Journey Into Space (9 page)

“Come along, Lemmy, you need sleep. It’ll make you feel a lot better,” I said, not, I’m afraid, with much conviction.

He reluctantly allowed me to lead him to his bunk. “But I don’t need sleep. They don’t believe me, do they, Doc? Neither of ‘em. But you do. You heard that weird music coming over the radio, didn’t you?” he pleaded.

“No, Lemmy, I didn’t. I wasn’t even out there.”

My remark seemed to be the last straw. The whole ship was against him. He let me strap him into his bunk without further protest. I gave him one of my magic pills (his term for them) and, having seen him comfortably settled, rejoined Jet and Mitch at the central table.

Jet was worried. “What has happened to him?” he was asking Mitch.

“What do you think has happened to him? The strain is too much for him, that’s what. He’s cracking up.”

I thought this unfair, particularly as it had not yet been proved whether Lemmy had heard the noise or not. Jet was more generous. He knew Lemmy far better than Mitch or I and, in consequence, was less hasty in jumping to conclusions. “If Lemmy says he heard a strange noise, then he heard it,” said Jet.

“Then why didn’t I hear it? Or you, or Doc?” “Doc wasn’t outside.”

“He was listening on the ship’s radio, wasn’t he? And we were all on the same frequency. Lemmy must have imagined the whole thing. What other explanation is there?”

“Who knows? Anything might happen out here. Radios could play tricks--Lemmy’s, the ship’s, anybody’s.”

“Piffle!”

Jet turned to me. “What’s your opinion, Doc?” I told him I would like to reserve it. It seemed to me that Lemmy was suffering from acute claustrophobia when he re-entered the ship and couldn’t get out of his suit quickly enough. This might account for a slight mental upset and, with the noise we had heard through the radio still in his mind, he might well have imagined he was hearing it all over again. But if this were a true explanation, it was a strange one, for Lemmy was not the type to be upset by enclosed spaces.

As I finished talking, Lemmy’s voice came from his bunk over on the far side of the cabin. “I can hear you.” Apparently the pills I had given him had not yet taken effect.

Jet moved that we should adjourn the discussion until Lemmy was asleep. “The trouble with this ship,” he added, “is that room’s so limited you can hardly keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“Next time I’ll build separate cabins,” said Mitch sarcastically; “first, second, and tourist class.”

Tempers were getting frayed again so I hastily changed the subject back to the one we were supposed to be discussing. “I really don’t know what to think. We all heard those peculiar, almost frightening sounds coming from the radio before we finally contacted Control.”

“Atmospherics.” Mitch brought his fist down on the table as he spoke.

“What, on
this
equipment?” Jet swept his arm towards the radio. “That music was too strong, too pure to be atmospherics.”

“You’ll be saying next that it was transmitted.”

“Could be.”

Mitch sneered. “Where from? The Moon?”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no life on the Moon, that’s why.”

“How do you know?”

“Good heavens, Jet, what’s got into you? Any fool knows the Moon is dead. There’s no life on it of any kind.”

“Not on the Earth side, I grant you,” I said, “but what about the other side?”

Mitch turned on me impatiently. “Are you also trying to say there is life on the Moon and that noise was transmitted from there?”

“Well, you can’t rule out the possibility,” I said.

“
I
can. Life on the Moon is out of the question. Chances of life on other planets, extremely remote. But all this is apart from the point; it’s Lemmy we’re supposed to be discussing. What are we going to do about him?”

“What do you suggest?” I asked, with some misgivings.

“For a start we’ll make it a rule he doesn’t leave the ship again.”

“Nobody will be leaving the ship again,” said Jet. “Not until the landing is made.”

“I don’t mean while we’re still coasting, I mean from now on. Even after we’ve touched down.”

“I can still hear you,” came Lemmy’s rather pathetic voice from the isolation of his bunk.

Jet ignored him. “What? You mean you’d let him go all the way and then deny him the right even to step outside?”

“Yes, unless we can be a hundred per cent sure we won’t get a repeat performance of what happened half an hour ago.”

“I wouldn’t do it to him.”

“And neither would I,” I added.

“I tell you Lemmy is unstable. He’ll be seeing Moonmen next, with antennae--and one eye in the middle of their foreheads.”

“Mitch,” said Jet, “you are being unreasonable.” “I just want to be sure that nothing wrecks this project, that’s all.”

“That’s more important to you than anything--or anyone, isn’t it?” Anger blazed in Jet’s eyes.

“You’re darned right it is.”

There was a pause.

“Sorry, Mitch. Lemmy carries on as before,” said Jet firmly. “What happened outside makes no difference.”

“All right. I’ll consider myself over-ruled, but let’s hope I never have to say ‘I told you so’.”

And there, for the time being, the matter rested. I looked over at Lemmy. The drugs had taken their effect. He was fast asleep.

When he awoke, Lemmy was his normal self again and although, once more, the ship settled down to routine, I was disturbed to realise that our tempers and judgment could be upset so easily.

There was little for us to do during coasting. Periodically we called up Control to check our height, speed and decreasing velocity. When not on watch, Mitch studied his tables, Jet read his novel, I filled in my journal and Lemmy played his mouth-organ. Soon the most dangerous part of our trip would be upon us: the Moon landing, something we had never been able to practise on Earth.

We passed neutral gravitation point exactly three Earth days, seven hours and six minutes after take-off. Speed was then only a few miles per hour. Now we were no longer under the influence of the Earth’s pull. We were falling towards the Moon, and our velocity began to increase.

The Moon was 23,000 miles away and the time had come for us to turn the ship over. At zero hour, we strapped ourselves on to our couches, turned on the gyros and slowly, very slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the ship began to turn. After what seemed an eternity, the manoeuvre was completed; our nose pointing towards Earth and our stern towards the Moon for, to make the landing, which entailed using the rocket-motor as a brake, it was necessary to drop towards the Moon backwards.

Soon its image more than filled our screen. The familiar Bay of Rainbows, where we were to land, showed in detail; every crater, mountain, crevice, crack and chasm being clearly visible although, at this height, still fairly small. When we were a thousand miles above the Bay we prepared to make the landing.

Once more we strapped ourselves into our bunks. We were dead on course. The televiewers were glowing above our heads. We were playing with death, we realised that, but this did not dampen our spirits and least of all did it subdue Lemmy’s natural cheerfulness which, by now, was fully restored to him.

“If there’s a man on the Moon,” he said, “I hope he’s put the kettle on. I could just do with a hot cup of tea.”

“Let’s hope we don’t hit her too hard,” was Mitch’s only comment.

“Safety straps fastened?” came Jet’s cold enquiry.

“OK,” we all replied.

“Doc, stabiliser.”

I switched on the gyro.

“Lemmy, course?”

“Spot on.”

“Mitch, height?”

“950 miles.”

“Shock absorbers ready?”

“Yes, Jet.”

“Let’s hope they can stand the concussion.” That was Jet’s only personal comment during landing preparations.

“They will,” said Mitch.

“Contact!”

Mitch pressed the switch and there was a heavy, whirring sound as the four great shock absorbers housed in the stern slowly positioned themselves outside the ship. Height was now 910 miles.

“Still some way to fall yet,” said Jet. “Relax; gravity conditions will return as soon as the motor is cut in. Don’t let the shock take you by surprise.”

“Height, 900 miles.”

“Blimey.” It was Lemmy. He was looking at his televiewer screen. “We’re not going to land on that lot, are we?”

“No, Lemmy,” said Jet, “they’re the mountains that surround the Bay. Where we’re landing is much smoother.”

“It’d better be.”

“Height, 895.”

“Landing area still spot on.”

“890.”

“Huh? What’s that?” said Lemmy.

“What’s what?” asked Jet.

“Quiet, Lemmy,” said Mitch.

“Height, 880.”

“Jet, I can hear . . .”

“What
is
it, Lemmy?” said Jet.

“Height, 875.”

“Nothing.” The tone of Lemmy’s voice belied him. “It’s the excitement, I . . .”

“For heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?”

Lemmy’s reply was desperate. “Nothing. Nothing, I tell you. Take no notice.”

“Height, 870.”

“Stand by to cut in the motor.”

Lemmy was almost in tears. “Landing area still spot on.”

Mitch yelled at him: “Lemmy, pull yourself together.”

“865--860--855--850.”

“Contact!” yelled Jet.

The ship vibrated as the atomic motor exploded into life. The speed of our fall decreased and we could feel the pressure as gravity returned to the ship, centred towards its nose. Had we not been strapped in we would, of course, all have hit the ceiling.

Slowly, slowly we descended.

600 miles--500--400. Soon it was only 200--100--90-- 70--50--30--20--10. . .

“Here she comes,” said Mitch.

“This is it,” said Jet. “Hold tight.”

On the televiewer above my head the view of the Moon was blotted out by the flaming exhaust as it rebounded off the Moon’s surface. There was a crump and a jolt. I held my breath. The ship rocked a little. For a moment I thought she might topple over. But no, she was steady. We had made it.

This was a stupendous moment--a moment, it would have seemed, for wild excitement, but all we did was to remain lying on our bunks--in silence; a silence that was broken by a calm understatement from Jet as he announced: “Gentlemen, we’re on the Moon.”

Nobody replied. Not at first. And then Mitch, his voice trembling slightly, said: “Didn’t you hear what Jet said? We’ve just landed on the Moon.” There was a longer pause while Mitch waited for some reaction. “Doc, Lemmy-- didn’t you hear?”

“I heard him,” said Lemmy. He didn’t sound at all excited.

“And so did I,” I announced without much more enthusiasm.

“But doesn’t that mean anything to you? The way you’re carrying on, Jet might just have announced your death sentence.”

I don’t know why I felt so depressed, but I did. “Maybe he has,” I replied.

Now it was Jet’s turn to be puzzled. “What’s up, Doc?” he said. “And, Lemmy--what’s worrying you?”

“Nothing.”

“Out with it, Lemmy,” said Jet firmly.

Mitch joined in, his voice tinged with anger. “You didn’t hear that darned music again, did you?”

“Leave me alone,” said Lemmy. “Why do you keep getting at me all the time?”

“You did hear it or, at least, you think you did. Am I right? Am I?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Mitch,” I said.

Instead he turned on me. “In a minute I expect you’ll be saying you heard it, too.”

“I’m not so sure that I didn’t,” I told him.

“What?” said Jet. “You, too, Doc?”

I couldn’t be sure. But just before the motor was switched on I had begun to feel very strange. A sense of great foreboding gripped me. I tried to explain this.

“Well, with the landing only a few minutes away,” said Jet, “how else would you feel?”

“It wasn’t that,” I began to say. “I didn’t exactly hear anything but . . .”

“I know,” said Mitch sarcastically, “you just felt it.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s the only way I can describe it.”

“Now you’re both beginning to imagine things, you and Lemmy.”

“Mitch,” I said, “it was not imagination.”

“Well,” Jet broke in, “let’s forget it. We’ve got work to do and little time in which to do it. Now get up and we’ll start.”

Lemmy, still unhappy, began to put his magnetised boots on.

“You won’t need those, Lemmy,” called Jet. “Not until we return. Have you forgotten there’s gravity on the Moon?

Now switch on the main televiewer and we’ll see what it looks like outside.”

Lemmy turned the televiewer on and the large screen over the control table lit up. Outside, in glaring sunlight, clear in every detail, was the Moon’s surface.

The Bay of Rainbows, in which we had landed, is situated in the north-east quadrant of the Moon-globe. It lies to the north of Mare Imbrium (The Sea of Rains) and can, on good ‘seeing’ nights on Earth, be seen with the naked eye. Through binoculars it stands out clearly, the darker surface of the ‘sea’ contrasting strongly with the lighter-coloured mountains that border its northern shore. The Bay is guarded by two promontories, Laplace and Heraclides, the shore of the Bay running from one to the other in an almost perfect semi-circle.

Laplace and Heraclides form part of the Jura Mountains which rise out of the sea and reach their highest altitude, 29,000 ft, halfway round the Bay. Laplace is steep and reaches 9000 ft while Heraclides reaches only 4500--for a Moon mountain, not particularly high.

We landed in the sunlight but, only a few hours before, the landing area had been in darkness for the Moon’s terminator was moving westwards away from us--to return again from the east in fourteen Earth days’ time. The purpose of landing so early in the lunar morning was to give us the maximum possible time in sunlight before the long darkness again overtook the Bay and compelled us to return home.

Towering above the horizon in the picture on the televiewer screen was Cape Laplace, its uppermost peaks bathed in the sunlight, throwing a great, long, pointed, razor-edged shadow across the level plain of the Bay. Perhaps ‘level’ is hardly the right word. I don’t believe there is one true level spot anywhere on the Moon. The ‘sea’ that forms the Bay is solidified lava, with a surface like pie-crust--low, easy swells, narrow, shallow cracks and numerous small craters which, in the bright sun, stood out in sharp relief.