and very little else.”
(Interviewer wearing a hunted look, and now clearly preparing to disengage.)
“Do you expect to find any life on the Moon?”
“Very likely. As soon as we land, I expect there’ll be a knock on the door and a voice
will say: ‘Would you mind answering a few questions for the
Selenites’ Weekly?
’”
Not all interviews, of course, were anything like this flagrant example, and it is
only fair to say that Richards swore the whole thing had been concocted by Leduc.
Most of the reporters who covered Interplanetary’s affairs were science graduates
who had migrated into journalism. Theirs was a somewhat thankless task, since the
newspaper world frequently regarded them as interlopers while the scientists looked
upon them as apostates and backsliders.
Perhaps no single point had attracted more public interest than the fact that two
of the crew would be reserves and would be fated to remain on Earth. For a time speculation
about the ten possible combinations became so popular that the bookmakers began to
take an interest in the subject. It was generally assumed that since Hassell and Leduc
were both rocket pilots one but not both of them would be chosen. As this sort of
discussion might have bad effects on the men themselves, the Director-General made
it clear that no such argument was valid. Because of their training,
any
three men would form an efficient crew. He hinted, without making a definite promise,
that the final choice might have to be made by ballot. No one, least of all the five
men concerned, really believed this.
Hassell’s preoccupation with his unborn son had now become common knowledge—which
did not help matters. It had begun as a faint worry at the back of his mind which
for a long time he had been able to keep under control. But as the weeks passed, it
had come to trouble him more and more until his efficiency began to fall. When he
realized this, it worried him still more and so the process had gathered momentum.
Since his fear was not a personal one, but concerned someone he loved, and since it
had a logical foundation, there was little that psychologists could do about it. They
could not suggest, to a man of his temperament and character, that he ask to be withdrawn
from the expedition. They could only watch: and Hassell knew perfectly well that they
were watching.
Six
Dirk spent little time at Southbank during the days before the Exodus. It was impossible
to work there: those who were going to Australia were too busy packing and tidying
up their affairs, while those who weren’t seemed in a very unco-operative mood. The
irrepressible Matthews had been one of the sacrifices: McAndrews was leaving him in
charge. It was a very sensible arrangement, but the two men were no longer on speaking
terms. Dirk was very glad to keep out of their way, especially as they had been a
little upset over his desertion to the scientists.
He saw equally little of Maxton and Collins, as the technical department was in a
state of organized uproar. It had apparently been decided that
everything
might be needed in Australia. Only Sir Robert Derwent seemed perfectly happy amid
the disorder, and Dirk was somewhat astonished to receive a summons from him one morning.
As it happened, it came on one of the few days when he was at Headquarters. It was
his first meeting with the Director-General since their brief introduction on the
day of his arrival.
He entered somewhat timidly, thinking of all the tales he had heard about Sir Robert.
The D.-G. probably noticed and understood his diffidence, for there was a distant
twinkle in his eye as he shook hands and offered his visitor a seat.
The room was no larger than many other offices which Dirk had seen at Southbank, but
its position at a corner of the building gave it an unrivaled view. One could see
most of the Embankment from Charing Cross to London Bridge.
Sir Robert
(Interviewer wearing a hunted look, and now clearly preparing to disengage.)
“Do you expect to find any life on the Moon?”
“Very likely. As soon as we land, I expect there’ll be a knock on the door and a voice
will say: ‘Would you mind answering a few questions for the
Selenites’ Weekly?
’”
Not all interviews, of course, were anything like this flagrant example, and it is
only fair to say that Richards swore the whole thing had been concocted by Leduc.
Most of the reporters who covered Interplanetary’s affairs were science graduates
who had migrated into journalism. Theirs was a somewhat thankless task, since the
newspaper world frequently regarded them as interlopers while the scientists looked
upon them as apostates and backsliders.
Perhaps no single point had attracted more public interest than the fact that two
of the crew would be reserves and would be fated to remain on Earth. For a time speculation
about the ten possible combinations became so popular that the bookmakers began to
take an interest in the subject. It was generally assumed that since Hassell and Leduc
were both rocket pilots one but not both of them would be chosen. As this sort of
discussion might have bad effects on the men themselves, the Director-General made
it clear that no such argument was valid. Because of their training,
any
three men would form an efficient crew. He hinted, without making a definite promise,
that the final choice might have to be made by ballot. No one, least of all the five
men concerned, really believed this.
Hassell’s preoccupation with his unborn son had now become common knowledge—which
did not help matters. It had begun as a faint worry at the back of his mind which
for a long time he had been able to keep under control. But as the weeks passed, it
had come to trouble him more and more until his efficiency began to fall. When he
realized this, it worried him still more and so the process had gathered momentum.
Since his fear was not a personal one, but concerned someone he loved, and since it
had a logical foundation, there was little that psychologists could do about it. They
could not suggest, to a man of his temperament and character, that he ask to be withdrawn
from the expedition. They could only watch: and Hassell knew perfectly well that they
were watching.
Six
Dirk spent little time at Southbank during the days before the Exodus. It was impossible
to work there: those who were going to Australia were too busy packing and tidying
up their affairs, while those who weren’t seemed in a very unco-operative mood. The
irrepressible Matthews had been one of the sacrifices: McAndrews was leaving him in
charge. It was a very sensible arrangement, but the two men were no longer on speaking
terms. Dirk was very glad to keep out of their way, especially as they had been a
little upset over his desertion to the scientists.
He saw equally little of Maxton and Collins, as the technical department was in a
state of organized uproar. It had apparently been decided that
everything
might be needed in Australia. Only Sir Robert Derwent seemed perfectly happy amid
the disorder, and Dirk was somewhat astonished to receive a summons from him one morning.
As it happened, it came on one of the few days when he was at Headquarters. It was
his first meeting with the Director-General since their brief introduction on the
day of his arrival.
He entered somewhat timidly, thinking of all the tales he had heard about Sir Robert.
The D.-G. probably noticed and understood his diffidence, for there was a distant
twinkle in his eye as he shook hands and offered his visitor a seat.
The room was no larger than many other offices which Dirk had seen at Southbank, but
its position at a corner of the building gave it an unrivaled view. One could see
most of the Embankment from Charing Cross to London Bridge.
Sir Robert
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