Prelude to Space (19 page)

“We will leave the ship in couples, roped together, while one remains aboard to relay
messages back to Earth. Our spacesuits carry air for twelve hours, and will insulate
us against the whole range of temperatures encountered on the Moon—that is, from boiling
point to a couple of hundred degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. Since we’ll be there
during the daytime, we won’t run into the low temperatures unless we stay in shadow
for long periods.

“I can’t hope to mention all the work we intend to do during our week on the Moon,
so I’ll merely touch on some of the highlights.

“First of all, we’re taking some compact but very powerful telescopes and hope to
get clearer views of the planets than have ever been possible before. This equipment,
like much of our stores, will be left behind for future expeditions.

“We are bringing back thousands of geological—I should say ‘selenological’—samples
for analysis. We’re looking for mineral containing hydrogen, since once we can establish
a fuel extraction plant on the Moon, the cost of voyages will be cut to a tenth or
even less. More important still, we can start thinking of trips to the other planets.

“We’re also taking a good deal of radio gear. As you know, the Moon has enormous possibilities
as a relay station and we hope to investigate some of these. In addition we shall
be making all sorts of physical measurements which will be of the greatest scientific
interest. One of the most important of these is the determination of the Moon’s magnetic
field in order to test Blackett’s theory. And, of course, we hope to get a splendid
collection of photographs and films.

“Sir Robert has promised you that I’m going to ‘let my hair down.’ Well, I don’t know
about that but you may be interested in what I, personally, think the lines of development
will be in the next decade or so.

“First of all, we have to establish a semi-permanent base on the Moon. If we’re lucky
in our first choice, we may be able to build it where we make our initial landing.
Otherwise we’ll have to try again.

“Quite extensive plans have been drawn up for such a base. It would be self-contained
as far as possible, and would grow its own food supplies under glass. The Moon, with
its fourteen days continuous sunlight, should be a horticulturist’s paradise!

“As we learn more about the Moon’s natural resources, the base will be expanded and
developed. We expect mining operations at an early date—but they will be to provide
materials for use on the Moon. It will be far too expensive to import any but very
rare substances to Earth.

“At the present time, journeys to the Moon are extremely costly and difficult because
we have to carry fuel for the return trip. When we can refuel on the Moon, we shall
be able to use much smaller and more economical machines. And, as I remarked just
now, we’ll be able to go to the planets.

“It sounds paradoxical, but it’s easier to make the forty-million-mile journey from
a lunar base to Mars than it is to cross the quarter of a million miles between Earth
and Moon. It takes much longer, of course—about two hundred and fifty days—but it
doesn’t take more fuel.

“The Moon, thanks to its low gravitational field, is the stepping-stone to the planets—the
base for the exploration of the solar system. If everything goes smoothly, we should
be making plans for reaching Mars and Venus about ten years from now.

“I don’t propose to speculate about Venus, except to say that we’ll almost certainly
make a radar survey of her before we attempt a landing. It should be possible to get
accurate radar maps of the hidden surface, unless her atmosphere is very odd indeed.

“The exploration of Mars will be very much like the exploration of the Moon in some
respects. We may not need spacesuits to go around in, but we’ll certainly need oxygen
equipment. The Martian base will be up against the same problems as the Lunar one,
though in a much less acute form. But it will have one disadvantage—it will be a long
way from home and will have to rely much more on its own resources. The almost certain
presence of some kind of life will also affect the settlement in ways we can’t predict.
If there
is
intelligence on Mars—which I doubt—then our plans may have to be changed completely;
we may not be able to stay there at all. The possibilities as far as Mars is concerned
are almost endless; that’s why it’s such an interesting place.

“Beyond Mars, the scale of the solar system opens out and we cannot do much exploring
until we have faster ships. Even our ‘Prometheus’ could reach the outer planets, but
she couldn’t get back and the journey would take many years. However, by the end of
the century, I believe we may be getting ready to go to Jupiter and, perhaps, Saturn.
Very probably these expeditions will start from Mars.

“We cannot of course hope to
land
on those two planets: if they have solid surfaces at all, which is doubtful, they
are thousands of miles down beneath an atmosphere we dare not enter. If there is any
form of life inside those subarctic infernos, I don’t see how we can ever contact
it—or how it can ever know anything about us.

“The chief interest on Saturn and Jupiter lies in their systems of moons. Saturn has
at least twelve, Jupiter at least fifteen. What’s more, many of them are fair-sized
worlds—bigger than our Moon. Titan, Saturn’s largest satellite, is half as big as
Earth, and it’s known to have an atmosphere, though not a breathable one. They are
all very cold indeed, but that is not a serious objection now that we can get unlimited
quantities of heat from atomic reactions.

“The three outermost planets won’t concern us for quite a long time to come—perhaps
fifty years or more. We know very little about them at the moment, in any case.

“That’s all I’m going to say now. I hope I’ve made it clear that the journey we’re
taking next week, though it seems so tremendous by our present standards, is really
only the first step. It’s exciting and interesting, but we must keep it in its true
perspective. The Moon’s a small world, and in some ways not a very promising one,
but it will lead us eventually to eight other planets, some bigger than the Earth,
and more than thirty moons of various sizes. The total area we’re opening up for exploration
in the next few decades is at least ten times that of the land surface of this planet.
That should provide room for everybody.

“Thank you.”

Taine stopped abruptly, without any rhetorical flourishes, like a broadcaster caught
out by the studio clock. There was dead silence in the hut for perhaps half a minute
as his audience came slowly back to earth. Then there was a polite trickle of applause,
which slowly grew as more and more of Taine’s listeners discovered that they were
still standing on the solid ground.

The reporters, stamping their feet and trying to restore their circulations, began
to file out into the open. Dirk wondered how many had realized, for the first time,
that the Moon was not a goal but a beginning—the first step upon an infinite road.
It was a road, he now believed, along which all races must travel in the end, lest
they wither and die upon their little, lonely worlds.

For the first time one could now see the “Prometheus” as a whole. “Alpha” had at last
been hoisted into position upon “Beta’s” broad shoulders, giving her a somewhat ugly,
hunch-backed appearance. Even Dirk, to whom all flying machines looked very much alike,
could not now have confused the great ship with anything else that had ever ridden
the skies.

He followed Collins up the ladder of the movable gantry for his last look at the interior
of the spaceship. It was evening and there were few people about. Beyond the warning
ropes some photographers were trying to get shots of the machine with the sun going
down behind it. The “Prometheus” would make an impressive sight silhouetted against
the fading glory of the western sky.

“Alpha’s” cabin was as bright and tidy as an operating theater. Yet there were personal
touches: here and there articles which obviously belonged to the crew had been stowed
away in niches where they were firmly secured with elastic bands. Several pictures
and photographs had been pasted against convenient walls, and over the pilot’s desk
a plastic frame carried a portrait of (So Dirk assumed) Leduc’s wife. Charts and mathematical
tables had been secured at strategic spots where they could be quickly consulted.
Dirk suddenly remembered, for the first time in days, his visit to the training mock-up
in England, where he had stood before this same array of instruments in a quiet London
suburb. That seemed a lifetime ago, and more than half a world away.

Collins walked over to a tall locker and swung open the door.

“You haven’t seen one of these before, have you?” he asked.

The three flaccid spacesuits hanging from their hooks looked like creatures of the
deep sea, dredged up from the darkness into the light of day. The thick, flexible
covering yielded easily at Dirk’s touch, and he felt the presence of reinforcing metal
hoops. Transparent helmets like large goldfish bowls were secured in recesses at the
side of the locker.

“Just like diving suits, aren’t they?” said Collins. “As a matter of fact, ‘Alpha’
is more like a submarine than anything else—though our design problems are a lot easier,
as we haven’t such pressures to contend with.”

“I’d like to sit in the pilot’s position,” said Dirk abruptly. “Is it all right?”

“Yes, as long as you don’t touch anything.”

Collins watched with a slight smile as the other settled himself down in the seat.
He knew the impulse, having yielded to it himself more often than once.

When the ship was under power, or standing vertically on the Moon, the seat would
have swung forward through a right angle from its present position. What was now the
floor beneath Dirk’s feet would then be the wall in front of him, and the periscope
eyepiece which his boots now had to avoid would be conveniently placed for his use.
Because of this rotation—so unfamiliar to the human mind—it was hard to capture the
sensations which the ship’s pilot would have when he occupied this seat.

Dirk rose and turned to go. He followed Collins in silence to the airlock, but paused
for a moment at the thick oval door for a last look around the quiet cabin.

“Good-bye, little ship,” he said in his mind. “Goodbye—and good luck!”

It was dark when they stepped out on to the gantry, and the floodlights spilled pools
of brilliance upon the concrete below. A cold wind was blowing, and the night blazed
with stars of which he would never know the names. Suddenly Collins, standing in the
gloom beside him, caught his arm and pointed silently to the horizon.

Almost lost in the faint afterglow of the sunset, the two-day-old sickle of the New
Moon was sliding down into the west. Clasped in its arms was the dimly luminous disk
which still awaited the advent of day. Dirk tried to picture the great mountains and
the wrinkled plains still waiting for the sun to rise upon them, yet already ablaze
with the cold light of the almost full Earth.

Millions upon millions of times the Earth had waxed and waned above the silent land,
and only shadows had ever moved upon its face. Since the dawn of terrestrial life,
perhaps a dozen craters had crumbled and decayed, but it had known no other change
than this. And now at last, after all these ages, its loneliness was coming to an
end.

Two days before take-off, Luna City was probably one of the calmest and least agitated
spots on Earth. All preparations had been completed except the final fueling and some
last-minute tests. There was nothing to do except wait until the Moon moved to its
appointed place.

In the great newspaper offices all over the planet, sub-editors were busily preparing
their headlines, and writing possible alternative stories which could be quickly trimmed
to fit all but the most stubborn facts. Perfect strangers in buses and trains were
liable to swap astronomical knowledge at the slightest provocation. Only a very spectacular
murder was likely to receive the attention it normally commanded.

In every continent, long-range radar sets were being tuned up to follow “Alpha” on
its journey into space. The little radar beacon aboard the spaceship would enable
its position to be checked at every moment of the voyage.

Fifty feet underground at Princeton University, one of the world’s greatest electronic
computers was standing by. Should it be necessary for any reason for the ship to change
its orbit, or to delay its return, a new trajectory must be calculated through the
shifting gravitational fields of Earth and Moon. An army of mathematicians would take
months to do this; the Princeton calculator could produce the answer, already printed,
in a few hours.

Every radio amateur in the world who could operate on the spaceship’s frequency was
giving his equipment a last-minute check. There would not be many who could both receive
and interpret the hyperfrequency, pulse-modulated signals from the ship, but there
would be a few. The watch-dogs of the ether, the Communications Commissioners, were
standing by to deal with any unauthorized transmitters which might try to break into
the circuit.

On their mountain tops, the astronomers were preparing for their private race—the
contest to see who would get the best and clearest photographs of the landing. “Alpha”
was far too small to be seen when it reached the Moon—but the flare of the jets as
they splashed across the lunar rock should be visible at least a million miles away.

Meanwhile the three men who held the center of the world’s stage gave interviews when
they felt like it, slept long hours in their huts, or relaxed violently at table-tennis,
which was about the only form of sport that Luna City provided. Leduc, who had a macabre
sense of humor, amused himself by telling his friends the useless or insulting things
he had left them in his will. Richards behaved as if nothing of the slightest importance
had happened, and insisted on making elaborate social engagements for three weeks’
time. Taine was seldom seen at all; it transpired later that he was busily writing
a mathematical treatise which had very little to do with astronautics. It was, in
fact, concerned with the total possible number of games of bridge, and the length
of time it would take to play them all.