The Red Planet

by Charles Chilton

  “Yes,” said Mitch. “It’s Number Six! The reason it looks globular in shape is that its crew cabin is facing us and the rest of the structure is blocked out.”

  “Let me get at that telescope,” demanded Jet. He peered into it steadily for a few minutes. At last he said: “Mitch is right. She’s still very small but no other object in the heavens could look like that. And we’re overtaking her rapidly. In an hour or so we’ll be passing her.”

  “I’ll say we will,” said Mitch, “at a thousand miles an hour.”

  “Not if we slow down,” said Jet. “We could drop down to her speed and coast alongside her.”

  “What--the whole Fleet?” protested the engineer. “Think of the fuel consumption.”

  “No,” said Jet, “not the whole Fleet. Just us--the Discovery.” Then, as Mitch looked at him blankly, he added, almost pleadingly: “Look, Mitch. Whitaker is aboard that ship. I want to know why he went speeding off on his own, and why he sent us that stupid message that was supposed to be from Control. Above all, I want to know what’s happened to Peterson.”

  “All right,” said Mitch. “If that’s what you say we do, we do it.”

  Leaving the Fleet in the care of Frank Rogers, the pilot of Freighter Number Two, Jet gave us our orders for turning the Discovery over, which was necessary before we could bring the motor into play and slow the ship down. It was an extremely tricky manoeuvre but we managed it and soon we were coasting alongside the wayward freighter. We looked at her image on the televiewer but nothing we saw gave us any clue as to what drama might be taking place aboard her.

  “All right, Doc,” Jet said to me at last, “put your suit on.”

  “Eh?” said Lemmy. “Now wait a minute, Jet. You don’t intend going over there, do you? Not before you know everything’s all right in that ship?”

  “What other choice have we, Lemmy?”

  “But the door isn’t even on this side. Before you reach it you’ll have to pass out of our sight.”

  “The personal radios will be on. You can talk to us.”

  “Well, if you say so,” Lemmy agreed reluctantly. “But I tell you, mate, I don’t like it. It may be a trick just to get you in there.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Jet told him. “Doc,” he said to me as I finished fastening my suit, “let’s go.”

  “Hatch opening,” said Lemmy resignedly, and pressed the control.

  There was a click, a hiss of air and the circular door which led to the airlock slowly opened.

  Our manoeuvre of slowing down the Discovery and bringing her alongside Number Six had been carried out so well that less than fifty yards separated the two ships. It was, consequently, an easy matter for Jet and I to drift over to the freighter and secure ourselves to it. To reach the main door, however, it was necessary for us to walk round the hull. Jet led the way.

  We climbed over the ship and down the other side while Mitch gave us a commentary on how we looked from the Discovery. Of course, as we neared the far side we were lost to Mitch’s view and he announced the fact the moment we disappeared. Then came an exclamation of surprise from Jet.

  “Good heavens, Doc,” I heard him say over the radio, “the main door’s open!”

  “What?” said the startled voice of Mitch in my ear-piece.

  Jet repeated what he had said and then waited for me to arrive alongside him. Together we slowly made our awkward way down towards the door. It was open all right and the light inside the airlock was on.

  “Can you find the remote control switches, Doc?” Jet asked me as I followed him into the tiny chamber.

  “Yes, I’ve got them,” I told him.

  “Well, see if they’re functioning.”

  I pressed the button and could feel the vibration as the door slowly closed behind us.

  “Well,” observed Jet, “at least the power packs in this ship are in working order.”

  As soon as the door was shut I pressed the air contact and the lock filled up. We watched the little gauge near the control panel steadily rise with the air pressure. “OK, Doc,” said Jet, when it had reached maximum, “open the hatch.”

  The circular door above our heads slowly folded back and we were bathed in a beam of light that shone down from the cabin above.

  Jet and I looked at each other. We knew all too well that the noise of the hatch opening must have been heard by anyone in the freighter cabin; but nobody came to greet us. “Let’s go up there, Doc,” said Jet at last.

  “Watch your step, cobber.” It was Mitch’s voice coming over the radio. He could, of course, hear every word Jet and I were saying.

  Once in the tiny cabin we looked around us. As far as we could tell, the place was empty. There was no sign of Peterson or Whitaker. It was uncanny.

  “But they must be here somewhere,” said Jet.

  “Not necessarily,” I told him. “The main door was open. They might have abandoned ship.”

  “But why? Unless they wanted to commit suicide.”

  “Having Whitaker as a crew mate,” I reminded him, “might have driven Peterson to do just that.”

  “Then where is Whitaker? He should be here at least.”

  “Yes, I guess so,” I admitted.

  “Hullo, look at this!” said Jet suddenly. He pointed to a number of empty food containers most of which were strewn all over the table, although one or two were still floating in mid-air.

  “What a mess!”

  “Check up on the oxygen supply and air conditioning. I’ll check the main control panel.”

  After a few minutes I was able to say that everything seemed to be in order in my department, but Jet reported the main fuel tanks empty.

  “They must have used it up when they put on a spurt to get away from the rest of the Fleet,” I suggested.

  “Yes, and somebody must also have slowed the ship down again,” said Jet, “otherwise we would never have caught up on her. And I’d say that somebody was Whitaker.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but what was Peterson doing meanwhile?”

  “Heaven knows. Let’s get over to the radio panel and take a look at the log.”

  There we found a further mess; recording tape was strewn all over the floor. “Try and get it back on to the spool, Doc,” Jet said. “Later we’ll play it back.”

  While I was sorting out the tape, which was quite a complicated business as it was terribly tangled, Jet called up the Discovery on the ship-to-ship system. Mitch’s voice replied immediately, indicating that at least Number Six’s radio was working well.

  “What’s going on over there, Jet?” Mitch asked.

  “Everything’s in chaos,” Jet told him. “Half-eaten meals on the table, recording tape all over the floor--and no sign of the crew.”

  “Do you think they’ve abandoned ship?”

  “If they have they must have been stark, raving mad, both of them,” replied Jet. “I’ll call you later, Mitch. OK?”

  “OK,” said Mitch, “I’ll keep a listening watch.”

  Jet moved away from the radio to where I was still trying to disentangle the tape. “Looks like a long job,” he said.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “All right,” he said, “while you’re sorting that lot out I’ll do a bit of investigating on my own. I’ll look in the personal lockers first. See if they hold any clues.” But Jet had no sooner opened the door of Peterson’s locker when he let out an exclamation of surprise. “Hey, Doc. Peterson’s suit --it’s gone!”

  I moved over to Jet’s side of the cabin, a long piece of tape in my hand, to see for myself. Sure enough the locker which should have contained Peterson’s suit was empty.

  “Maybe they had some trouble outside,” I suggested, “went out to fix it--and drifted off.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Why not, Jet?”

  “Because that would more or less put Peterson in league with Whitaker. But the last we heard from Peterson he was yelling for help.”
>
  “Well, maybe. But at-the same time everything points to their having gone outside for some reason or other. The main door open--the suit missing.”

  Jet didn’t answer, but moved to the second locker which, of course, was Whitaker’s. He jerked the door open, took a quick glance inside, and then turned and looked steadily at me. “Just as I thought,” he said, slowly. “Whitaker’s suit is still here. Look, Doc,” he went on, “I’m going down into the cargo hold. One of them, both of them even, might be there.”

  “Right. But make sure the air pressure’s up to full before you open the cargo hatch.”

  “I’ll watch it, Doc,” he said.

  Jet was gone for about fifteen minutes, during which time I was able to straighten out the bulk of the tape and rewind it on to the spool. I did not play it back as I knew Jet would like to hear it at the same time as I did. So, first ascertaining by the personal radio that Jet was OK, I began a systematic search of the crew’s quarters. I examined the motor panel, the radio panel, the log books, the stowage lockers, the mess on the table; in fact, pretty well everything.

  Finally I moved over to one corner of the cabin where, set into the floor, was a circular, transparent plate which gave access to the inspection hold. Situated on the wall near the hatch was a light switch. I turned it on and looked through the glass into the hold.

  What I saw down there had me yelling for Jet to come back into the cabin immediately. A couple of minutes later he was at my side. “We’d better open her up, Doc,” he said at once.

  “Where’s the switch?” I asked. “I’m not familiar with the controls on these freighters.”

  “On the main control panel. Bottom left. Blue section.”

  I moved over to the panel, found the switch and turned it on. The inspection hatch cover slipped to one side, and Jet lost no time in descending the ladder which led to the bottom of the hold.

  Chapter Eight

  What I had seen was the body of a man. It was lying on the floor all of a heap and it was difficult to tell whether, whoever it was, was alive or dead.

  Jet turned the still form over and supported it in the crook of his arm. It was Whitaker. A cursory examination told me that, although he had been badly beaten up, especially about the head, he was still breathing.

  “Let’s get him up into one of the bunks,” Jet suggested. That was quite an easy operation as Whitaker, like everything else in the ship, weighed virtually nothing. Between us we guided him up the ladder, gently floated him towards his bunk, pushed him down on it and strapped him in. While I gave Whitaker a thorough examination, Jet went back to the cargo hold to continue his search. It was some time before he got back. Although he searched the place from top to bottom and had even been down into the tank inspection hold, there was no sign of Peterson.

  “Then we’ll have to accept the fact that he left the ship,” I said.

  “But why?” asked Jet. “He must have known he’d never be picked up, not in a million years. He must have known he was stepping out to certain death.”

  “There are an awful lot of things which need explaining, Jet. Why the cabin is in such chaos and how Whitaker came to be lying down in the inspection hatch with multiple head injuries.”

  “How is he, Doc?”

  “In a bad way. The base of the skull is fractured and there’s a considerable amount of haemorrhage.”

  “Is he still unconscious?”

  “Yes--and if he ever regains it I’ll be very surprised. He’ll need constant watching. Shouldn’t be left for a moment. And I need supplies.”

  “How about the medical locker?”

  “It doesn’t amount to much more than a first-aid outfit. I’ll have to have one of my kits brought over from the Discovery.”

  “Or take Whitaker over there?”

  “No, Jet,” I said, “he’s too ill. To move him that far might well prove fatal.”

  “In that case, I’ll have Mitch bring across all you need. I was going to ask him to come over, anyway.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, so far as I can tell, the ship’s in full working order, but only Mitch can confirm my belief that the motor is still usable. If it is we can salvage the ship.”

  “OK,” I said. “When you’ve finished talking to Mitch maybe I could have a word with him.”

  “Sure, Doc.”

  “So you decided to call up at last,” said Mitch when Jet contacted him. “Don’t you realise the Fleet is now seven thousand miles ahead? If we don’t catch up with them soon they’ll get to Mars without us.”

  “That’s just what I’m calling up about, Mitch. Peterson has disappeared. The crew’s quarters over here are in a shocking state but the power packs are working; so is the air supply and radio--and the motor’s OK so far as I can tell. But I need you to give it a thorough inspection.”

  ‘You want me to come over there, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, Jet. Who’ll be coming back--you or Doc?”

  “Neither. I’ve got to tidy up the place.”

  “Couldn’t Doc do that?”

  “He’s too busy with Whitaker who’s too sick to be moved.”

  “Oh. You mean you intend leaving Lemmy here alone? Maybe for hours?”

  “It won’t hurt him.”

  I suppose it was about two hours later that Mitch came up from the inspection hold to give his report on the motor.

  Apparently it was all right and there was enough fuel in the reserve tank to give her the necessary acceleration and enable us to overtake the rest of the Fleet.

  “That’s good news, Mitch,” said Jet. “We’d better get back to Discovery and prepare to turn the ships over.”

  “Both of us?” queried Mitch. “You can’t expect Doc to stay and handle a manoeuvre like that alone.”

  “There are only two takeoff couches in here,” Jet reminded the engineer, “and Whitaker is already occupying one of them. And Doc must stay with Whitaker. Firing can be controlled from the Discovery. He should manage quite easily.”

  Jet, unaware that I had heard every word of this conversation, moved over to where I was sitting by Whitaker’s bunk. But before he could speak I said: “I’m sorry, Jet, but if the motors are fired I can’t hold myself responsible. The pressure that Whitaker would be subjected to would kill him for sure.”

  “But we’ve got to catch up on the Fleet sometime soon,” protested Mitch. “They must be ten thousand miles ahead of us by now.”

  “That’s for Jet to decide,” I said, “but as medical officer I must put my point of view.”

  “The acceleration wouldn’t be all that great, Doc,” said Jet, obviously very worried, “four gravities at most.”

  “Too much,” I said. “In his present condition I doubt if he could stand even two.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” said Mitch flatly. “Do we put the whole Fleet in jeopardy for the sake of one man who’s given us nothing but trouble since we took off, tried to get us to abandon the trip and go back, and killed one of his own crew mates into the bargain?”

  “We’ve got no proof that he killed Peterson,” said Jet quietly.

  “Look, Jet,” Mitch argued, “let’s face the facts.”

  “I am facing them, Mitch,” replied the Captain. “If Doc says Whitaker is too ill to stand the pressure, then I must take his word for it. We wait. Either until Whitaker is fit again or until time compels me to overtake the Fleet. And meanwhile you can figure out what that time is likely to be.”

  “OK,” said Mitch, resignedly. “Where do they keep the navigational tables in this ship?”

  “Same place as in any other. In the locker under the control table.”

  Mitch went over to the other side of the cabin and sat down. At that very moment there came a sigh from the bunk.

  “Jet,” I called quietly, “come over here. I think Whitaker is coming round.” The sick man moaned.

  “What did he say?” asked Jet, as he came over to the bunk.

>   “I didn’t quite catch it,” I replied.

  “Leave me alone.” The words were quite distinct now.

  “But nobody’s touched him, Doc,” said Jet. He put his hand on the engineer’s shoulder. “Whitaker. Whitaker,” he said gently. “Can you hear me? This is Captain Morgan.”

  “Turn back. Turn back,” said Whitaker. “You must turn back. I can fight them, but you can’t.”

  Jet turned to me. “What’s he talking about, Doc?”

  “I wouldn’t try to make sense of it, Jet,” I told him. “He’s delirious.”

  “You do not know the power they have.” It was Whitaker again. “I defy you. Do you hear? I defy you!” The last three words were shouted.

  I rubbed his brow gently with my hand and quietly called his name. This seemed to soothe him for, although he continued breathing heavily, he didn’t raise his voice again. He merely said: “I must go back. Back to my wife and children.”

  “Has he a wife and children, Doc?” Jet asked.

  “If he has,” I said, “this is the first time he’s ever mentioned them.”

  Whitaker rambled on. “They’ve gone to the Exhibition,” he said. “Everybody’s going.”

  At this moment Lemmy’s voice called from the radio. Apparently it -was time for routine inspection and for the Discovery to call in the Fleet reports. “Somebody had better come over here soon, Jet,” said Lemmy. “You can’t expect me to keep watch on the radio, radar and televiewer and inspect every part of the ship as well. It’s a big enough job for the four of us.”

  “They’re running a special train from Baker Street,” said Whitaker.

  “Eh? What was that, Jet?” asked Lemmy.

  “It’s all right,” said Jet quickly. “I’m sorry to have left you alone for so long. I’ll attend to it.”

  “Will somebody be coming back, then? If so, I’ll tell Number One to hold his report until they do.”

  “One of us will be coming across in just a few minutes.”

  “Right,” replied the Cockney. “Incidentally, Jet, how’s Whitaker?”

  “They must turn back. I must tell them to turn back.” Whitaker was shouting again now.

  “Still in pretty bad shape, I’m afraid.”