This same question of atmosphere would decide whether or not sound could be heard. If the Moon was in absolute vacuum, there would probably be utter silence — unless cosmic or solar rays were capable of transmitting sounds. On the other hand, even a slight atmosphere should make sound faintly audible. Portable radio was being taken so that they would at least be able to converse.
Such problems as these, said the Professor, would be resolved in the first few minutes of their arrival. They would, of course, have to proceed with the greatest caution. First, the pressure inside the cabin would be gradually reduced to allow the air to escape. This would have to be done before the door was opened. A sudden outrush of air would have painful, and possibly fatal, results. With Tiger standing beside him ready to pull him back inside should he appear to be in difficulties, the Professor would take a step outside.
Judkins would be at
the oxygen valve ready to recharge the cabin promptly should it be evident that something had gone wrong.
It transpired that the Professor had already decided on the spot where the landing would be made. He pointed it out on a photograph. On the side facing the Earth there was a narrow valley between two ranges of mountains, not far, Rex noted, from one of the several green areas that happened to be adjacent to the ' tracks '.
There were, it turned out, several reasons for this decision. In the first place, at the time of their arrival the valley would be just within the zone of the sunrise. The freezing temperatures of night would, therefore, be giving way to the first warming rays of the distant Sun. It was not so much a question of it being light or dark, for there would in any case be enough earthlight - light reflected from the Earth - for them to see what they were doing. It was a precaution to avoid the extremes of both heat and cold. Another reason was, the floor of the valley appeared to be either sand or gravel. The Professor said he was anxious not to stir up a lot of dust which, in a low gravity, might be a long time settling. There certainly would be a lot of dust on the Moon, for a great amount of rock must have been decomposed by recurring extremes of heat and cold.
They talked at some length about the track-like marks. If these did turn out to be tracks it meant that there had at some time been life on the Moon. If there had ever been life, argued the Professor, there was a fair chance that some of it had survived. In that case, whatever the creatures turned out to be, they would be highly specialized to endure the particular conditions to which they were exposed. They need expect nothing like earthly creatures. By the same token, went on the Professor, an inhabitant of the Moon, should there be one, would think dwellers on Earth, if ever they saw them, highly specialized to meet their particular conditions - as, of course, they are.
'If these are tracks,' said the Professor, tapping the photographs with his ruler, 'either they were made when the ground was very soft - as it still may be - or the creature must have been of great weight. The depth of them, enabling us to see them, indicates one or the other. As I have already explained, weight as we know it here has little relation to weight on the Moon. A creature weighing, say, a hundred pounds on earth, would only weigh about twenty pounds on the Moon. Thus, if these tracks were on the Earth, and we estimate that a weight of five hundred pounds was necessary to make such deep imprints, then a beast on the Moon, to produce the same result, would have to weigh - by our scale of measurement - more than a ton. That needn't surprise us. After all, a ton weight was nothing in the heyday of the great lizards that once roamed the Earth. But again, weight doesn't necessarily imply size. On the Moon quite a small beast might well have developed what we should call excessive weight, in order to move about easily. We, with our muscles adjusted to the Earth's gravity, should be able to jump enormous heights and distances - not that I would advise anyone to indulge in such experiments.'
One thing the photographs did was settle the old argument about a castle on the Moon.
There was a place where the rock had crumbled to a fair likeness to battlements; but there was no castle, or any other building.
A point almost of irritation with the Professor was that, in spite of the pictures, he was still unable to find proof-positive as to the cause of the craters, and more particularly, their 'rays' - the long white streaks that radiated from them like spokes from the hub of a wheel.
'We all saw them very distinctly,' he said on one occasion. 'Has nobody an explanation to offer? I confess myself defeated.'
Rex answered. 'May I make a guess?'
'Certainly.'
'I feel more certain than ever that those craters were caused by colossal explosions, greater even than those of our atomic bombs,' said Rex, with a conviction that surprised them. If you look at a photograph of an atom bomb bursting — you know, one of those awful mushrooms — you'll see that everything is being sucked up in the middle to make what one might call the stalk of the mushroom. An explosion of that sort might make the lump which we can see in the middle of all the craters.'
Very good, Rex. Go on. What about the rays?'
'I'd say the rays were the result of the explosion bursting right through the crust of the Moon so that whatever was inside boiled up and overflowed; lava, for instance, might have splashed out. Liquid rock would harden to form pumice stone, which is practically white. That's why the rays stand out so
The Professor, looking at Rex over his glasses, nodded. That explanation is certainly as convincing as any I've heard. You may have made a contribution to astronomy.'
For the rest, the latest batch of photographs revealed little that they did not know. Both sides of the Moon showed the same harsh features. The question as to whether there was any actual surface water was still a debatable point. There were certain flat areas that looked as if they might be water; for in the absence of wind water would appear as motionless as ice. The movement that Rex had seen, or thought he had seen, could be accounted for in only one way. The crater contained either mud or water which had been disturbed by gas rising from below. This supported the Professor's view that there was a little air of some sort on the Moon, although it might turn out to be carbon dioxide.
The other big subject that came up for discussion during the days of preparation was provided by the newspapers. Not only had the Spacemaster been seen again but it had become a topic for the wildest speculation.
There had been some criticism of the government for allowing unknown aircraft to operate in British air space. This seemed to upset the Professor to an extent beyond its implications.
'As if the government can do anything about it,' he exclaimed irritably.
'We seem to live in an age of fear which expresses itself in a public outcry on every possible occasion.
What do they mean by air space? Can a country expect to own all space beyond the atmosphere? Ridiculous. When we were in free orbit any country could have said we were in its air space. Very soon someone will lay claim to the Moon.'
'Aren't you going to claim it if you're the first to land?' ,asked Rex.
'Certainly not. In the notes I have prepared, which will be handed with my photographs to the Royal Society should I fail to return from one of my voyages, I suggest that an international agreement should be reached forthwith making solar bodies public property
— always supposing that they are not already occupied. You will observe that the Glasgow Bulletin, a Scottish paper, states that the Spacemaster was last seen low over Scotland. For that, no doubt, we may thank the jet pilot who nearly collided with us. I only hope that does not lead to us being tracked down by some inquisitive busybody.'
The question is, after all, one of national importance,' protested Tiger.
'You understate the case,' declared the Professor trenchantly. 'You, my dear Group Captain, in view of your own work, should realize better than most people the terrifying possibilities of the Spacemaster. You must perceive that the country that controls it rules the world. No country can defend itself from attack beyond the atmosphere. That is why, as I have already told yo
u, I have taken precautions to ensure that the ship never falls into hands other than mine.'
'What about the plans?'
'There are no plans except those I carry in my head. What you see on the table here are sketches of minor constructional details. No. I am taking no chances of anyone else building a cosmobile.
What do you suppose one would be worth to Russia at this moment?'
'But there's no fear of it falling into Russian hands.'
'There's every fear. Do you suppose that these newspaper reports are passing unheeded behind the Iron Curtain? Be quite sure that the best spies Moscow can muster have been given assignments to get to the bottom of these reports. Now that Scotland has been named, it is not unlikely that some may turn up here.'
'If you feel like that about it why not hand the whole thing over to the British government?'
The Professor threw up his hands in despair. 'Surely the fact that enemy spies have penetrated the most closely-guarded atomic research stations, both in Britain and America, is sufficient proof that no government can hope to keep its secrets any longer.
That, if you must know the truth, is why I decided that this particular secret was safer here with me, alone, unknown, and unsuspected. That is why there are no plans. Only the machine can yield its secret, and heaven help the man who tries to get away with that.'
The Professor sat down heavily. 'But let us not distress ourselves with these fears. A few more weeks and my work will be finished. Tomorrow is the great day, so let us go to bed and be ready for an early start.'
'How long do you expect to stay on the Moon?' asked Rex.
'That will depend on the conditions we find there. If they are intolerable our stay will obviously be very short. On the other hand, given reasonable conditions, we may be some time. It doesn't matter when we return as long as it is dark, which will lessen the risk of our being seen. For the same reason I shall leave before dawn.'
It was on the tip of Rex's tongue to remind the Professor that he and Tiger had seen the red cross landing lights from high ground on the night they had been lost, and what they had seen others might see. But Tiger put a question so the opportunity passed.
'Do we put on our cosmosuits before we start or when we get there?' was Tiger's question.
'I don't think there's any need for us to incommode ourselves on the way out,' answered the Professor thoughtfully. 'There should be no great effort in donning them on arrival —
before we release the pressure, of course. We shall have a certain amount of weight, otherwise it could be a tricky business. I have given the matter some thought and Judkins has already put our suits in the machine.
Now to bed.'
9 The valley of disbelief
The start was made shortly before dawn the following morning in an atmosphere that might best be described as subdued. As everyone was aware, this was to be the crucial test, and there would be dangers attending the undertaking. The risks had not been enlarged upon, but obviously they were there. For the first time they were embarking on a voyage from which, should anything go wrong, there could be no return and no hope of rescue. At some future date the next space travellers would perhaps find the remains of the Spacemaster and honour them with a memorial, thought Rex lugubriously, as, the acceleration period past, the spacecraft annihilated distance between Earth and its lonely satellite.
The outward flight on this occasion was without incident. They met no meteors, saw no traces of hydrogen. Travelling at escape velocity, with the neutralization zone passed, the ship began to fall towards its objective, which appeared precisely as they had last seen it.
Not that any change was expected.
The final approach, Rex noticed, was made from a different angle. For this he was prepared, for the Professor had explained that in order to avoid the direct rays of the Sun, which might make the ship uncomfortably hot near ground that had been exposed to them for fourteen Earth days, he would drop in from the 'night' side; that is to say, from a direction that would put the Moon between them and the rising Sun. It would be cold, he predicted, but would soon warm up as the Sun crept over the Moon's horizon, giving them enough daylight, as opposed to the dim earthlight, to see what they were doing. If the heat increased too rapidly, and threatened to scorch them, they would have to retire.
There was no alternative, for to land on the dark side of the Moon would be to invite frostbite, which would be as unpleasant as being roasted.
The atmosphere in the Spacemaster became tense as the scene of desolation, its outlines hardening, came up to meet them - or appeared to come, for the ship was, of course, actually dropping on the Moon. Rex could make out the valley, with its supposed gravel bottom, that was to be the point of contact. The dull green areas, he observed, ran into the valley a little way. There were also some wide black areas, as if the ground had been charred. A sense of weight became perceptible.
The Professor stood up for a better view. Nobody spoke. The jets were roaring, their thrust directed at the ground to break the ship's fall.
Already it was evident that the Professor's remarks concerning the probability of dust were correct. The 'wind' created by the ship's exhaust could be seen making a sandy cyclone. The Sun, an enormous ball with a feathery edge, appeared to be balanced on the horizon. Its light, striking the peaks of the mountains, turned them to points of fire.
Rex held his breath during the last few dramatic seconds. The jets died.
The gravel came up. There was a gentle scrape ... a soft thud. Movement stopped. Silence fell.
The Professor turned. His face was pale with emotion. 'Gentlemen,' he said 'we are on the Moon. For this moment I have worked unceasingly for most of my life. Forgive me if I seem a trifle agitated. Please remain seated while I make preliminary tests of the external conditions. While you are waiting it might be a good moment to have a sandwich.' He got busy with his instruments, first using the spectroscope, that remarkable device which, by separating light waves into their different colours (the spectrum), can determine the heat, density, and chemical composition of even the most distant stars.
It was about twenty minutes before he announced his findings. 'There is an atmosphere,' he stated, 'but it is so thin that as far as we are concerned it can be ignored. I find definite traces of hydrogen and oxygen, and, less distinctly, nitrogen, argon, neon and carbon dioxide, all of which are known on Earth; but even here, at ground level, the total density is much less than on the top of Mount Everest, so it is no use to us. We will now put on our suits. Without them it would be fatal to release the air in the cabin, and nothing more can be done without releasing it. I am afraid it's rather chilly, but the temperature should fall no lower. On the contrary it may soon get too warm for us.'
The operation of dressing occupied nearly half an hour. The Professor satisfied himself that all suits were properly adjusted, with radio and oxygen apparatus in order. Then, turning to the pressure release-valve, he gave it a turn or two. Above the faint hiss of the escaping air the radio voice in Rex's helmet ordered: 'Pressurize yourselves to suit your own comfort. Warn me instantly if dizziness or difficulty in breathing is experienced.'
Breathing in the manner of gas-mask drill Rex manipulated his oxygen apparatus and had the curious experience of watching his suit expand like a tyre being inflated. He found no difficulty in breathing, but, as he had discovered at the rehearsal, the sensation could not be called comfortable. The awkwardness would, the Professor had said, wear off as they became accustomed to it.
Tiger now fastened a cord to the Professor's belt, and the Professor advanced to the exit panel. 'Pull me back if I appear to be in difficulties,' he requested. 'Should that happen, close the door and Judkins will recharge the cabin.' He unscrewed the panel. Judkins stood with a hand on the oxygen valve.
The door burst open in a way that showed that a certain amount of pressure had remained in the cabin. The Professor stood on the top step, paused, then went on down. Turning, he raised a hand stiffly
to the salute, either to show that all was well or as a gesture to indicate that the conquest of lunar flight was now an established fact. Or he may merely have made a respectful salutation to the New World.
Judkins remained on watch while Tiger and Rex joined the Professor on the ground. To Rex this proceeding was not as strange as he had expected it to be, possibly because he was unable to believe that he was actually standing on the Moon. Except that he seemed very light on his feet he might have been standing on any shingle beach at home. Apart from the absence of any movement — and the fact that the 'Moon' — which was now the Earth — had suddenly grown much larger, the effect was no different.
The Professor beckoned, and at a curious bouncing gait began to walk stiffly towards the nearest patch of green, some thirty or forty yards away. Even before they reached it Rex saw that it was vegetation of a sort. So, apparently, did the Professor, for he let out a little cry of delight. 'Life!' he exclaimed. 'How wonderful!'
At first sight there was nothing particularly wonderful about it, thought Rex. But still, as the Professor had said, it was life; vegetable life; and there was a world ot difference between life, in a form no matter how primitive, and death.
The growth turned out to be a low-growing, vicious-looking form of cactus, each plant consisting of a small rosette of thick, stiff, bayonet-like leaves, pointing outwards and upwards. Some of the plants bore a small, vivid scarlet flower. Another, similar, fleshy plant, flat on the ground, bore minute white flowers. They reminded Rex of a picture he had once seen of plants growing in a desert somewhere — he couldn't remember where.
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