peaks are eighty or ninety miles high!”
Well, we barely made it. The ship zoomed up so sluggishly against the pull of gravity that we reached the range while still climbing. Halloway had to turn parallel with them, climb some more, and then hurdle over. It was like a jumper taking a run to get over the bar.
Going over, we looked down on a sight that no other planet affords. Mountain peaks reared almost a hundred miles over the general level. Their broad shadows extended over areas greater than all Europe. Some of their cliff faces dropped sheerly for fifty miles. If laid flat, they would easily hold Earth’s largest city. Everything is on a colossal scale here. We feel like little microbes crawling around and getting no place.
The murky sky began to darken suddenly. The short ten-hour day was coming to an end already.
“We’ve got to land before it’s dark,” I admonished. “Or we won’t be able to see a thing. We have about an hour left.”
It was only a half hour later that we found the pit. First we thought another mountain range was ahead. Then we saw that the serrated outline was almost smooth. It was the up-flung rim of that great crater, no less than seventy-five miles high.
We spotted a lake to land on, before the rim. Really a lake this time—no more than a few hundred miles wide; We landed roughly, but had some experience this time to go by. We were just in time.
Daylight
suddenly blinked out, as Jupiter’s whirling rim completely cut off the sun.
One minute we could see. The next moment pitch darkness closed down. Not a star or moon has strength enough to shine through the gas-curtains overhead. We had experienced this Stygian night before, of course. But we still didn’t like it. It was too much like being totally blind—or buried.
We arrived an hour ago, ate, and now we’re ready to sleep through the five-hour night, and also the next ten-hour day till the following dawn. Swinerton and Halloway are already stretched on the triple-mattress on the floor.
I’m barely able to sit here at the radio.
Signing off.
CHAPTER XII
Mutiny on Jupiter
TWO-HUNDRED-EIGHTIETH day.
(Parletti’s report, as follows—Gillway.)
I was too tired to tell of the view of the crater we had, before landing. We had an oblique glance over the rampart, into the pit. Our vision went down—down—down. It was heart-stopping. There seemed no end, as though it dropped right to the floor of the universe.
Since we couldn’t see the other rim, it seemed like the edge of the world, dropping sheerly off into nothingness. As I mentioned to Gillway, our measurements on the photos show the crater mouth to be ten thousand miles in diameter. Picture the Earth dropping down into it, without scraping the sides!
I’m a geologist, and I’ve seen some of the wonders of Mars, Venus and Mercury, not to mention Earth. But nothing compares to this. The ancient canals of Mars. The planetwide ocean of Venus. The molten-metal seas of Mercury. The Grand Canyon of Earth. They are all little scratches or puddles beside this stupendous cavern of mighty Jupiter.
In fact, you could stuff into it the four inner planets, their moons, all the comets, asteroids and other satellites, and still have room enough for Pluto to fall a few hundred miles!
And my theory is that this pit opens right into the core of Jupiter, for forty thousand miles or so! I hope I’m right, for then it means that heavy-metal ores were spewed out at one time or another. Somewhere on those ramparts may be deposits of the lead we need.
Today we essayed to venture outside for the first time. We groaned at the added burden of the seal-suits. But they are necessary. One lung full of the Jovian air would be our last. Stepping from the air lock, we moved away from the ship. Rather stumbled is the word. Each step was a trial. We didn’t lift our feet. We dragged them, moving in a sort of hunchbacked shuffle.
“Remember the goose-step of the war days of last century?” Swinerton grinned. “I’d like to see them try it here!”
But we didn’t waste time. With my magnifying lens and portable analyzer, I examined likely looking rocks. We were near enough to the rampart to find overflows of the lava. The basic soil underneath was a loam of light elements, as on Ganymede. But these rocks, flung up from Jupiter’s denser interior, instantly showed heavy metals. I was right!
“Got it already?” Halloway asked.
“No,” I said. “This is mixed ore—iron, copper, zinc, tin, mercury and a dozen others, all jumbled with lead. It would take a complete chemical plant, on Earth, to separate the lead. We have to find high-grade lead deposits.”
We sampled all the rocks within a mile of the ship, without success. Then, back in the ship, Halloway coasted us along the lake shore closer to the crater edge. It’s night again, now. We’ll search tomorrow. The five hours of activity have drained us of our strength. We’ll have to sleep fifteen hours again, into the second Jovian day from now.
We saw more bird-fish today. Some in the distance that must have a wing-spread of a hundred feet. Behemoths, in proportion to the world they live in. Swinerton is excited. But naturally, he is not going to waste time on them. Our whole thoughts are centered on finding lead ore.
Signing off. I’m about dead with fatigue.
TWO-HUNDRED-EIGHTY-FIRST day.
No lead ore found yet. Too tired to say any more.
(This was the extent of Parletti’s report for this day—Gillway.) Two-hundred-eighty-second day. Still no success, Ganymede. Have found much ore, but all with low-lead content.
Two-hundred-eighty-third day.
Gillway speaking, Earth. No report from Parletti for this date at all. We are worried that something has happened.
Two-hundred-eighty-fourth day.
Hello, Ganymede! Sorry didn’t report yesterday. Too tired. No results, anyway. None today, either. We toiled part way up the slope of the crater’s edge today, hoping for lead ore there. No luck.
The rise was gentle, but it was torture for us. Fighting this gravity is like wading through thick syrup with chains around your ankles. Swinerton collapsed on the way down. Halloway and I dragged him to the ship. Mostly Halloway. That kid has more energy and strength than the legendary Hercules.
Don’t lose hope, men. There must be a deposit of lead around here. I found high-grade copper ore today, ironically enough. There must be lead, too. We’ll find it.
Two-hundred-eighty-fifth day.
No luck yet. We’ve been on Jupiter a week today. We’ve lost twenty pounds of weight each. We think we can stick it out another week. In that time, cross your fingers that we find lead.
Two-hundred-eighty-sixth day.
Great news!
No, we didn’t find lead. But we found—a pyramid!
We went in a different direction from the ship today. Suddenly, in the mists ahead, an object took form. Halloway stiffened, and then actually broke into a run. He had to stop and slow down to a walk, but reached it before Swinerton and I did. He was already examining the inscriptions around the base.
“They abandoned building the pyramids on Callisto,” Halloway said. “And built them here instead—here on Jupiter. What an engineering achievement, in this gravity!”
Achievement is right. This pyramid is simply gigantic. It must be two thousand feet high, a veritable mountain. And they had to lug the great stone blocks up against killing gravity. The cranes and derricks they used must have been inconceivably sturdy. And how did the frail Martians themselves stand it, weighing six times normal?
Night came, before we could see much. We stumbled back to the ship, lighting our way with hand-flashes. I’m ready to sink on our mattress. It’s a strain even to keep our eyelids open.
TWO-HUNDRED-EIGHTY-SEVENTH day.
Still no lead ore found.
And now, Captain Atwell, a decision faces us—all of us. After the useless quest for ore again today, Halloway faced us.
“Suppose we don’t find lead ore? We can’t last here more than a few days. I want to examine that pyramid. I want to solve its secret. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for, during all this expedition. You can go out looking for lead, Parletti and Swinerton. I’m going to spend my time at the pyramid!”
Swinerton and I remonstrated, then agreed to leave it up to you. Give us your decision, Captain Atwell, when we wake up, fifteen hours from now. Please bear these points in mind.
Your decision is whether Halloway is to help us or not. If he doesn’t, it will slow down our search. We’ve been forced, with our strength ebbing, to work in shifts. Branching out from a central point, each man in turn scouts for ore, while the other two rest. If Swinerton and I go it alone, we’ll weaken faster and not cover as much territory.
We are not bitter against Halloway for his stubbornness. We know what the pyramid means to him. In fact, to all of us.
What is your decision, Captain Atwell?
(Parletti signs off.—Gillway.) Gillway speaking.
And so, Earth, we must again make a critical choice. Either lessen our chances of procuring lead ore, or let the “Secret of the Pyramids” slide, now that it is within our grasp. A strange, baffling choice.
Captain Atwell is pacing the floor.
His face is set as he wrestles with the problem. Risk our lives further, or pass by the chance to solve the Martian mystery—and startle Earth? Always before, on other expeditions, Atwell placed our lives first withou
t question. The fact that he hesitates shows how that one thing—the pyramid secret—has captured our thoughts.
Stand by—
Atwell has just decided. “I place our lives first,” he said. “Halloway is to search for lead.”
I don’t know, but I think we’re all disappointed. I’m going to transmit the decision to Parletti in an hour, when they awake.
(Parletti reports.—Gillway.)
Two-hundred-eighty-eighth day.
Hello, Ganymede! Your decision received, Captain Atwell. But Halloway refused to abide by it. He spent the day at the pyramid!
Before he left, I told him it was mutiny. As his immediate superior, I forbade him to go counter to the order. Halloway laughed in my face.
I realized I could do nothing. We had taken no guns along. To tackle Halloway, by physical force, was out of the question. We can barely drag our bodies along, let alone struggle. I was angry but helpless.
“Sorry, Parletti,” Halloway said. “I’ve made up my mind. Chances are you won’t find any lead. Jupiter Expedition Number One does not return to Earth. But Jupiter Expedition Number One does send back the solution to the Martian mystery! You’ll thank me for it, later. If this is the end, at least we’ll wind up in a blaze of glory!”
Well, there you have it. I don’t know whether to curse young Halloway, or bless him. Signing off, to sleep.
(Parletti’s signal goes off the air.—Gillway.)
Gillway speaking.
We don’t know ourselves quite how to react, Earth. But Captain Atwell’s eyes went icy cold.
“Gillway, transmit this message to Jupiter. Captain Atwell to Halloway. As captain of the Expedition, I declare your action mutinous. You are subject to imprisonment, upon return to Ganymede and Earth.”
Then Atwell’s eyes fired a little. “Good luck, lad!” he finished.
CHAPTER XIII
Secret of the Pyramids
TWO-HUNDRED-EIGHTY-NINTH Day.