The Red Planet

by Charles Chilton

  And there the conversation was interrupted by the sound of the airlock between the hold and living quarters opening. Whitaker was returning from his inspection. Lemmy quickly changed the subject.

  “Now, Frank,” he said brightly, “treat her gently and she’ll treat you kindly. The way she’s behaving now she’d pick up a signal from Jupiter if there was anybody up there to send one, which there isn’t. So if you find you’re getting nothing, you know where you’re getting it from.” Lemmy laughed and heartily slapped Frank on the back.

  Lemmy returned to the Discovery full of sympathy for Frank but, after hearing Lemmy’s story, Jet declared Whitaker’s behaviour must be due to space conditions and decided to wait for them to pass off.

  Twenty-four days out from Earth, Lemmy was calling Control on a routine check. I was lying on my bunk writing my diary at the time and although he tried to keep his voice low I could hear him quite distinctly.

  “Hullo, Control,” he was saying, “Flagship Discovery calling. Come in please.”

  After a long pause a faint, quavery voice emitted from the loudspeaker. “Hullo, Flagship Discovery. Receiving you strength two. Over.”

  “Have recorded report on last six hours ready for transmission,” said Lemmy. “Are you ready to receive it?” He turned to me. “Time lag between replies gets longer every time we call up, Doc. We must be a million miles from Earth at least by now.”

  “Two million.” I corrected him.

  Eventually the report was passed and then Control asked to talk to Jet. He moved over to the radio. “Hullo, Captain Morgan,” said Control. “Message for you. Urgent. Concerning Whitaker, crew member of freighter ship Number Two.”

  "Oh?” exclaimed Jet. “Whitaker, did you say?” Yes. James E. Whitaker. Construction engineer, Freighter Number Two. Information needed on him by personnel records office. Date of birth. Place of birth. Nationality. Full personal description and details of all engineering qualifications and where obtained. End of message.”

  Jet looked puzzled. “Hullo, Control,” he called, “message received. What on earth do you want all that for? Records must have it already.”

  “What do they think we are,” interrupted Lemmy, “an information bureau?”

  “Sorry, Captain,” came the voice of Control; “I don’t write these messages, I only pass them on.”

  “Very well,” said Jet. “I’ll call you back in half an hour.”

  Lemmy switched off the main radio. “Call up Number Two, will you,” Jet asked him, “and get Whitaker.”

  The engineer replied to Lemmy’s call almost immediately.

  “Look, Whitaker,” said Jet, “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve had a message from Control about you.”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “I have to ask you a number of questions about yourself for personnel records.”

  Whitaker’s strangely flat, dull voice came back without hesitation. “All information about me can be found in my personal dossier down on Earth.”

  “Yes, yes, I realise that,” said Jet a little impatiently, “but for some reason Control insists on having it again. So are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, first I must have your full name.”

  “James Edward Whitaker.” Whitaker pronounced every word as though he had to think about it; slowly, with long gaps between each name.

  “Date of birth?”

  “12th September, 1940.”

  “Nationality?”

  “British.”

  “Place of birth?”

  “12th September, 1940.”

  Jet and Lemmy looked at each other in surprise. “No,” said Jet, “place of birth.”

  Whitaker’s voice now took on a peculiar quality. “British,” he said, rolling the ‘r’.

  “What’s he talking about?” asked Lemmy.

  Jet was not asking any questions now, but Whitaker continued to talk as though he were--and his voice got slower and flatter, with almost an ethereal quality. “James --Edward--Whitaker,” he said mechanically. “12th September, 1893.”

  At this I sat up in my bunk and Mitch, who had been poring over his tables, looked over towards the radio. “What’s happening over there, Jet?” he demanded. “Is Whitaker crazy or something?”

  “1893, he said,” replied Jet without looking round. “Hullo. Whitaker--Whitaker. . . .” But Whitaker didn’t reply. Not to Jet, anyhow.

  “12th September, 1893,” he repeated slowly.

  “Listen, Whitaker,” said Jet firmly; “put Rogers on.”

  “Rogers is asleep.”

  “Then wake him up.”

  “He cannot be woken.”

  “Wake him up, do you hear?” Jet commanded. There was no reply.

  “Hullo, Whitaker--hullo,” went on Jet. Discovery calling. Hullo--hullo . . .“

  “It’s no good, Jet,” said Lemmy. “He must have switched off.”

  Mitch and I had now walked over to where Jet and Lemmy were standing, tense and worried, in front of the radio. “What’s going on, Jet?” I asked.

  “I wish I knew,” replied the captain.

  “You don’t think Number Two’s radio has gone wrong again, do you?”

  “The ship-to-ship system never was wrong, Doc,” put in lemmy indignantly.

  “Then you’re quite sure it isn’t our radio that’s wrong?” “Soon see,” said Jet. “Hullo, Space Fleet,” he called. “Flagship calling Space Fleet. Number One, come in please.”

  The voice of No 1 came back immediately. “Hullo, Flagship. Freighter Number One replying. Hearing you loud and clear.”

  “Morgan here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you hear me talking to Number Two just now?” “Yes, sir.” “And you heard him reply?” “I certainly did.” “Thank you, Number One. That’s all for now.” “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that settles that. There’s nothing wrong with us. Switch on the televiewer, Doc. Let’s take a look at Number Two.”

  I moved over to the control. A few seconds later the televiewer screen glowed and showed the long line of ships stretching out below us. We could see No 2 quite clearly. She looked no different from any of the other freighters. She was in line, in perfect formation. We all looked at the screen in silence. Then Jet said: “I’d give anything to know what’s going on in there.”

  “Then why don’t we go across and see?” suggested Lemmy.

  “Use your sense, Lemmy,” said Mitch. “If we went across, how would we get inside? If they don’t hear the radio, how do we get them to open the door?”

  “If one of us banged on it with a wrench they’d hear that all right.”

  “I think it’s worth a try, Jet,” I put in. “We have no other way of contacting them.”

  “Very well then,” said Jet. “Lemmy, get my suit.”

  “Shall I get mine, too?” volunteered the Cockney.

  “No, stay here, Lemmy. Keep trying to contact them. Doc will see me safely across.”

  Chapter Four

  From my position close to the door I stood by as Jet made his way across to No 2, while back in the ship Mitch watched his progress on the televiewer. Meanwhile Lemmy was constantly calling the freighter on the radio, but with no result.

  When Jet reached the freighter’s tightly-closed main door he rapped on it with the wrench. But he had hardly begun knocking when a familiar voice was heard on the inter-comm.

  “Hullo, Discovery--Freighter Number Two Calling. Urgent. Come in please.” It was Frank Rogers.

  Lemmy immediately connected him to Jet and a few minutes later I heard Frank say: “Hullo, skipper. Have to report that Whitaker is sick. Very ill, I think.”

  “What? Then why didn’t you answer when we called?”

  “Have you been calling? I was asleep and . . .”

  “Asleep!” There was no mistaking the anger in Jet’s voice.

  “Yes, sir,” said Frank apologetically. “And when I woke up I found Whitaker flat out. I c
an’t rouse him.”

  “Listen to me, Frank,” said Jet sharply; “if you’re awake enough to get to the main door, open it and let me in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hullo, Doc,” Jet called to me.

  “Hearing you,” I told him.

  “Come over here, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” I replied, and unfastening the hook of Jet’s line from where it was secured to the ring near my feet I hooked it to my belt and, by way of No 1, hauled myself across. When I arrived at No 2 the main door was already open and Jet was waiting for me in the airlock. After the lock had been exhausted and the hatch opened Jet led the way up into the crew’s quarters.

  “Where’s Whitaker?” he asked as he reached floor level.

  “There,” was the reply.

  “Good grief!” I heard Jet say. “He’s still standing up!”

  By this time I, too, had climbed the ladder and stepped into the cabin. While I was removing my helmet I had time to take in the scene. Whitaker was standing near the control table in front of the radio and leaning to one side an angle of forty-five degrees.

  “Did you have to leave him like that, Frank?” asked Jet angrily.

  “It makes no difference whether he’s standing up or lying down, Jet,” I interrupted. “He’s unconscious just the same. Help me get him over to his bunk.” Although common sense told me Whitaker’s strange attitude was due to lack of gravity within the ship, I must admit that seeing him like that--his eyes half-open but lifeless--was uncanny.

  Jet untied Whitaker’s magnetic boots and between us we got him to his bunk. He appeared to be in a coma. His breathing was quite regular but his temperature was abnormally low.

  While I was still examining Whitaker, Jet questioned Frank. “Now,” he said, “let’s get to the bottom of this. Why didn’t you answer us when we called?”

  “If I’d known you were calling I would have,” replied Rogers.

  “But good heavens, man, the radio’s loud enough, isn’t it? Do you want an alarm clock, too?”

  “Well, no matter how loud it was, sir, I’m afraid it didn’t wake me.”

  “What time did you go to sleep?”

  “About two hours ago.”

  “Did you take a pill?”

  “No, Jet, but while I was sleeping...”

  “Well?”

  Frank swallowed, looked at the floor, hesitated a moment and then continued: “I had the most horrible dream. One of those nightmares when you know that if you don’t wake up something terrible will happen to you. I thought I was back on Earth but the funny thing was that . . .”

  “You don’t have to give me details of your dream,” broke in Jet impatiently. “What was Whitaker doing when you went to bed?”

  “Sitting at the radio, on watch.”

  “Did you notice anything odd about him then?”

  “No more than usual. He didn’t have a word to say.”

  By this time my examination had been completed and Jet moved over to the bunk. “Well, Doc?” he asked.

  “Still unconscious,” I told him.

  “Any idea why?”

  “No,” I said, “I can’t understand it at all. I can find nothing wrong with him but I can’t rouse him.”

  “If it’s just sleep, it must have come upon him very suddenly.”

  “It certainly did,” I replied. “Anyway, I don’t intend to leave him before he wakes again--and that might be hours. Perhaps you’d better go back to the Discovery.”

  “But that would mean Frank virtually running this ship on his own,” Jet protested. “You can’t share his watches and stay with Whitaker at the same time.”

  “I can manage for a few hours anyway, sir,” said Frank, trying to be helpful.

  “No, I have a better idea,” said Jet. “Do you think we could move Whitaker over to the Discovery?” he asked, turning to me. “We could keep an eye on him then without upsetting the watch routine.”

  I was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of Jet’s suggestion, but Frank received it enthusiastically. “He doesn’t weigh anything, sir,” he reminded us eagerly. “It would only be a matter of towing him across.”

  “Rogers,” I said, “you almost sound as though you’d be glad to get rid of him.”

  “Well . . . it’s not that, sir,” said Frank hesitantly.

  “Under the circumstances, Doc,” said Jet, “if we can move him I think we should.”

  “Very well,” I replied. “Give him an hour. If he doesn’t wake by then, I’ll consider it.”

  The hour passed slowly but at the end of it there was still no sign of life from Whitaker. He lay on his bunk, breathing a little heavily but otherwise not moving. Jet called up Mitch and told him to prepare to transfer to No 2. Once Mitch was outside the Discovery, Jet and I, carrying Whitaker between us, were hauled across and when we reached our own ship Mitch pushed off towards the freighter.

  Back in the flagship we removed Whitaker’s suit and laid him on Mitch’s bunk. We had hardly done this when the chief engineer called up from No 2 to say he was safely aboard. At that moment there was a moan from Whitaker id Jet hurried to my side.

  “He’s waking,” I told him. A second later Whitaker’s eyes opened. He looked around him in surprise and tried to sit up.

  “Here,” I said, “get this down. It’ll make you feel better.” But he refused the little flask I offered. “Where am I?” he asked quietly.

  “You’re aboard the Discovery,” I told him. “How did I get here?”

  “Doc and I went over to your ship and brought you back,” said Jet.

  “And what was I doing all that time?”

  “Sleeping,” I said. “At least, that’s what you appeared to be doing.”

  “Can’t a man sleep without he has to be hauled from one ship to another?” he asked almost angrily.

  “Now take it easy,” said Jet; “you fell asleep standing on your feet. That’s not natural.” “Under gravity-less conditions?”

  “What I mean is, you fell asleep in the middle of talking to me.”

  “Oh, yes;” Whitaker paused a moment as he cast his mind back. “I remember. Records had lost my dossier.”

  “I didn’t say so. I merely said that they wanted information about you.”

  “Do they still want it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get it over with.”

  “I’d rather you waited a bit, Jet,” I suggested; “at least until I’ve given him a thorough look over.”

  “Ask your questions, Captain Morgan,” said Whitaker flatly and apparently disinterested.

  “No,” said Jet, “you’ll stay where you are until Doc considers you’re fit to get up. Later I’ll have you transferred to another freighter.”

  “I’m not going back to Number Two?”

  “No.”

  “But Number Two is my ship. I must go back to it.”

  “I’m sorry, Whitaker, but under the circumstances that is impossible. You and Rogers don’t get along too well. One of you has to be moved.”

  “Then let it be Rogers. He’s the one who complains.”

  “Whitaker,” said Jet firmly, “if I decide to move you, you’ll move, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jet lowered his voice. “All right, Doc, he’s all yours. I’ll question him later.”

  “Sure, Jet,” I said.

  Whitaker ‘rested’, much against his will, for six hours. At the end of that time the only report I could give Jet was that he was fit and well again, physically at any rate. In due course Jet got the information he required and had it radioed back to Base.

  As to the cause of the strange, deep sleep that had so suddenly overtaken Whitaker, I was none the wiser, nor, apparently, was he. But, if I learned nothing else, after spending an hour or more in his company I could appreciate how difficult Frank Rogers had found him. There was some indefinable--well--’atmosphere’--surrounding Whitaker that made me uneasy just to be near him. />
  When Whitaker was fit enough to take up his duties again and began moving around the cabin, Jet and Lemmy noticed his strangeness, too. Tension in the ship began to mount and then, less than twenty-four hours after Whitaker had joined us, something happened that drove all thoughts of his behaviour from our minds.

  A report came through from Freighter No 5. Every ship took its turn at radar watch and No 5 had just started its two-hour vigil when Grimshaw, one of its crew, made a startling discovery.

  “Unless I’ve gone crazy, sir,” The Canadian was saying excitedly, “there’s something pretty solid in front of us. And it lies right across our path.”

  “How strong are the signals?” Jet asked him.

  “Very faint, but they’re there, skipper.”

  “All right, Number Five,” said Jet. “Keep constant watch, will you? I’ll get the other ships to see if they can pick up anything.”

  A few minutes later we were getting signals on our own radar and as more reports came in it became obvious that the object which blocked our path, whatever it was, was colossal.

  ‘What do you may of it, Doc?” Jet asked me after the series of reports had been received.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “It could be a cloud of meteors or even tiny asteroids. How far are we from it now?”

  “Well, I estimate we’ll reach it in about twenty-one hours, if we stay on our present course.”

  “Then don’t you think we should notify Control and see what they have to say?”

  “Yes,” said Jet; “perhaps we should.”

  It was more than four hours (by which time Lemmy had retired to his bunk) before we received a reply to our urgent message, and then all Control could say was: “Unable to say with certainty what the object is. Possibility that it may be one of these things: meteor swarm, comet dust or a cloud of ionised gas. If either of the first two, suggest evasive action be taken as soon as practicable. If ionised gas, you can expect to pass through it safely with no adverse results other than a temporary upsetting of electronic equipment. Please keep us fully informed. End of message.”

  “Well,” said Jet, “with regard to the first two objects they’re much the same thing and equally as dangerous. But if it is ionised gas then we can take a chance and plunge straight through it.”