“Though no one was very keen on the idea, we decided we ought to have at least one good look at the night land. We had to move the ship about a hundred miles to get clear of the twilight zone, and we landed on a low, flat hill a few miles from an interesting-looking range of mountains. We spent an anxious twenty-four hours before we were sure that it was safe to stay. The rock on which the ship was standing had a temperature of minus three hundred and fifty degrees, but our heaters could handle the situation. Even without them on, the temperature in the ship dropped very slowly, because there was a near vacuum around us and our silvered walls reflected back most of the heat we’d lose by radiation. We were living, in fact, inside a large thermos flask, and our bodies were also generating quite a bit of heat.
“Still, we couldn’t learn much merely by sitting inside the ship; we had to put on our space suits and go out into the open. The suits we were using had been tested pretty thoroughly on the moon during the lunar night, which is almost as cold as it is on Mercury. But no test is ever quite like the real thing. That was why three of us went out. If one man got into trouble, the other two could get him back to the ship—we hoped.
“I was in that first party. We walked slowly round for about thirty minutes, taking things easily and reporting to the ship by radio. It wasn’t as dark as we’d expected, thanks to Venus. She was hanging up there against the stars, incredibly brilliant and casting easily visible shadows. Indeed, she was too bright to look at directly for more than a few seconds, and then, using a filter to cut down the glare, one could easily see the tiny disk of the planet.
“The earth and moon were also visible, forming a beautiful double star just above the horizon. They also gave quite a lot of light, so we were never in complete darkness. But neither Venus nor earth gave the slightest heat to this frozen land.
“We couldn’t lose the ship, because it was the most prominent object for miles around and we’d also fixed a powerful beacon on its nose. With some difficulty we broke off a few small specimens of rock and carried them back with us. As soon as we took them into the air lock, an extraordinary thing happened. They became instantly covered with frost, and drops of liquid began to form on them, dripping off to the floor and evaporating again. It was the air in the ship condensing on the bitterly cold fragments of stone. We had to wait half an hour before they had become sufficiently warm to handle.
“Once we were sure that our suits could withstand the conditions in the night land, we made longer trips, though we were never away from the ship for more than a couple of hours. We hadn’t reached the mountains yet—they were just out of range. I used to spend a good deal of time examining them through the electronic telescope in the ship. There was enough light to make this possible.
“Then, one day, I saw something moving. I was so astonished that for a moment I sat frozen at the telescope, gaping foolishly through the eyepiece. Then I regained enough presence of mind to switch on the camera.
“You must have seen the film. It’s not very good, of course, because the light was so weak. But it shows the mountain wall with a sort of landslide in the foreground and something large and white scrabbling round the rocks. When I saw it first it looked like a ghost and I don’t mind saying that it scared me. Then the thrill of discovery banished every other feeling, and I concentrated on observing as much as I could.
“It wasn’t a great deal, but I got the general impression of a roughly spherical body with at least four legs. Then it vanished, and it never reappeared.
“Of course, we dropped everything else and had a council of war. It was lucky for me that I’d taken the film, as otherwise everyone would have accused me of dreaming. We all agreed that we must try and get near the creature: the only question was whether it was dangerous.
“We had no weapons of any kind, but the ship carried a flare pistol which was intended for signaling. If it did nothing else, this should frighten any beast that attacked us. I carried the pistol, and my two companions—Borrell, the navigator, and Glynne, the radio operator, had a couple of stout bars. We also carried cameras and lighting equipment in the hope of getting some really good pictures. We felt that three was about the right number for the expedition. Fewer might not be safe and—well, if the thing was really dangerous, sending the whole crew would only make matters worse.
“It was five miles to the mountains, and it took us about an hour to reach them. The ship checked our course over the radio and we had an observer at the telescope, keeping a search in the neighborhood so that we’d have some warning if the creature turned up. I don’t think we felt in any danger; we were all much too excited for that. And it was difficult to see what harm any animal could do to us inside the armor of our space suits as long as the helmets didn’t get cracked. The low gravity and the extra strength that it gave us added to our confidence.
“At last we reached the rock slide and made a peculiar discovery. Something had been collecting stones and smashing them up; there were piles of broken fragments lying around. It was difficult to see what this meant, unless the creature we were seeking actually found its food among the rocks.
“I collected a few samples for analysis while Glynne photographed our discovery and reported to the ship. Then we started to hunt around, keeping quite close together in case of trouble. The rock slide was about a mile across, and it seemed that the whole face of the mountain had crumbled and slid downward. We wondered what could have caused this, in the absence of any weather. Since there was no erosion, we couldn’t guess how long ago the slip had occurred. It might have been a million years old—or a billion.
“Imagine us, then, scrambling across that jumble of broken rocks, with Earth and Venus hanging overhead like brilliant beacons and the lights of our ship burning reassuringly down on the horizon. By now I had practically decided that our quarry must be some kind of rock-eater, if only because there seemed no other kind of food on this desolate planet. I wished I knew enough about minerals to determine what substance this was.
“Then Glynne’s excited shout rang in my earphones.
“‘There it is!’ he yelled. ‘By that cliff over there!’
“We just stood and stared, and I had my first good look at a Mercurian. It was more like a giant spider than anything else, or perhaps one of those crabs with long, spindly legs. Its body was a sphere about a yard across and was a silvery white. At first we thought it had four legs, but later we discovered that there were actually eight, a reserve set being carried tucked up close to the body. They were brought into action when the incredible cold of the rocks began to creep too far up the thick layers of insulating horn which formed its feet or hoofs. When the Mercurian got cold feet, it switched to another pair!
“It also had two handling limbs, which at the moment were busily engaged in searching among the rocks. They ended in elaborate, horny claws or pincers which looked as if they could be dangerous in a fight. There was no real head, but only a tiny bulge on the top of the spherical body. Later we discovered that this housed two large eyes, for use in the dim starlight of the night land and two small ones for excursions into the more brilliantly illuminated twilight zone—the sensitive large eyes then being kept tightly shut.
“We watched, fascinated, while the ungainly creature scuttled among the rocks, pausing now and again to seize a specimen and smash it to powder with those efficient-looking claws. Then something that might have been a tongue would flash out, too swiftly for the eye to follow, and the powder would be gobbled up.
“‘What do you think it’s after?’ asked Borrell. ‘That rock seems pretty soft. I wonder if it’s some kind of chalk?’
“‘Hardly,’ I replied. ‘It’s the wrong color and chalk’s only formed at the bottom of seas, anyway. There’s never been free water on Mercury.’
“‘Shall we see how close we can get?’ said Glynne. ‘I can’t take a good photo from here. It’s an ugly-looking beast, but I don’t think it can do us any harm. It’ll probably run a mile as soon as it sees us.
’
“I gripped the flare pistol more firmly and said, ‘O.K.—let’s go. But move slowly, and stop as soon as it spots us.’
“We were within a hundred feet before the creature showed any signs of interest in us. Then it pivoted on its stalklike legs and I could see its great eyes looking at us in the faint moonglow of Venus. Glynne said, ‘Shall I use the flash? I can’t take a good picture in this light.’
“I hesitated, then told him to go ahead. The creature gave a start as the brief explosion of light splashed over the landscape, and I heard Glynne’s sigh of relief. ‘That’s one picture in the bag, anyway! Wonder if I can get a close-up?’
“‘No,’ I ordered. ‘That would certainly scare it or annoy it, which might be worse. I don’t like the look of those claws. Let’s try and prove that we’re friends. You stay here and I’ll go forward. Then it won’t think we’re ganging up on it.’
“Well, I still think the idea was good, but I didn’t know much about the habits of Mercurians in those days. As I walked slowly forward the creature seemed to stiffen, like a dog over a bone—and for the same reason, I guessed. It stretched itself up to its full height, which was nearly eight feet, and then began to sway back and forth slightly, looking very much like a captive balloon in a breeze.
“‘Come back!’ advised Borrell. ‘It’s annoyed. Better not take any chances.’
“‘I don’t intend to,” I replied. ‘It’s not easy to walk backward in a space suit, but I’m going to try it now.’
“I’d retreated a few yards when, without moving from its position, the creature suddenly whipped out one of its arms and grabbed a stone. The motion was so human that I knew what was coming and instinctively covered my visor with my arm. A moment later something struck the lower part of my suit with a terrific crash. It didn’t hurt me, but the whole carapace vibrated for a moment like a gong. For an anxious few seconds I held my breath, waiting for the fatal hiss of air. But the suit held, though I could see a deep dent on the left thigh. The next time I might not be so lucky, so I decided to use my ‘weapon’ as a distraction.
“The brilliant white flare floated slowly up toward the stars, flooding the landscape with harsh light and putting distant Venus to shame. And then something happened that we weren’t to understand until much later. I’d noticed a pair of bulges on either side of the Mercurian’s body, and as we watched they opened up like the wing cases of a beetle. Two wide, black wings unfurled—wings, on this almost airless world! I was so astonished that for a moment I was too surprised to continue my retreat. Then the flare slowly burned itself out, and as it guttered to extinction the velvet wings folded themselves and were tucked back into their cases.
“The creature made no attempt to follow, and we met no others on this occasion. As you can guess, we were sorely puzzled, and our colleagues back in the ship could hardly credit their ears when we told them what had happened. Now that we know the answer, of course, it seems simple enough. It always does.
“Those weren’t really wings that we’d watched unfold, though ages ago, when Mercury had an atmosphere, they had been. The creature I’d discovered was one of the most marvelous examples of adaptation known in the solar system. Its normal home is the twilight zone, but because the minerals it feeds on have been exhausted there it has to go foraging far into the night land. Its whole body has evolved to resist that incredible cold. That is the reason why it’s silvery white, because this color radiates the least amount of heat. Even so, it can’t stay in the night land indefinitely, but has to return to the twilight zone at intervals, just as on our own world a whale has to come up for air. When it sees the sun again, it spreads those black wings, which are really heat absorbers. I suppose my flare must have triggered off this reaction—or maybe even the small amount of heat given off by it was worth grabbing.
“The search for food must be desperate for nature to have taken such drastic steps. The Mercurians aren’t really vicious beasts, but they have to fight among themselves for survival. Since the hard casing of the body is almost invulnerable, they go for the legs. A crippled night-lander is doomed, because he can’t reach the twilight zone again before his stores of heat are exhausted. So they’ve learned to throw stones at each other’s legs with great accuracy. My space suit must have puzzled the specimen I met, but it did its best to cripple me. As I soon discovered, it succeeded too well.
“We still don’t know much about these creatures, despite the efforts that have been made to study them. And I’ve got a theory I’d like to see investigated. It seems to me that, just as some of the Mercurians have evolved so that they can forage into the cold of the night land, there may be another variety that’s gone into the burning day land. I wonder what they’ll be like?”
The commander stopped talking. I got the impression that he didn’t really want to continue. But our waiting silence was too much for him, and he carried on.
“We were walking back slowly to the ship, still arguing about the creature we’d met, when suddenly I realized that something had gone wrong. My feet were getting cold, very cold. The heat was ebbing out of my space suit, sucked away by the frozen rocks beneath me.
“I knew at once what had happened. The blow my suit had received had broken the leg heater-circuits. There was nothing that could be done until I got back to the ship and I had four miles still ahead of me.
“I told the others what had happened and we put on all the speed we could. Every time my feet touched the ground I could feel that appalling chill striking deeper. After a while all sensation was lost; that at least was something to be thankful for. My legs were just wooden stumps with no feeling at all, and I was still two miles from the ship when I couldn’t move them anymore. The joints of the suit were freezing cold.
“After that my companions had to carry me, and I must have lost consciousness for a while. I revived once while we were still some way from the end of that journey, and for a moment I thought I must be delirious. For the land all around me was ablaze with light. Brilliant colored streamers flickered across the sky and overhead, waves of crimson fire marched beneath the stars. In my dazed state, it was some time before I realized what had happened. The Aurora, which is far more brilliant on Mercury than on the earth, had suddenly decided to switch on one of its displays. It was ironic, though at the time I could scarcely appreciate it. For, although the land all around me seemed to be burning, I was swiftly freezing to death.
“Well, we made it somehow, though I don’t remember ever entering the ship. When I came back to consciousness, we were on the way back to earth. But my legs were still on Mercury.”
No one said anything for a long time. Then the pilot glanced at his chronometer and exclaimed, “Wow! I should have made my course check ten minutes ago!” That broke the suspense, and our imaginations came rushing back from Mercury.
For the next few minutes the pilot was busy with the ship’s position-finding gear. The first space navigators had only the stars to guide them, but now there were all sorts of radio and radar aids. One only bothered about the rather tedious astronomical methods when a long way from home, out of range of the earth stations.
I was watching the pilot’s fingers flying across the calculator keyboard, envying his effortless skill, when suddenly he froze over his desk. Then, very carefully, he pecked at the keys and set up his calculations again. An answer came up on the register, and I knew that something was wrong! For a moment the pilot stared at his figures as if unable to believe them. Then he loosened himself from the straps holding him to his seat and swiftly moved over to the nearest observation port.
I was the only one who noticed. The others were now quietly reading in their bunks or trying to snatch some sleep. There was a port only a few feet away from me and I headed for it. Out there in space was the earth, nearly full—the planet toward which we were slowly falling.
Then an icy band seemed to grip my chest and for a moment I completely stopped breathing. By this time, I knew, earth should alr
eady be appreciably larger as we dropped in from the orbit of the hospital. Yet unless my eyes deceived me, it was smaller than when I had last seen it. I looked again at the pilot, and his face confirmed my fears.
We were heading out into space.
9 THE SHOT FROM THE MOON
“Commander Doyle,” said the pilot, in a very small voice. “Will you come here a minute?” The commander stirred in his bunk.
“Confound it, I was nearly asleep!”
“I’m sorry, but—well, there’s been an accident. We’re—we’re in an escape orbit.”
“What!”
The roar woke up everyone else. With a mighty heave, the commander left his bunk and headed for the control desk. There was a rapid conference with the unhappy pilot; then the commander ordered: “Get me the nearest Relay Station. I’m taking over.”
“What happened?” I whispered to Tim Benton.
“I think I know,” said Tim, “but wait a minute before we jump to conclusions.”
It was almost a quarter of an hour before anyone bothered to explain things to me, a quarter of an hour of furious activity, radio calls, and lightning calculations. Then Norman Powell, who like me had nothing to do but watch, took pity on my ignorance.
“This ship’s got a curse on it,” he said in disgust. “The pilot has made the one navigation error you’d think was impossible. He should have cut our speed by point nine miles a second. Instead, he applied power in exactly the wrong direction and we’ve gained speed by that amount. So instead of falling earthward, we’re heading out into space.”
Even to me, it seemed hard to imagine that anyone could make such an extraordinary mistake. Later, I discovered that it was one of those things, like landing an aircraft with wheels up, that it isn’t as difficult to do as it sounds. Aboard a spaceship in free orbit, there’s no way of telling in which direction and at what speed you’re moving. Everything has to be done by instruments and calculations, and if at a certain stage a minus sign is taken for a plus, then it’s easy to point the ship in exactly the wrong direction before applying power.
Islands in the Sky (Arthur C. Clarke Collection) Page 11