The Red Planet (12 page)

During our first hour on Mars we did a lot of work. We measured the pressure of the atmosphere, both at ground level and, with the aid of a balloon, up to five thousand feet. We dug up small samples of the blue-black soil which lay below the ice and boxed it to take back to Earth with us. We took temperatures of the atmosphere, ice and soil and photographs of ourselves standing by the ship.

A few minutes before sunset we downed tools and cheered as Frank’s ship made a perfect landing and came to a standstill not fifty yards from where our own ship was parked. Jet then ordered us all inside the Discovery again, for we knew only too well that the temperature at the pole during the Martian night would be far too low for any of us to stand, even in our heated suits.

Next morning we were up before dawn, eager to get another look at the strange Martian world. It did not take long for the sun to warm the thin atmosphere and soon Frank and his crew were busily unloading the land trucks from the ferry. We worked hard all day, helping them equip the Land Fleet for our exploration, but the task was not finished until nearly sunset. We were to have headed towards the Martian equator as soon as the trucks were ready but, even though we knew they would be ample protection against the cold, Jet decided to spend one more night in the ship and start out at daybreak the next morning.

Frank, meanwhile, was to return into free orbit and load up his ship for a second landing. He was also to bring down other crew members who would remain at Polar Base while Frank, after equipping his own fleet of land trucks, would follow in our tracks.

As there was still an hour’s light left, Frank decided to take off immediately. We watched him from the Discovery, a great red belch of flame emitting from his exhaust as he sped along the ice and then rapidly climbed through the thin atmosphere into the mauve void above. An hour later we received a call to say he had rejoined the rest of the Fleet in free orbit and that cargo from the remaining freighters was already being transferred into Number One for her next trip down to Martian soil.

Next morning we left the great ship which had been our home for so many months to transfer to the land trucks. We wore our protective clothing while we were ‘in transit’, but once inside the hermetically-sealed cabins of the tractors we were able to remove our suits and stow them. There was room in each of the driving cabins for two men. Jet and I were in one truck and Mitch and Lemmy in the other. We were, of course, in touch with each other and the Fleet by radio and, by leaving the radios on, could all take part in general conversation.

“Well,” I heard Mitch say to Lemmy as we got under way, “this is it. Man’s first exploration of Mars is about to begin. Take your last look at the Discovery; you won’t be seeing her for some months.”

“And how many miles do we cover on this trip?” asked Lemmy.

“Oh, about seven thousand,” said Mitch, unconcerned.

“Well, let’s hope the trucks stand up to it,” said the Cockney. “What do we do if we have a breakdown? Ring up a garage and ask them to tow us in?”

Mitch laughed. “Frank and his mechanics will be only a couple of days behind us, Lemmy,” he said. “If we have a breakdown we just sit tight until they roll up.”

And so we set out, across the great, glaring white wastelands of the south polar ice cap towards the warmer climes of the temperate zones near the equator. The transport trucks, looking almost black against the gleaming white of the ice, resembled two lines of beetles slowly wending their way across a barrel of flour. Each caravan comprised three trucks. In the lead was the tractor with its roomy, airtight cabin in which sat the driver and navigator. In tow was the living quarters vehicle, a huge, tank-like machine which, in its base, carried food, water, surveying tools, spare clothing and other personal equipment. On its upper deck, hermetically sealed to an oblong platform, were the living quarters, looking like transportable Eskimo igloos. Then came the cargo truck, carrying fuel, oxygen tanks and other equipment too bulky to be stored beneath the living quarters.

Soon the great spaceship had been left far behind. Finally it disappeared from view over the horizon and all contact with the rest of the Fleet, except by radio, was gone. We were alone, just the four of us, two in each caravan, slowly ploughing our way across the great white desert.

We covered one hundred and fifty miles that first day. At sunset we stopped the trucks and camped for the night. Darkness fell and with it came the bitter cold. It was so cold outside that the heaters had to be turned on at full pressure to keep us from freezing, even within our double-skinned living quarters. While the two caravans stood under the black, diamond-studded sky, we slept. Next morning we were on our way again and by noon had covered another seventy miles. We ate our mid-day meal, checked with the Fleet and heard that Frank was already on his way down to Polar Base with his newly-loaded freighter.

After lunch, Jet and I went outside and dug up some more samples of the soil below the ice. We put these in little boxes, stowed them in the rear of the caravan and then climbed aboard the tractor to continue our journey northwards. We made another hundred miles by sunset and a further eighty by the following noon. Frank told us now that he was ready to follow in our tracks just as soon as Freighter Number Two, the third and last ship to make the descent, had touched down with the remainder of the necessary supplies.

On the third day we were still travelling across ice but were anxiously scanning the horizon. We knew it could not be long before the limit of the cap was reached and we sighted the drier soil of the Mare Australis.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, we noticed that the horizon directly in front of us was covered with a long range of low hills. This was rather a surprise to us as we had expected the ground to be perfectly flat up to the Mare Australis at least. Yet the hills appeared to be at least one hundred miles in length and approximately two thousand feet tall at their highest point. We estimated that we would reach them about sunset, and would almost certainly have to camp on their summits. However, this did not worry us unduly as we did not expect to find a precipice on the other side. Also, of course, the added height would give us an extended view of the terrain beyond and, with luck, we might well be able to take a good look at the Mare Australis before we descended to the plain and began to make our way across it.

It was just after we had sighted the hills that we received an urgent call from Frank Rogers back at Polar Base. “It’s Number Two, skipper,” said Frank anxiously. “She’s in trouble.”

“We were thinking it was about time she passed over us,” said Jet. “What’s wrong?”

“I wish I knew. I was in radio contact with her on the ship-to-ship system until five minutes ago, but now I can’t get any reply to my calls.”

“What was her position when last you heard from her?”

“Fifty miles directly north of you.”

“Then keep calling her. Meanwhile we’ll see if we can pick her up.”

We switched over to Number Two’s frequency and heard Frank calling her. Suddenly we heard McLean, Number Two’s pilot, saying, very faintly: “Hullo, Base--Number Two calling. Trying to contact you. Please answer me.”

It was obvious that Frank was not hearing him. Jet called up Number Two himself and received a reply immediately. For some unknown reason Number Two’s radio was not carrying as far as Polar Base.

“Hullo, Land Fleet,” the pilot was saying, his voice strained and nervous. “I can’t control the ship. I’ll have to make a forced landing.”

“What’s the matter with the ship?” demanded Jet.

“Nothing, Captain, it’s us.”

“What’s wrong?”

McLean seemed to find it difficult to speak. “There’s a-- weird noise. Seems to be right inside my head. I--can’t keep awake. It’s--it’s so cold--I--I--don’t think we’ll ever make Base. I’m going to put the ship down. It’s the only way I can hope to save her. I--I--feel--so--sleepy. . .”

“Listen, McLean,” said Jet urgently, “you must not go to sleep. You must stay awake, do you hear?”

“We’re almost on the deck now,” came the weak reply. “About to land, but the ship--is--difficult--to . .”

Then there was silence. Jet called McLean again. “Hullo, Number Two--hullo,” he said desperately. He called a second time and a third. Then, turning to me, he asked: “How far north of us did Frank estimate she was?”

“Fifty miles,” I replied.

“Then if we increase speed to twenty miles an hour we should cover that distance before sunset.”

“That doesn’t mean we’ll find her. Not before dark, anyway.”

“But there’s a chance.”

“Yes, and there’s a chance of burning up the motors, too,” came Mitch’s voice in my ear, “the load we’re dragging behind us.”

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Jet curtly. “If that ship is wrecked, her crew will be in dire need of help.”

“OK.”

“All right, then, turn on the juice.”

Both caravans ploughed steadily on through the powdery ice, leaving two black lines of caterpillar tracks behind them. We had, for our own safety, to proceed with caution and, at the same time, we had to find the wreck of Number Two--before nightfall, if possible.

Jet called up Frank at Polar Base and told him that, in view of the situation, he was to start out after us immediately. “You’ll be quite safe if you follow our tracks,” Jet said. “Now, how soon can you leave?”

“Within the hour.”

“Good. Then we hope to see you sometime tomorrow. Keep in radio contact all the way--and good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

For the next hour we rode in silence, our eyes glued to the horizon for any sign of Number Two. But there was no sign of life at all; not a blade of grass, no trace of moss and certainly no suggestion of anything like an animal. To all appearances Mars, in this region at any rate, was a dead, deserted world.

It was already growing dark when we reached the lower slopes of the hills and began a steady climb upwards. Fortunately the gradient was not steep. When we reached the summit, both trucks together, only a faint trace of daylight remained in the sky. Even so, there was enough light to enable us to survey the scene. And what a scene it was.

Stretched out, thousands of feet below us, was a great, purple plain. The hills rolled gently down towards the flat land and, at their feet, the ice gave way to the purple soil. We had reached the limit of the ice.

“Blimey,” came Lemmy’s voice over the radio, “talk about the heights of Abraham!”

“Never mind the scenery,” said Jet impatiently; “look for the ship.”

But the light was fading so rapidly that even had the freighter been within visible distance I doubt very much whether we would have seen her. Soon it was completely dark.

“Well,” said Mitch at last, “we arrived too late. Had we got here half an hour earlier, we might have stood a chance of locating her.”

“Maybe she’s not even down there,” I suggested.

“But she must be, Doc,” said Jet. “According to Frank she was fifty miles directly north of us before she crashed.”

“But that was several minutes before she crashed, Jet. She could have drifted miles off the course in that time.”

“All we can do,” said the Captain, “is go down there and search.”

“In the dark--and with absolutely no clue as to the direction in which she lies?” I protested. “We don’t even know whether the ground down there will support the trucks.”

“But what about the ship and her crew? Every minute we waste might mean the difference between life and death.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but there’s no point in throwing our own lives away. Had we seen her I’d agree to make an attempt to reach her. But to wander down there in the dark might be suicide.”

“Doc’s right,” came Mitch’s voice. “We can start out again in the morning as soon as it’s light. We can’t even see the plain any more. Nothing but pitch darkness and the stars and ...”

He was interrupted by an excited cry from Lemmy. “Hey, Doc, Mitch, Jet--look!” he exclaimed. “A light!”

“What?”

“Yes, down there--see it?”

A couple of minutes later we could all see it but, as Mitch observed, it was no bigger than a pinpoint.

“That must be the ship,” said Jet. “At least one of the men must be all right and he’s switched on the landing light in the hope of guiding us to his position. We must let him know we’ve seen him. Let’s put on our light, Doc.”

“No--wait, Jet,” I told him. “That light. It’s moving.”

“What!”

Almost immediately Mitch’s voice came over the radio to confirm my opinion. “It’s distinctly travelling towards the west,” he said.

“Good grief,” said Jet, “then that can’t be the ship. And if it isn’t, then who is it? What is it?”

We watched the light for about fifteen minutes during which time it diminished in brightness and finally disappeared. We waited for ten minutes in the hope that it would reappear--but it didn’t.

“It seems to have gone for good,” said Jet. “What could it have been?”

“Goodness knows,” I replied. Then a sudden thought struck me. “It might have been the boys of Number Two,” I suggested. “Maybe they’ve taken the land truck out of her and have put on their headlight and are trying to find their way to Polar Base.”

“Maybe,” said Jet thoughtfully. “In that case, the place where we first saw the light must be where the wreck of the ship is. So all we have to do now is head straight for that point.”

“You mean to go down there in the dark after all?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he answered. “If we find the ship it will be easy to pick up the tracks left by her land truck and we should overtake her crew by morning.”

“Very well, if you say so,” I told him. “But I think we’re taking a great risk.”

“We’ll reduce speed to ten miles an hour and keep our headlights on all the way,” Jet continued, as though I had not spoken. “With luck, Number Two’s land truck might even see them and find us before we find them.”

Jet called up Mitch and told him of his plan. And then, with our headlights blazing, we switched on the motors and slowly began the descent down the ice-covered slopes towards the plain below.