The Red Planet (3 page)

“If they feel anything like I do before every takeoff,” said Lemmy, “awful.”

“Five--four--three--two--one--“

“There they go,” I said almost involuntarily.

“How long before they catch up on us?” asked Lemmy.

“Not for two days,” Jet told him; “and getting into formation is going to be a bit tricky.”

“Well, we’ve got six months to practice,” said the radio operator. “Wouldn’t do to arrive at Mars out of line. It would give a bad impression.”

We could now see on the televiewer a long line of uniformly diminishing spots of light which were the jets of the freighter fleet spread out behind us.

We were on our way. The long journey to Mars had begun.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Two days after leaving the Moon, the Mars Fleet was in formation and coasting through space. Neither the ships nor anything they contained were subject to the laws of gravity now, but this did not worry us. With the aid of our magnetic boots we were able to walk upright around the cabin with no discomfort. For that matter, we could walk equally well up the walls or along the ceiling. Space sickness, like sea sickness, is something one can get used to and finally overcome.

The ships travelled in line abreast, with the Discovery a little above the rest of the Fleet and Freighter No 1 nearest to the flagship. From the Discovery the ships seemed poised in space, motionless; for, in spite of the tremendous speed at which we were travelling, the background of stars against which we viewed the Fleet was so vast, and at such a distance from us, that movement was virtually imperceptible.

Although there were four men in the Discovery, there were only two in each of the freighters. There wasn’t room for more. The living quarters of the Discovery were cramped enough but those of the freighter ships were even worse. Every man travelling in them had been selected for his ability, among other things, to live in an enclosed space with one other person for months at a time without cracking UP- .

Once the ships were in formation, and it took some time for them to get in line, Jet ordered Lemmy to call up each freighter in turn and get in its report. No 1 reported that all was well, but with Freighter No 2 it was a different story. When Lemmy called up Rogers, the captain of No 2 and asked how things were, the reply was: “Shocking.” “Eh?” “We’ve been having trouble all the way.” Mitch, our chief motor engineer, immediately took Lemmy’s place at the radio and demanded of Rogers:

“What kind of trouble?”

“The motor lost thrust soon after we left base. Had to turn on the juice a bit or we’d never had made the rendezvous. We used up quite a lot of fuel. At least ten per cent above estimated consumption.”

“Did you hear that, Jet?” asked Mitch anxiously.

“And that’s not all,” No 2 continued. “Our radio receiver’s on the blink. We seem to be transmitting OK but reception from Base is down to strength two.”

“Are you hearing us all right?” “Yes. Strength five. Ship-to-ship system seems to be OK.”

“Then keep listening out, Frank. We’ll call you back.” From where he was seated at the control table Mitch looked up at Jet. “Well,” he enquired, “what do we do about that? Frank might be a good pilot, but he’s no radio man or engineer.”

“Who’s with him in that ship?” asked Jet. I looked up the crew list. “Whitaker,” I answered after a few moments; “a construction engineer.” “Then there’s no chance of his finding either of the faults. We’ll have to transfer a radio engineer and motor mechanic from one of the other ships.”

“The nearest motor man is in ship five,” I said, “and the nearest radio mechanic, other than Lemmy here, is in Number Seven. Both ships are on the far side of the formation. Transfer would be tricky.

“We’re closer to her than most,” broke in Mitch; “I’ll go, and take Lemmy with me to look over the radio at the same time.”

“Very well,” Jet agreed. “Get your suits. And take the long safety lines with you.”

After Mitch and Lemmy had donned their space suits we let them through the airlock into space. In the outer shell of the ship, in a panel near the door, were small rings to which Lemmy and Mitch immediately attached one end of their safety lines, the other, of course, being already fastened to their belts. Thus safeguarded, and with the aid of their magnetic boots, they could, if necessary, walk completely round the ship like flies round a pole and would neither fall off nor have any sensation of being upside down.

On this occasion, however, Lemmy merely bent his knees, gave a little push and slowly drifted over towards Freighter No 1. Once there, he fastened a short line to No 1 and made himself secure. Mitch then unhitched Lemmy’s long line from the ring on the Discovery and attached it to his own belt and Lemmy hauled him across. The same procedure was followed for reaching No 2. Once there the airlock was opened to let them in.

An examination of the many dial readings and No 2’s log book soon told Mitch that to correct the fault in the motor, part of it would have to be dismantled. This it would be impossible to do for some weeks as the motor was still highly radioactive. So it was decided that as the motor would not be needed again until the Fleet was close to Mars, repairs could be left until later. Mitch then returned to the Discovery.

What happened in Freighter No 2 after that I learned from Lemmy later. He was nearing the end of his work on the radio when Whitaker had to go down into the hold to carry out a routine inspection tour. A few minutes later

Lemmy’s job was completed and the radio operator called up Base to check the receiver. It proved to be OK.

“Well,” said Lemmy to Frank Rogers, “that’s that. If you don’t get Control at full possible strength after this, you may return the goods and get your money back.”

“And I suppose you’ll be going over to the Discovery now?” asked Frank.

“Yep,” replied Lemmy.

“Oh.”

Lemmy raised his eyebrows and looked at the freighter-man in surprise. “You almost sound disappointed,” he said. “I don’t owe you any money, do I?”

“How do you mean?”

“Way you’re trying to hang on to me, I thought maybe I did.”

“No, Lemmy; it’s just that I thought I might have had the pleasure of your social company for a bit. Somebody to talk to for a while.”

“You’ve got Whitaker to talk to.”

“No, Lemmy. I can’t talk to him.”

“Why? Has he been struck dumb or something?”

“No, it’s not that. He just doesn’t talk. He’s about the most unsociable person I ever met.”

“Then why did you crew up with him?”

“I couldn’t help it. I was supposed to crew with Vivis, but he was killed--back in Luna City. I’d hardly time to get acquainted with Whitaker before we took off.”

“And after only two days,” said Lemmy, “you’ve decided you can’t get along with him.”

“I defy anybody to.”

“But what’s the matter with him? Doesn’t he pull his weight?”

“About the only thing he does do. But he never says a word, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Lemmy thought for a moment and then said: “Then how does he spend his time, when he’s not on duty?”

“Mostly lying on his bunk. He just lies there, staring at me.”

Lemmy laughed. “You sure you haven’t hypnotised him or anything?”

“I’m not joking, Lemmy,” said Frank, his voice rising hysterically.

“No, mate,” said Lemmy quietly.

“Sometimes,” went on Frank, “I think he must be in a trance.”

“If he were,” asked Lemmy, “how could he carry out his work?”

“He does that all right. Only sometimes, I . . .” Frank paused. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Lemmy?”

“As if I’d think a thing like that,” replied Lemmy, putting his hand on Frank’s shoulder.

“Well, sometimes it’s as though he’s not the only one here.”

“Of course he’s not the only one here, there’s ... eh?”

“Well, it’s not him, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” said Lemmy slowly.

“I tell you, if I have six months of this, all the way to Mars, I’ll go crackers.”

“Look,” said Lemmy firmly, “why don’t you tell Jet about this?”

“He’s got enough troubles without having to shoulder mine, too.

“But we all know living for weeks in a confined space with somebody you can’t get on with is not easy. You begin to see something wrong in everything they do; the way they eat, the way they walk, the way they hold their cigarettes if they smoke, the way they watch you smoking yours if they don’t. All maddening, irritating little things--but they can drive you off your rocker in no time. You might even start getting violent.”

“I might at that.”

“Then if Jet thinks you’ve got a good case, he’ll get either you or Whitaker transferred to another ship, before any real trouble starts.”

And there the conversation was interrupted by the sound of the airlock between the hold and living quarters opening. Whitaker was returning from his inspection. Lemmy quickly changed the subject.

“Now, Frank,” he said brightly, “treat her gently and she’ll treat you kindly. The way she’s behaving now she’d pick up a signal from Jupiter if there was anybody up there to send one, which there isn’t. So if you find you’re getting nothing, you know where you’re getting it from.” Lemmy laughed and heartily slapped Frank on the back.

Lemmy returned to the Discovery full of sympathy for Frank but, after hearing Lemmy’s story, Jet declared Whitaker’s behaviour must be due to space conditions and decided to wait for them to pass off.

Twenty-four days out from Earth, Lemmy was calling Control on a routine check. I was lying on my bunk writing my diary at the time and although he tried to keep his voice low I could hear him quite distinctly.

“Hullo, Control,” he was saying, “Flagship Discovery calling. Come in please.”

After a long pause a faint, quavery voice emitted from the loudspeaker. “Hullo, Flagship Discovery. Receiving you strength two. Over.”

“Have recorded report on last six hours ready for transmission,” said Lemmy. “Are you ready to receive it?” He turned to me. “Time lag between replies gets longer every time we call up, Doc. We must be a million miles from Earth at least by now.”

“Two million.” I corrected him.

Eventually the report was passed and then Control asked to talk to Jet. He moved over to the radio. “Hullo, Captain Morgan,” said Control. “Message for you. Urgent. Concerning Whitaker, crew member of freighter ship Number Two.”

"Oh?” exclaimed Jet. “Whitaker, did you say?” Yes. James E. Whitaker. Construction engineer, Freighter Number Two. Information needed on him by personnel records office. Date of birth. Place of birth. Nationality. Full personal description and details of all engineering qualifications and where obtained. End of message.”

Jet looked puzzled. “Hullo, Control,” he called, “message received. What on earth do you want all that for? Records must have it already.”

“What do they think we are,” interrupted Lemmy, “an information bureau?”

“Sorry, Captain,” came the voice of Control; “I don’t write these messages, I only pass them on.”

“Very well,” said Jet. “I’ll call you back in half an hour.”

Lemmy switched off the main radio. “Call up Number Two, will you,” Jet asked him, “and get Whitaker.”

The engineer replied to Lemmy’s call almost immediately.

“Look, Whitaker,” said Jet, “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve had a message from Control about you.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I have to ask you a number of questions about yourself for personnel records.”

Whitaker’s strangely flat, dull voice came back without hesitation. “All information about me can be found in my personal dossier down on Earth.”

“Yes, yes, I realise that,” said Jet a little impatiently, “but for some reason Control insists on having it again. So are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well, first I must have your full name.”

“James Edward Whitaker.” Whitaker pronounced every word as though he had to think about it; slowly, with long gaps between each name.

“Date of birth?”

“12th September, 1940.”

“Nationality?”

“British.”

“Place of birth?”

“12th September, 1940.”

Jet and Lemmy looked at each other in surprise. “No,” said Jet, “place of birth.”

Whitaker’s voice now took on a peculiar quality. “British,” he said, rolling the ‘r’.

“What’s he talking about?” asked Lemmy.

Jet was not asking any questions now, but Whitaker continued to talk as though he were--and his voice got slower and flatter, with almost an ethereal quality. “James --Edward--Whitaker,” he said mechanically. “12th September, 1893.”

At this I sat up in my bunk and Mitch, who had been poring over his tables, looked over towards the radio. “What’s happening over there, Jet?” he demanded. “Is Whitaker crazy or something?”

“1893, he said,” replied Jet without looking round. “Hullo. Whitaker--Whitaker. . . .” But Whitaker didn’t reply. Not to Jet, anyhow.

“12th September, 1893,” he repeated slowly.

“Listen, Whitaker,” said Jet firmly; “put Rogers on.”

“Rogers is asleep.”

“Then wake him up.”

“He cannot be woken.”

“Wake him up, do you hear?” Jet commanded. There was no reply.

“Hullo, Whitaker--hullo,” went on Jet. Discovery calling. Hullo--hullo . . .“

“It’s no good, Jet,” said Lemmy. “He must have switched off.”

Mitch and I had now walked over to where Jet and Lemmy were standing, tense and worried, in front of the radio. “What’s going on, Jet?” I asked.

“I wish I knew,” replied the captain.

“You don’t think Number Two’s radio has gone wrong again, do you?”

“The ship-to-ship system never was wrong, Doc,” put in lemmy indignantly.

“Then you’re quite sure it isn’t our radio that’s wrong?” “Soon see,” said Jet. “Hullo, Space Fleet,” he called. “Flagship calling Space Fleet. Number One, come in please.”

The voice of No 1 came back immediately. “Hullo, Flagship. Freighter Number One replying. Hearing you loud and clear.”

“Morgan here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hear me talking to Number Two just now?” “Yes, sir.” “And you heard him reply?” “I certainly did.” “Thank you, Number One. That’s all for now.” “Yes, sir.”