Journey Into Space (12 page)

“It’s not above an hour since we tested it,” replied Jet.

I decided to butt in. “Lemmy’s right,” I said. “Lying here in silence is the very devil. We should try to do something collective for short periods. At least it would keep our minds off things for a bit.”

“How about a nice stroll outside in the earthlight?” said Mitch sarcastically.

7
days. The heat gets worse. Temperature is now way above the 100 mark. None of us has hardly a stitch of clothing on and our bunks are damp with perspiration.

Monotonously the time drags by; equipment check, oxygen supply, rations--and, in between, Jet doing his utmost to keep our spirits up. We must have played every parlour game that was ever invented. We lie in the dark and fire questions at each other on general knowledge. We no longer know or care whether the answers are right. And we take turns at reciting verses. It gives us something to do and takes our minds off the inevitable climax which slowly but relentlessly approaches. For, unless life returns to the ship within the next 6 days, it must be the end of us all.

We were playing Twenty Questions. “That’s fourteen points to me,” said Mitch. “Right, Lemmy, your turn.” Lemmy thought for a moment. “Er--animal,” he said. “Four legs?” asked Jet. “No.”

“Two legs?” I suggested.

“No legs.”

“No legs?” Mitch queries.

“No legs and it’s mineral.”

“But you just said it was animal.”

“It’s mineral,” said Lemmy desperately.

“Manufactured?”

Lemmy’s voice became panicky. “And big, like a huge doughnut.”

“Is it manufactured?”

“Made of metal, with a dome where the hole should be.”

“Lemmy,” said Jet with apprehension in his voice.

“There’s a blue light flashing on and off underneath--and it’s coming here.”

“Lemmy!” yelled Jet, trying to bring the radio operator under control.

“It’s coming, I tell you. It’s right on us.”

“Jet,” I cried, “the televiewer. It’s glowing, it must be working.”

Jet swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and dropped to the floor but misjudged his fall and, as he landed, sent the flashlamp flying. As it hit the floor it went out.

There was light enough coming from the screen now for us to see each other dimly. Mitch and I were quickly out of our bunks and, joining Jet at the control table, went over to get a closer look at the picture.

“Good Lord, what on earth is it?” asked Mitch.

“It looks like it’s floating, flying,” said Jet, “and the light --the flashing light underneath it--just as Lemmy described.”

Then whatever it was passed out of view.

“It’s gone,” said Jet.

“But the screen’s still alive,” I pointed out. “You can still see the stars and . . . oh.”

Even as I spoke the picture began to fade and within a few moments we were in total darkness again.

“You
could
see the stars,” said Mitch.

Jet’s one thought now was for Lemmy. He groped his way over to his bunk, at the same time calling: “Lemmy, are you all right?”

“What’s happened to him?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Jet replied. “Try to find the flashlight.”

Mitch was already on his knees, groping round the floor for it. “I’ve got it, Jet,” he called.

“Does it work?”

“No.”

“The main lights,” I said; “if the power’s on, they should come on, too.”

I could hear Jet climbing up the ladder towards Lemmy’s bunk. “Lemmy, can you hear me? Answer me.”

Then Mitch’s voice came out of the darkness. “Doc, the light switch just above the control table, can you find it?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve got it.” I pressed it. Nothing happened. No lights came on. The ship was dead again.

I could hear Mitch fumbling inside the locker as he groped for a second flashlight. Jet’s voice was now coming from above our heads; he had obviously reached Lemmy’s bunk. “Lemmy,” he said gently.

Lemmy sounded utterly miserable. “Leave me alone.”

“Lemmy, did you hear? It came on again. The screen was working.”

Lemmy groaned.

“Lemmy, what’s happened to you? What is it?”

“I heard it,” said the Cockney. “That music, I heard it again.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was going to be a horse--the one that won last year’s Derby.”

“What was?”

“My object. But when I started to answer the questions it all got mixed up and then that music came on and all I could think of was--well, I don’t know what it was now--a kind of. . .”

“You don’t have to describe it, Lemmy,” said Jet. “We saw it on the televiewer screen. We all saw it.”

“Eh?”

“Yes, with a flashing light under it just as you described. It seemed to be flying towards us, then moved up and out of range, almost as though it might have passed right over us.”

“Ah, that’s better.” Mitch had found a new flashlamp. “What a difference just a little light makes.”

“The other one out of action, Mitch?” called Jet.

“Yes, Jet, it hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Give it to Lemmy,” said Jet. “I expect he can put it right. The rest of us will go round the ship. Carry out another full inspection just in case things are about to start working again.”

It is now 3 days since the televiewer suddenly burst into life and the picture of the--whatever it was--appeared on it. Since then, the ship has been as dead as it ever was. The heat is now beyond description. We are using up the oxygen supply rapidly. I estimate we have barely enough to last 9 days more, and we need 5 of those days for the return journey to Earth. So we have now only 4 days left--4 days--if we haven’t taken off by then.   . .

That part of my journal was never finished, for Lemmy, who had been quiet for some hours, suddenly spoke up. “Jet, why aren’t you reading?”

“I’ve read that book four times now. I practically know it by heart.”

“Is it a good book?”

“Yes, Lemmy, it’s always been a favourite of mine.”

“Then don’t keep it all to yourself. Read us a bit.”

“Yes, Jet,” I said eagerly, “it’ll be better than just lying here staring at the ceiling and thinking.”

“I don’t think you’d like it all that much,” said Jet.

“How do we know,” asked Lemmy, “until we’ve heard it?”

“Yes, go on, Jet,” said Mitch, “read it--some of it at least. We can have another instalment next time the light’s on.

“All right. If you really want me to.”

“What’s it called?” asked Lemmy. “Who’s it by?”

“It’s by H. G. Wells. It’s called
The First Men in the Moon.”

“Oh.” I could almost visualize the change of expression that must have come over Lemmy’s face.

“Do you still want to hear it?” asked Jet quietly.

“Why not?” said Lemmy. “It might give us some clue to help us get out of this mess.”

So Jet began and, as we followed the adventures of our literary predecessors, Bedford and Cavor, our own troubles were temporarily forgotten. At the end of an hour, when the time came to put the light out, we had journeyed to the Moon in Dr Cavor’s gravity-less ship.

During the next light session Jet read to us again. This time we learnt of Cavor’s misfortunes on the Moon with the Selenites. According to Wells, the Moon supported not only life but a very advanced civilization. The two heroes of the famous novel had just been made prisoner by the Selenites when Jet declared that the time had come to put out the light and the reading would have to stop.

“Well,” came Lemmy’s voice from his bunk above, “that Bedford fellow certainly ran into a pack of trouble, didn’t he?”

“An ingenious idea, those Selenites,” I remarked.

“Thank goodness we didn’t meet up with any,” Lemmy went on. “If there’s one thing we have proved by coming up here it is that there’s no life on the Moon. None--at-- all. . .”

The reason for Lemmy’s hesitation was clear to us all.

Down in the main hold of the ship there came a light but distinct tapping.

“What in Heaven’s name is that?” I said.

“Mice,” said Lemmy nervously.

The knocking continued for at least ten seconds. Then it stopped.

“It seems to be coming from outside, down near the stern,” said Jet. I could sense him sitting up in his bunk, although none of us could see a thing.

“There it goes again,” broke in Lemmy, “on the other side this time.”

It was, and just as strong; if anything a little louder. It was as though somebody were walking round the ship and tapping it to see what it was made of. Then came a new noise, as though a drill were being used. As the rotation--if it was rotation--of the drill became faster, the pitch of the sound became higher until it suddenly cut off, leaving the sounds to die away like the echo in a cavern.

“And what kind of noise is that?” said Mitch, unable to disguise the fear in his voice.

“Quiet,” said Jet.

The knocking suddenly began again, this time obviously going all round the ship. Then, as abruptly, it ceased.

“Mitch,” said Lemmy breathlessly, “turn on the light.”

It came on and we all felt better. But none of us spoke for at least an hour.

“Whatever it was,” said Jet at last, “it must have gone away.”

“Do you think they’ll be back?” said Lemmy. “How should I know?” said Jet irritably. “Keep quiet and listen.”

13 days. The strange tapping sounds we heard 3 days ago have not been heard since. We have no idea what they were. Now there is only 1 day left. Unless we take off tomorrow, we cannot hope to reach the Earth alive. Soon, in just an hour or two, the sun will be rising over the Cape and we will have been here one full lunar day. From the Earth, the Moon will rapidly be approaching full. Hundreds of astronomers all over the world will be looking for us. We are too small to be seen but, with luck, while the sun is still low on the lunar horizon, somebody might see our long shadow and recognise it. That will tell them that we are still here. They won’t be able to help us, but at least they’ll know we haven’t wandered off into the void of space--perhaps to spend eternity as a tiny, artificial asteroid in an orbit round the sun.

The time had come for the light to be extinguished and I closed my journal and put it away in my locker. I had hardly done so when an excited cry came from Lemmy. “Hey, Jet, the televiewer!”

“What about it?” said Jet.

“It’s come on. It’s working.”

Mitch, Jet and I sprang out of our bunks and on to the floor, Jet landing only an inch or two away from me. And then came a click and a whirr as the air conditioner turned itself on.

“The power,” I said, “it must be back. The ship’s alive again.”

“The light,” cried Mitch, “try the light.”

That’s just what Jet was doing. He pressed the switch and instantly the cabin was illuminated in what seemed to us the brightest and most comforting light we had seen in years. “Lemmy,” ordered Jet, “get to the radio. See if that’s working. The rest of you get to your own controls. Check everything.”

We needed no second bidding. I went over to my control board and saw that, for the first time in fourteen Earth days, the automatic oxygen supply as well as the air conditioner was now in working order. I announced the fact that we should start cooling off soon and get back to something like normal temperature. A few moments later Mitch proclaimed that the fuel gauges were working and the indications were that the tanks were full and everything was OK.

“Thank God,” said Jet, “and not a day too soon.”

“Radio’s going,” came Lemmy’s voice from the control table. “Transmitter registers full aerial current.”

“Then see if you can contact Earth, Lemmy, for Pete’s sake.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Come on, Mitch,” said Jet, “let’s go right through the ship. One more thorough check. See if we’re fit for take-off.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Mitch. “All we needed was power and we’ve got it. We’re going home.” He began to laugh, almost hysterically. “We’re going home.”

Why the power should suddenly come on in this way none of us had the least idea. It was now one full lunar day and night since we had landed in the Bay, almost to the hour. Outside the ship the sun would once again be rising over Cape Laplace. It occurred to me that perhaps the lunar darkness had something to do with our power failure. It was evening when the power cut off and now that dawn was breaking outside the power had come on again. But there was no time to hold an inquest now. We had to get off the Moon and back to Earth as quickly as possible or our oxygen supply would be too low to last us the journey. I decided to discuss my theory with the others while we were coasting back home.

Meanwhile Lemmy was still trying to contact Control but without success.

Mitch and Jet had completed their inspection and declared the ship ready for take-off. But we just had to be sure that Control realised we were about to do so.

Failure to contact them would not prevent our taking off if we wished, but Control’s help was essential if we were to be sure of making a safe landing when we reached Earth.

“I’m sorry, Jet,” said Lemmy after the Captain had asked him how he was doing. “I can’t get a squeak out of ‘em.”

“You’re sure your transmitter’s OK?”

“Sure I’m sure. They can’t be listening up there.”

“Well, you can’t blame them,” said Jet. “We’re more than a week overdue.”

“But somebody must be hearing us, somewhere. Maybe trying to contact us, too. Shall I search around the dial a bit? They’re not bound to be dead on frequency.”

“Yes, Lemmy, if you think it’s best.”

“I certainly can’t do worse than I’m doing now.”

Lemmy began to fiddle with the controls. We worked on ultra short wave as did many other stations on Earth and the slightest touch of the main control brought all kinds of speech and music out of the loudspeaker.

“This band seems pretty full,” said Lemmy; “anybody listening to any of this should hear us, always supposing they can understand English.”

We could stay on the Moon another twelve hours and still reach Earth before our oxygen supply finally gave out. But it was cutting it rather fine. And neither I, Jet nor Mitch wanted to leave it so late unless it was imperative.