Parked outside the door of the Colony were two land trucks. Drivers were already seated in each of the hermetically sealed cabins and, as we left the airlock and walked towards them, they smiled and waved their hands at us.
Ten men climbed inside the passenger compartment of each vehicle and, once we were as comfortably seated as our suits would allow, we began to move swiftly along the red, concrete road. Nobody spoke for, as conversation could be held only via the radio, any unnecessary speech would have jammed the channel.
We rode, at twenty miles an hour, in complete silence. Not even the sound of our motors could be heard in that airless atmosphere; it was like living in an old, silent film.
Massive rocks slid by and were gone. Gradually the Jura mountains sank below the horizon behind us while the ships rose up slowly in front, as though mounted on a vast, rising platform.
We entered the great circle of rocketships half an hour later. Every ship was still enclosed within its elevator gantry; scaffolding on wheels into which was built the lift that would carry the men to the open doors of the crews’ cabins. In the centre of the circle stood the Discovery, resting on a concrete platform of about one hundred yards’ diameter. Radiating from the platform and built of the same red concrete as the road were eight tracks, each leading to a freight ship. Another road, like the rim of a great wheel, connected the ships on the outside.
When we reached the perimeter, the other truck turned off towards Freighter No 1 while we continued our journey in towards the hub where Discovery towered above the launching ground. On reaching her, Jet, Mitch, Lemmy and I boarded the little elevator and soon the ground began to fall away beneath us. I could see the two trucks making their way from freighter to freighter. The ships cast great long shadows across the ground and when the trucks drove through them only their headlights were visible. Shadows on the Moon are so dense headlights are essential if you are to steer your way through them safely.
When we were all inside the cabin airlock, Jet closed the outer door and filled the vacuum with ship’s air. As the chamber filled up our suits lost their stiffness and the hum of the air-pump gradually grew in volume. Finally the pressure reached maximum and, even through our helmets, we could hear the low whirr of the cabin hatch as it opened above our heads.
Jet led the way and as soon as we were all in the cabin we closed the hatch and removed our helmets.
Lemmy spoke first. “Well, Doc,” he said, still holding his helmet in his hand, “this is it. All aboard the Skylark. A trip round the sun and back in time for dinner.”
The tone of Lemmy’s voice told me he was keyed up.
We all were, but Jet showed it least of all. “All right, gentlemen,” he said coolly, “take off your suits, stow them away and carry out pre-takeoff checks.”
As calmly as we could, we did as we had been ordered, carrying out a familiar routine in an unfamiliar mood of excitement and tension. By the time Lemmy had established radio contact both with Control and freighters 1 to 8, Mitch and I had finished our inspections and had reported to Jet that everything was in order. “Then get on your bunks,” he said, “and strap yourselves in.”
We moved to our takeoff couches and as we did so we heard the voice of ‘Tim’. “Zero, minus thirty minutes’’
We lay on our backs and tried to relax--as we had been taught. One by one we heard the freighters check in to Control and ask for their gantries to be removed. The last ship to ask was No 2. After that the radio was silent, and silence also reigned over our little cabin.
It was broken finally by Mitch. “Well, there’s one thing to be said for these new atomic motors,” he observed; “with their slow acceleration we’re not likely to go through the agony we did when we first took off from Earth on our way to the Moon--remember?”
“Will I ever forget?” said Lemmy. “Luna was no more than an old crate compared to this job.”
“Lemmy,” said Jet, ignoring both his engineer’s and radio operator’s remarks, “televiewer.”
The little screen above my head glowed and in it I could see a small picture of the Moon’s surface outside. Even in the short time we had been on the launching ground it was noticeable that the shadows thrown by the mountains, rocks and crater rims were already shorter.
Suddenly an arc of light rose up from the darkness, seemed to tower above the mountains for a second and then burst into a brilliant cascade of fight.
“There goes the first flare,” I said. “Takeoff imminent.”
“Zero, minus twenty minutes,” observed ‘Tim’ by way of confirmation.
“Well, gentlemen, it won’t be long now,” said Jet. “Remember, takeoff is fully automatic. Nothing should go wrong.”
“Let’s hope not,” said Lemmy, with mock fear in his voice. “Thirty-five million miles is a long way from home.”
“We’ll be first off,” went on Jet. “The others will follow at two-minute intervals. Thirty thousand miles above the Moon’s surface the motors will be cut and we’ll be coasting the rest of the way. Next stop--Mars.”
We lay back in silence. In spite of two years’ preparation, Jet’s last sentence came almost as a shock.
The time passed slowly, and every few minutes ‘Tim’ announced the fact. Five minutes before Zero we received a direct call. “Hullo, Discovery. Control calling Flagship Discovery.”
“Hullo, Control--Discovery answering,” replied Jet. “Takeoff time is less than five minutes away. Are you ready?” “All set. Lemmy, televiewer--stern view.” “Televiewer, stern view--contact.”
The picture above me changed. The view now was of the launching platform directly beneath us. At the top edge of the screen I could see the rim of our motor exhaust.
“Zero, minus forty-five seconds.”
“Stand by,” said Jet.
The voice of Control came through from the loudspeaker. “Hullo, Freighter No 1. Control calling.” We heard No 1 reply.
“Your takeoff time is imminent. Are you ready?” “All set,” confirmed No 1.
“Zero, minus fifteen seconds.” This was to us.
“Minus ten seconds. Minus five--four--three--two-one--.
“Here we go!” shouted Lemmy.
There was a pronounced vibration and a dull, muffled, distant explosion as the rocket motors came into play. For two or three seconds we did not rise, although the ship shook considerably. Suddenly the vibration ceased and there was the gentlest rocking sensation. The ship was leaving the ground. Perhaps poised no more than a foot above it. I tensed as I felt the ship move and then suddenly forced myself to relax.
We increased speed, slowly at first and then extremely rapidly. As speed increased, so did our weight. I felt myself growing heavier and heavier; being pushed down into the inflated bed which prevented my being pressed against its metal base. I had made many trips from Earth to the Moon since that first historic takeoff back in 1965 but I could never get used to the sensation of takeoff. It is the only thing I dislike about space travel. But, fortunately for us, the low gravitational pull of the Moon and the revolutionary type of rocket motor we were now using enabled our maximum acceleration to be reached gradually. Consequently, although my body felt like lead and it was impossible to move even a muscle, the experience was nothing like so unpleasant as that which we had all endured in Luna.
“Zero, plus thirty seconds.”
Control spoke now for the first time since takeoff. “Hullo, Discovery. Height forty-five point one, velocity five thousand two hundred; maximum acceleration rate will be reached in thirty seconds.”
I looked again at the picture above my head. Below us was the Moon’s surface. Now we were high enough to see not only the whole of the Bay of Rainbows but also a considerable part of the Mare Imbrium to the south and the Sinus Roris (which lay on the other side of the Jura Mountains) to the north. The Moon’s terminator, the division between light and darkness on a ‘non-full’ Moon, lay directly below us. To the east all was black; to the west the Moon was bathed
in brilliant light; and down the middle, where light met darkness, where the angle of the sun was low, it was a mixture of white and black.
Up and up we went, the details of the Moon’s surface growing rapidly smaller as the area of view became correspondingly larger. I have never ceased to be thrilled by the sight of a land mass, whether it be the Earth or the Moon, swiftly dropping away beneath me. I was preoccupied with my thoughts when suddenly Jet asked: “All OK with you, Doc?”
Quickly I diverted my gaze from the screen to the gauges in front of me. “Yes, Jet,” I replied. “First class takeoff,” said our captain.
“Let’s hope the rest of the Fleet do as well,” I replied.
“Control calling Discovery. Maximum acceleration has now been reached. Motors will be cut in one hour.”
“Message received,” said Jet, “and thank you.”
Control now called Freighter No 1. “Stand by for takeoff--fifteen seconds.”
“Good luck boys,” called Lemmy. “See you at the rendezvous.”
“Ten seconds,” said ‘Tim’.
“I wonder how they’re feeling?” asked Mitch.
“If they feel anything like I do before every takeoff,” said Lemmy, “awful.”
“Five--four--three--two--one--“
“There they go,” I said almost involuntarily.
“How long before they catch up on us?” asked Lemmy.
“Not for two days,” Jet told him; “and getting into formation is going to be a bit tricky.”
“Well, we’ve got six months to practice,” said the radio operator. “Wouldn’t do to arrive at Mars out of line. It would give a bad impression.”
We could now see on the televiewer a long line of uniformly diminishing spots of light which were the jets of the freighter fleet spread out behind us.
We were on our way. The long journey to Mars had begun.
Chapter Three
Two days after leaving the Moon, the Mars Fleet was in formation and coasting through space. Neither the ships nor anything they contained were subject to the laws of gravity now, but this did not worry us. With the aid of our magnetic boots we were able to walk upright around the cabin with no discomfort. For that matter, we could walk equally well up the walls or along the ceiling. Space sickness, like sea sickness, is something one can get used to and finally overcome.
The ships travelled in line abreast, with the Discovery a little above the rest of the Fleet and Freighter No 1 nearest to the flagship. From the Discovery the ships seemed poised in space, motionless; for, in spite of the tremendous speed at which we were travelling, the background of stars against which we viewed the Fleet was so vast, and at such a distance from us, that movement was virtually imperceptible.
Although there were four men in the Discovery, there were only two in each of the freighters. There wasn’t room for more. The living quarters of the Discovery were cramped enough but those of the freighter ships were even worse. Every man travelling in them had been selected for his ability, among other things, to live in an enclosed space with one other person for months at a time without cracking UP- .
Once the ships were in formation, and it took some time for them to get in line, Jet ordered Lemmy to call up each freighter in turn and get in its report. No 1 reported that all was well, but with Freighter No 2 it was a different story. When Lemmy called up Rogers, the captain of No 2 and asked how things were, the reply was: “Shocking.” “Eh?” “We’ve been having trouble all the way.” Mitch, our chief motor engineer, immediately took Lemmy’s place at the radio and demanded of Rogers:
“What kind of trouble?”
“The motor lost thrust soon after we left base. Had to turn on the juice a bit or we’d never had made the rendezvous. We used up quite a lot of fuel. At least ten per cent above estimated consumption.”
“Did you hear that, Jet?” asked Mitch anxiously.
“And that’s not all,” No 2 continued. “Our radio receiver’s on the blink. We seem to be transmitting OK but reception from Base is down to strength two.”
“Are you hearing us all right?” “Yes. Strength five. Ship-to-ship system seems to be OK.”
“Then keep listening out, Frank. We’ll call you back.” From where he was seated at the control table Mitch looked up at Jet. “Well,” he enquired, “what do we do about that? Frank might be a good pilot, but he’s no radio man or engineer.”
“Who’s with him in that ship?” asked Jet. I looked up the crew list. “Whitaker,” I answered after a few moments; “a construction engineer.” “Then there’s no chance of his finding either of the faults. We’ll have to transfer a radio engineer and motor mechanic from one of the other ships.”
“The nearest motor man is in ship five,” I said, “and the nearest radio mechanic, other than Lemmy here, is in Number Seven. Both ships are on the far side of the formation. Transfer would be tricky.
“We’re closer to her than most,” broke in Mitch; “I’ll go, and take Lemmy with me to look over the radio at the same time.”
“Very well,” Jet agreed. “Get your suits. And take the long safety lines with you.”
After Mitch and Lemmy had donned their space suits we let them through the airlock into space. In the outer shell of the ship, in a panel near the door, were small rings to which Lemmy and Mitch immediately attached one end of their safety lines, the other, of course, being already fastened to their belts. Thus safeguarded, and with the aid of their magnetic boots, they could, if necessary, walk completely round the ship like flies round a pole and would neither fall off nor have any sensation of being upside down.
On this occasion, however, Lemmy merely bent his knees, gave a little push and slowly drifted over towards Freighter No 1. Once there, he fastened a short line to No 1 and made himself secure. Mitch then unhitched Lemmy’s long line from the ring on the Discovery and attached it to his own belt and Lemmy hauled him across. The same procedure was followed for reaching No 2. Once there the airlock was opened to let them in.
An examination of the many dial readings and No 2’s log book soon told Mitch that to correct the fault in the motor, part of it would have to be dismantled. This it would be impossible to do for some weeks as the motor was still highly radioactive. So it was decided that as the motor would not be needed again until the Fleet was close to Mars, repairs could be left until later. Mitch then returned to the Discovery.
What happened in Freighter No 2 after that I learned from Lemmy later. He was nearing the end of his work on the radio when Whitaker had to go down into the hold to carry out a routine inspection tour. A few minutes later
Lemmy’s job was completed and the radio operator called up Base to check the receiver. It proved to be OK.
“Well,” said Lemmy to Frank Rogers, “that’s that. If you don’t get Control at full possible strength after this, you may return the goods and get your money back.”
“And I suppose you’ll be going over to the Discovery now?” asked Frank.
“Yep,” replied Lemmy.
“Oh.”
Lemmy raised his eyebrows and looked at the freighter-man in surprise. “You almost sound disappointed,” he said. “I don’t owe you any money, do I?”
“How do you mean?”
“Way you’re trying to hang on to me, I thought maybe I did.”
“No, Lemmy; it’s just that I thought I might have had the pleasure of your social company for a bit. Somebody to talk to for a while.”
“You’ve got Whitaker to talk to.”
“No, Lemmy. I can’t talk to him.”
“Why? Has he been struck dumb or something?”
“No, it’s not that. He just doesn’t talk. He’s about the most unsociable person I ever met.”
“Then why did you crew up with him?”
“I couldn’t help it. I was supposed to crew with Vivis, but he was killed--back in Luna City. I’d hardly time to get acquainted with Whitaker before we took off.”
“And after only two d
ays,” said Lemmy, “you’ve decided you can’t get along with him.”
“I defy anybody to.”
“But what’s the matter with him? Doesn’t he pull his weight?”
“About the only thing he does do. But he never says a word, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Lemmy thought for a moment and then said: “Then how does he spend his time, when he’s not on duty?”
“Mostly lying on his bunk. He just lies there, staring at me.”
Lemmy laughed. “You sure you haven’t hypnotised him or anything?”
“I’m not joking, Lemmy,” said Frank, his voice rising hysterically.
“No, mate,” said Lemmy quietly.
“Sometimes,” went on Frank, “I think he must be in a trance.”
“If he were,” asked Lemmy, “how could he carry out his work?”
“He does that all right. Only sometimes, I . . .” Frank paused. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Lemmy?”
“As if I’d think a thing like that,” replied Lemmy, putting his hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“Well, sometimes it’s as though he’s not the only one here.”
“Of course he’s not the only one here, there’s ... eh?”
“Well, it’s not him, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” said Lemmy slowly.
“I tell you, if I have six months of this, all the way to Mars, I’ll go crackers.”
“Look,” said Lemmy firmly, “why don’t you tell Jet about this?”
“He’s got enough troubles without having to shoulder mine, too.
“But we all know living for weeks in a confined space with somebody you can’t get on with is not easy. You begin to see something wrong in everything they do; the way they eat, the way they walk, the way they hold their cigarettes if they smoke, the way they watch you smoking yours if they don’t. All maddening, irritating little things--but they can drive you off your rocker in no time. You might even start getting violent.”
“I might at that.”
“Then if Jet thinks you’ve got a good case, he’ll get either you or Whitaker transferred to another ship, before any real trouble starts.”
The Red Planet Page 2