Journey Into Space

by Charles Chilton

  “But,” objected Lemmy, who had not yet grasped the full implications of what Jet had told him, “unless we find the Earth we’re done for. And it shouldn’t be too difficult to find,” he added. “One of those stars out there must be our Sun.”

  “Oh sure, but how do we find out which?” I asked.

  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “by the constellations. Yeah, that’s it. All we’ve got to do is identify a few star groups, deduce our position from them and them. . . .”

  “Not a hope,” broke in Jet. “Look at the screen. See the stars drifting by? Thousands of them. Can you pick any given constellation out of that lot?”

  “I can’t,” said Lemmy, “but I’m only the radio operator.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t either,” said Jet gently. “We’ll never find our way home that way.”

  “And the constellations as seen from here,” I broke in, “right among them, as it were, look very different from what they do on Earth--unrecognisable.”

  Mitch had recovered sufficiently to take an active part in the discussion. “Even if we do get our bearings,” he said, “how do we take the ship out of the course she’s in and put her on the right one? At the speed we’re travelling, I don’t think cutting in the motor would make any difference.”

  “You mean we haven’t a chance?” asked Lemmy. “No hope at all?”

  “Not of getting back home,” said Jet.

  “But how did this happen?” asked Lemmy pathetically. “What caused it? Less than an hour ago we were quietly coasting above the Moon’s surface, minding our own business, and now look at the mess we’re in.”

  “Lemmy,” said Jet kindly, “none of us knows how this happened. All we can be sure of is that those ships had something to do with it. Somehow they must have increased our speed, and carried us faster and farther than man has ever dreamed he could go.”

  “Then where are those perishing ships?” Lemmy demanded angrily. “Why don’t they show themselves? Where do they think they’re taking us?”

  “We don’t know that they’re taking us anywhere.”

  “Here, wait a minute,” said Lemmy, as a thought struck him. “They said they came from the other side of the Universe, didn’t they? Maybe that’s where we’re going.”

  “You mean,” asked Mitch, “that in one go they’ve swept us right out of our solar system and smack into the middle of eternity?”

  “Yes,” said Lemmy.

  “Whatever that may be,” I murmured. “But we must be going somewhere,” he insisted. “Lemmy,” said Jet, “the Universe is vast. It’s on the cards that we’ll never land up anywhere.”

  “Eh?”

  “I mean it.”

  “But that’s impossible. Look at all those stars out there. Even if we just go drifting aimlessly on we’re bound to meet up with one of them in the end.”

  “Every one of those stars is a million times bigger than this ship. They have been drifting out there in space for millions upon millions of years, and in all that time only an infinitesimal number have ever actually collided. So what are our chances?”

  “Millions of years?” asked Lemmy.

  “Yes,” said Jet.

  “How much oxygen have we got?”

  “Enough for little more than four and a half days,” I told him.

  There was a pause. “Silly, isn’t it?”

  “You could look at it that way,” I said.

  “Those--things,” Lemmy went on, “those ships or whatever they are, told us, through Mitch, that there were thousands of planetary systems in the universe, all teeming with life.”

  “There probably are.”

  “Well, if we can leave our own in such a hurry, aren’t we liable to meet up with another just as quick, maybe the very one those ships come from themselves?”

  “We might at that,” said Jet thoughtfully. “We might do anything. We just don’t know. All we do know is that we are somewhere out in space, zooming through the Milky Way at a speed probably as fast as that of light.”

  “And even if we did come across another--solar system,” I said, “what are the chances of its planets being suitable for us to land on and, assuming they are, of our being able to survive on them?”

  “Not great,” said Mitch.

  In our own solar system, only the Earth, so far as modern knowledge can ascertain, is capable of supporting life as we know it. Mercury is so close to the Sun that, on that planet, lead would be kept in a molten state. Venus, also, is far too hot to be comfortable and, in any case, her atmosphere contains insufficient oxygen to support any kind of life. Mars? Well, his case is, perhaps, an open question; but even there the atmosphere is so thin and oxygen content so low that the chance of anything existing other than a primitive plant life is extremely remote. Life on Jupiter, Saturn or any of the far distant planets would be frozen out of existence. If, of all the planets revolving round the Sun, only the Earth is blessed with life, what chance was there of finding it among the planets of any other solar system?

  For us to remain alive on another planet, it would have to resemble the Earth very closely--to have reached the same point in its life cycle. The chances were that it would not. Assuming that we were lucky enough to run up against another solar system and that we passed close enough to one of its planets to attempt a landing, we would almost certainly find it to be either in its early molten state or so far advanced as to be a barren, dead world, like the Moon. Its atmosphere could be poisonous to us--it might have no atmosphere at all. It could be so large, and its gravitational pull so great that we couldn’t even stand up--or so small that we would jump fifty feet in the air at every step. It could be waterless --of entirely covered with water. There is no end to the varied conditions, and combination of conditions; there was no chance at all of finding the right one.

  Lemmy looked at his feet. “Not very encouraging, is it?” he said slowly.

  “I’m afraid we’ve all got to face up to it,” said Jet firmly. “We’re helpless, absolutely helpless. No idea where we are or what direction we are travelling in and, even if we knew, powerless to exert any kind of control whatever over the ship.”

  “I’d sit down and make out my will,” said Lemmy, “but there’d be nobody to read it.”

  “To think that our attempt to conquer such a small part of the universe should have resulted in this,” said Jet. “An endless journey through eternity.”

  “That’s what comes of meddling with things we don’t understand,” said Lemmy. “We should have stayed at home, where life was worth living.”

  “There’s no use in crying over it now,” Jet replied. “We’ll have to do something if only to keep our reason.”

  “Well, you’re the captain,” said Mitch. “Anything you say.”

  Jet took a deep breath. “For a start we’ll carry out normal routine, check the equipment, call up base on the radio.”

  “What good will that do?” said Lemmy disconsolately. “According to you there’s no radio wave could leave Earth fast enough to catch up with us.”

  “Even so there’s no sense in sitting back and brooding over our position. We’ll carry on until we . . . until. . . . Lemmy, get to that radio.”

  “Yes, Jet.”

  “Mitch, as soon as you feel well enough, check the motor, fuel gauges, everything.”

  “Right,” said Mitch.

  “I’ll check the radar and keep televiewer watch for the next hour. Doc.”

  “Yes, Jet?”

  “You’ll keep a log, just as you did during the long wait on the Moon. Now get started, all of you.”

  Lemmy went back to his radio, Jet took the televiewer and Mitch, still feeling very groggy, got slowly off his bunk and walked, rather awkwardly, towards the engineering panel. I sat down at the side of the control table next to Lemmy and took out my pencil.

  November 20th, 1965, Earth time [I wrote]. It is now more than two hours since we found ourselves in these new and frightening circumstances. How we
got here, what really caused it, we shall never know. The fact remains we are somewhere within the galaxy of which the Sun is a member. We deduce this from the fact that innumerable stars are constantly visible on the screen. We are like a ship at sea, drifting, only our chance of ever making land at all must be negligible. For we are adrift in space, maybe destined to wander round the Universe forever, helplessly, hopelessly, a tiny speck of humanity lost in a vast, hostile nothingness. Everybody goes about his normal duties as though toe were coasting back from the Moon towards the Earth and home, as indeed, but for this fantastic, stupendous trick of fate, we would be. Mitch periodically checks the motor, fuel tanks, oxygen supply and air-conditioner. Lemmy stays at the radio, trying and hoping to get some kind of contact with somebody, somehow. Jet remains at the televiewer, transfixed, hoping that, in spite of everything, something will appear on it to give us some hope, a straw to clutch.

  I was distributing food rations when Jet, who was still at the televiewer, excitedly called to all of us to join him in front of the screen. There, almost filling the frame, was a globe, shining brightly in the reflected light of its parent sun. I was so surprised I could hardly believe my eyes. “When did you pick that up?” I asked him.

  “Just a moment ago,” he said. “Last time I passed this position there was nothing, but when I rotated this time, there it was as large as life.”

  “How did we come to miss it before?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Doc,” said Jet.

  “It wouldn’t be the Moon, would it?” suggested Lemmy hopefully.

  “If it was,” said Jet, “we’d probably see the Earth, too.”

  “Do you think we’re going to hit it?”

  “Unless we take some action to avoid it. Get over to the radar, Doc. See if you can calculate our speed of approach.”

  “Yes, Jet.” I set to work. As I took the readings I could hear Mitch, Jet and Lemmy discussing the object on the screen.

  “It has an atmosphere,” Mitch was saying, “no doubt about that.”

  “Yes,” said Jet, “but what is it composed of?”

  “But it is a planet,” I said, “an island in a limitless ocean, and we’re heading straight for it. It’s a chance in a million, our only hope.”

  “You mean we should attempt a landing on it?” asked Lemmy.

  “Why not?” agreed Jet. “If we’re going to die anyway, it might as well be on that, whatever it is, as out here in nothing.”

  “But,” protested Lemmy, “we have no idea what’s on it, who’s on it. Think what you’re doing.”

  “We haven’t much time to think. An hour and we’ll either have crashed into it or passed it by, then it will be too late.”

  “Well, I’m all for taking the chance,” said Mitch. “Let’s try to land.”

  “Right,” said Jet. “Procedure will be the same as it would have been for landing on Earth.” And with that he climbed into the pilot’s compartment, put on his helmet, tested the intercom system and made ready to steer the ship through the planet’s atmosphere.

  “Lemmy,” he said, “stay with the televiewer, will you? If you notice anything odd about that planet as we get nearer, give a yell.”

  “What else?” replied Lemmy, laconically.

  We were now so close to the globe that half of it filled the screen.

  “Jet,” called Lemmy, after looking intently at the picture for a few moments, “there’s a kind of bright reflection at the top of the globe, like custard over a Christmas pudding.”

  “An ice cap,” came back Jet’s voice. “Like the North and South poles of the Earth, but bigger, much bigger.”

  “Then we can’t land there, can we?”

  “No, but nearer the equator it will be warmer.”

  “Seem to be a lot of cloud areas,” said Mitch, “and thick, too.”

  “All to the good,” said Jet. “At least that indicates there’s moisture down there.”

  “Water?” asked Lemmy.

  “I hope so. If it isn’t. . .” he broke off. “All right, Doc,” he called. “As soon as you have anything worked out, let me have it, will you?”

  “Right,” I told him. “Won’t be long now.”

  With Mitch’s help, our velocity and height were eventually calculated. So far as we could tell, we were about 17,000 miles above the surface of the planet and our speed was approaching 10,000 mph. This, strangely, was exactly what our height and speed would have been if we had been approaching the Earth after taking off from the Moon. We passed the information on to Jet and waited for further orders.

  After a minute or so Lemmy had fresh ideas as to the identity of the planet. “I suppose this couldn’t be the Earth, could it?” he asked, somewhat diffidently.

  “How could it,” said Mitch, irritably.

  “It’s got land, water, clouds and ice caps.”

  “It isn’t the Earth,” said Mitch, “that’s certain.”

  “From here it looks as though our best bet for landing will be to treat it as though it were,” came Jet’s voice. “Get to your posts and stand by for landing procedure.”

  Less than two hours later we were gliding through the upper layers of the atmosphere of this strange planet. Suddenly there came an exclamation from up in the pilot’s cabin.

  “What is it, Jet?” I asked.

  “The wings,” he came back, “they’re red hot. We must have entered the atmosphere at at least 15,000 mph and we can’t be doing much less than that now.”

  “Estimated height, 50 miles; speed, 14,500,” confirmed Mitch from the control table.

  “Right,” said Jet, “I’ll hold her to 50 miles for as long as I can. The atmosphere’s resistance will slow us down and with luck we’ll make a safe landing. At least we’re the right way up and on a steady course.”

  We were now heading across the pole. Fortunately we were going too fast to have to consider landing on the ice, and we estimated that we would be well on our way towards the equator before we were anywhere near slow enough to touch down.

  “You’d better convert the couches to sitting position,” ordered Jet. “As soon as you’ve done that, train the televiewer on the surface directly below. Then between us we can select a good landing place--if there is one.”

  By the time we had left the ice behind, our estimated height was only 20 miles and our speed 750 mph. We were now passing over the sea. After a few minutes there came another shout from Jet. “I can see land now,” he said, “way on ahead and slightly to port. I’m going to turn and head towards it.” Lemmy and I kept our eyes glued to the televiewer screen.

  “Height, 25,000 feet,” said Mitch, “speed 180 miles per hour.”

  “Check,” said Jet.

  Soon the land came into view. It was mountainous. “Blimey,” said Lemmy, “doesn’t look very friendly, does it? About as good a spot for landing as the Swiss alps. Wonder if it’s all like this--a planet of mountains?”

  “Do you see any end to them, Jet?” asked Mitch.

  “No,” said Jet slowly, “I don’t. They stretch clear to the horizon.”

  “Blast!”

  “Some of those mountains must be 20,000 feet high at least,” said Lemmy in alarm. “We’ll hit ‘em for sure unless we cut in the motor and rise again.”

  “It may come to that yet,” said Jet.

  “But it would be such a waste of fuel,” protested Mitch.

  “So what difference does it make?” argued Lemmy. “We’re never going to take off again anyway. Once we’ve landed, we’re stuck here forever. There’s nowhere else to go.”

  We continued our glide in silence. There was nothing but rocks and mountains, not even a tree. “Perhaps,” said Lemmy, “trees don’t even grow here. Perhaps nothing grows here.”

  Suddenly Jet announced that he thought we were coming to the end of the mountain range. Valleys were becoming deeper and the lower slopes of some of them had a greenish tinge.

  “Is it grass, Doc?” asked Lemmy.

&nbs
p; “I wouldn’t like to say from this height.”

  “Could be a kind of moss or lichen,” suggested Mitch.

  “Is that good?” asked Lemmy.

  “Well, it shows some kind of life can exist here,” I said.

  “It does?”

  “But it may be the only life. We were told to expect lichen even on the Moon.”

  “Oh.”

  “But these mountains are high, Doc,” put in Mitch. “That’s about the only kind of life that could survive on them. Maybe there are more advanced forms lower down,”

  “Always supposing there is a lower down,” said Lemmy.

  “If you ask me, this planet is nothing but mountains and sea.”

  But Lemmy was wrong, as Jet’s excited voice told us less than a minute later. “Hey, Mitch, Doc, Lemmy,” he called, “there’s a great stretch of flat country ahead.”

  “What does it look like?” I enquired.

  “I can only see it in little patches,” replied Jet. “It’s covered by cloud, stacks of it.”

  “Then what makes you so sure the country under there is flat?” Lemmy wanted to know.

  “If it wasn’t, I’d see the mountains jutting up through the cloud. If there’s anywhere we can land, I think it’s there.”

  “Well, if there’s any chance,” said Mitch, “so far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better.”

  “Right,” said Jet; “here we go.”

  Soon the country that Jet had been describing was in full view on the televiewer screen. It was level all right, and we could easily have made a landing if the whole area had not been covered with forest. But Jet had not given up yet. Visibility wasn’t all that good and the cloud was thicker and lower than he’d expected, but he thought he could keep under it without hitting the ground. Our height was 1000 ft. Our speed, 90 mph.

  We waited, over-optimistically, perhaps, for Jet’s next report. “It’s no good,” he said, “nothing but trees. We’ll have to rise again. Get above this cloud and find somewhere else.”

  Mitch was preparing to cut in the motor when Jet shouted, “Wait, hold on a minute. There’s a gap way ahead, like a great area of the forest has been cleared--and cultivated.”