The Angry Planet (6 page)

The principle that I have just outlined is the real
secret of the success of the
Albatross
. It is so designed that there are
two fuels in operation:
one to give the initial start-off, and a second to
provide the tremendous acceleration required before launching into space
itself.

It is this second fuel that is my own patent—it is this
that I regard as the keynote of my whole invention. The first fuel is, I can
say frankly, a highly concentrated essence of acetylene gas. The second fuel I
cannot in any detail describe, without becoming outrageously technical.
Briefly, it is an adaptation of atomic hydrogen—a method of making that most
dangerous of substances quite manageable.

It is capable of developing enormous power in a very
short space of time. And above all, it is light and easily packed, so that
enough can be stored and carried in the rocket for the return journey.

So much for the main problems of space flight,
overcome, as we have been able to demonstrate, in the
Albatross.
Minor
difficulties—such as that of providing a supply of breathable air for the
journey (a problem already solved in general by submarine designers)—were dealt
with as the ship was built. I will not here say anything about the innumerable
calculations it was necessary for me to make to be able to assure myself that
once the
Albatross
was traveling in space it would go in such a
direction as to fall into the gravitational pull of Mars. These are abstruse
things, not capable of being dealt with in a paper that has to conform to the
limitations Mr. MacFarlane has set on it!

There is only one picturesque detail I would like to
mention before closing this first brief essay, and that is that one problem
that worried me quite considerably for a time was: what if, during the
35,000,000 mile journey, we collided with a meteor? These are, as is well
known, very small—most of them are no bigger than golf balls, while some are
mere grains of dust. At the same time, although they are so tiny, there is no
doubt that because of their incredible velocity, they would go right through a space-ship
if there were a collision: and the kinetic energy released by the impact would,
more than probably, destroy the ship on the instant. For a time, as I say, I
was worried by this vision—what was the use, I argued, of expending endless
ingenuity in devising a rocket if it were going to be exploded by a pebble?
However, in the end, I realized that the whole thing was worth risking. Space
is so vast that in spite of the billions of meteors in it, the chances of a
direct hit on a space-ship (and I was able to prove it irrefutably by
mathematical calculation) are only one in
a million!

I feel that these few remarks conform to Mr.
MacFarlane’s requirements: namely, that I should write intelligibly for lay
readers, stating the general problems of space flight and how they were solved
in the
Albatross:
and, secondly, that I should be brief. I now—feeling
that this is barely more than an interlude (and one that, to my own mind, might
well have been dispensed with)—I now pass the pen to those more qualified than
I to continue with the actual narrative part of this book.

IMPRESSIONS OF
A
JOURNEY
THROUGH
SPACE,

BY VARIOUS
HANDS

I PREFACE this collection of short contributions and
fragments on what it felt like to travel through space, with a brief account of
how we found the children in what they called the “tooth-paste cupboard.” (It
is, as you will have gathered, Stephen MacFarlane writing again.)

The Doctor and I, expecting the sudden impression of
weight that would assail us on the start-off of the
Albatross,
lay down
on two highly-sprung mattresses we had prepared for the purpose just before the
Doctor touched the lever to launch the space-ship. We also wore masks,
specially designed by the Doctor, that pumped oxygen into our lungs
automatically. In these ways we hoped to overcome to an extent the
uncomfortable effects of the shock of leaving earth.

Nevertheless, my first feeling after seeing the Doctor
press the lever, was that someone had bound steel chains round my chest and was
constricting them, as it were, with a monstrous tourniquet. My head swam—there
were alternating flashes of colored light and darkness before my eyes. I felt
as if I weighed hundreds of pounds. I had hoped to be able to keep my gaze
fixed through one of the lower side windows of the
Albatross
, so that I
could see the earth receding from us. But I found this to be quite impossible.
When my sight did clear, and my head ceased pounding, all I could see below us
was a white swirling mist—a sort of milkiness—with, occasionally shining
through it, pale patches of indistinct green and blue.

The first feeling of heavy helplessness seemed to last
for at least half an hour; but, as it passed, I looked at the special clock
that was set into the instrument panel and saw that it had lasted barely one
and a half minutes. (Incidentally, I may say here in passing that because of
the complete weightlessness that affected everything in the rocket once we got
into outer space, this clock—although it had been specially designed by the
Doctor, as I say—absolutely refused to function: we had no real idea throughout
the journey what time it was—though, as you will see, we did manage to get a
notion whether it was day or night.)

We were well through the stratosphere and it was time
for the second fuel—the Doctor’s patent—to be set off.

I saw the Doctor rise from his mattress and, clinging
to one of the special hand-rails, creep along the instrument panel. He took off
his mask (we had started the oxygen apparatus before leaving, and the cabin was
full of good breathable air) and signaled me to do the same. I did so.

“I’m setting off the second fuel,” said the Doctor,
his voice sounding thin and distant in my ears, which were still buzzing a
little. “Better get into the foot-straps—or better still, put on the magnetic
boots.”

I nodded. The moment the second fuel was touched off
we would achieve a speed wildly beyond the speed of gravity. Everything in the
rocket would lose weight, ourselves included. To counteract this, the Doctor
had provided straps at strategic points on the floor of the cabin into which we
could slip our feet. He had also made several pairs of powerfully magnetized
boots so that we could walk about. The principle was very simple. As you tugged
at one foot in a walking movement, the slight jerk cut the magnetizing current and
so you could lift that foot and take a step. Then, when you put the foot down
again, contact was made in the sole inside by the muscular pressure, and the
magnet gripped the steel floor again. I now, as the Doctor adjusted his
controls, hastily put on a pair of these boots.

“Are you ready, Steve?” called the Doctor.

“All ready, Mac,” I replied.

He touched a switch. Immediately there was a powerful
shuddering all through the ship. And simultaneously there was, all through me,
an indescribably strange throbbing, and another attack of dizziness—but a
totally different kind of dizziness this time: an incredible sense of utter
lightness. I made to shout something to the Doctor, but my tongue seemed to be
waving freely in my mouth like a little fluttering flag and my lips were loose
and flaccid and quite uncontrollable. In a few seconds this attack lessened and
I was able to say something, although it was with the utmost difficulty at
first that I was able to articulate.

“Mac,” I cried, “this is incredible! This odd sort of
throbbing—I’ve never experienced a sensation like this before.”

“It’ll pass in a moment,” he called back. “You’ll soon
adjust yourself. It’s the heart—it’s been used to pumping blood all over you—a
considerable weight in blood: and now all of a sudden your blood doesn’t weigh
anything at all. Your poor old heart is just a little bit bewildered, that’s
all!”

He chuckled. He was in the highest spirits—it was
obvious that the
Albatross’s
performance was exceeding all his
expectations. He stood with his feet firmly dug into a pair of the floor-straps,
examining the scores of dials on the control panel.

“I’d hate to tell you the speed we’re traveling at,
Steve,” he cried. “Faster than any human beings have ever traveled before! In a
few hours we’ll be able to see the earth as a globe, man! Think of it—as a
globe!
”

I grinned at him. I caught the infection of his
enthusiasm. I raised my hand to wave at him cheerily, and then suddenly had to
burst out laughing. I had meant to raise it to my forehead in a sort of mock
salute—instead, without my being able to control it at all, it shot right up
above my head as far as it would go—and hung there, like something that was no
part of me at all, wavering slightly in the air. I hauled it down. For a moment
or two I stood there, practicing muscular control. I found that in a very short
time I could adjust my muscular exertions, so that I could move my completely
weightless fingers, arms, hands, and so on, in a reasonably normal way. By now
my head had cleared, and the throbbing of my heart had stopped—I felt fine:
elated, a little light-headed, as if I had just had a glass of champagne.

“Another few seconds and I shut off the motors,” said
the Doctor. “We have almost all the speed we need now, and we’re well clear of
the atmosphere. I say, Steve, could you go over and fetch me a pair of those
boots from the locker?”

I was just moving across the cabin when, all of a
sudden, and to our intense surprise, we heard the sound of hammering coming
from behind the door of one of our small store closets at the back of the
cabin. And, incredibly, there came to our ears very thin and muffled voices.

“Uncle Steve,” they called, “Uncle Steve! Let us out,
let us out!”

I stared at Mac and he stared at me. Even as I moved
clumsily across the cabin to the door in my magnetic boots, a horrible
suspicion was forming in my mind.

I had almost reached the door when it suddenly wafted
open (it was weightless, like everything else, and its movement can best be
described as like the movement in a slow motion film). And I had the strangest
surprise of my life.

Out of the open doorway floated—literally floated!—the
three children I had made such elaborate plans to dispose of to my cousin in
Glasgow! They were white and shaken—that much I could see as they drifted past
me. Their eyes had a dazed look. They moved their arms and legs in a stupid,
drunken sort of way. And all the time they floated and bounced about the cabin
like little balloons. For a moment one of them would rest on the floor or against
one of the walls—then, at a slight involuntary muscular movement, they would
shoot off at an angle and bump gently on the ceiling. They were yelling and
calling me to catch them and hold them. It was a grotesque, an idiotic sight!

“Good Lord!” I yelled. “Mike—Jacky—Paul!—what in the
name of all that’s wonderful are you doing here?”

“We didn’t mean it,” shouted Mike from the ceiling. “We
only came in to explore. We’d no idea you were going to—ouch!”

This exclamation came as he suddenly floated away from
the ceiling and collided with Paul, who was moving in a gentle glide diagonally
across the cabin. Jacky simultaneously drifted past me and I made a grab at
her. But the movement she made to grab at me in return sent her shooting off at
an angle, and next thing I saw she was right up in one of the corners of the
cabin looking as if she was about to burst into tears.

By this time Mac had recovered from his amazement at
seeing the children.

“Steve!” he cried, “for heaven’s sake get hold of them—do
something! They’ll smash up my instruments!”

He made a wild lunge at Paul, who was hovering just
over his head, and as he did so his feet came away from the floor-straps. And
he—Andrew McGillivray, Ph.D., F.R.S., of Aberdeen, Scotland—went soaring up to
join the human balloons in the air of the cabin! I alone of the party remained
on my feet. And, surveying the fantastic scene, I burst into laughter. It was,
undoubtedly, the funniest thing I have ever seen.

The Doctor was the first to get back to normal. He suddenly
cried: “The motor, Steve—shut it off! It’s past time—if we don’t stop it we’ll
develop too much speed, and we’ll use more of the fuel than we ought to, and
won’t have enough for the return flight.”