ships, the Discovery and Number Six, were turned over and their speeds increased. Twelve hours later we overhauled the remaining freighters and took up our places in formation. Whitaker we left behind, having ‘buried’ him in space.
One of the first things Jet did when he got back to the Flagship was to play over the recording tape that I had salvaged. It consisted mainly of routine calls from Control to the Discovery. Whitaker had obviously taken them down during his radio watches, probably while Peterson was asleep. Clearly these were the tapes he had played in the hope of fooling us that he was Control before giving the order to turn back. But why he had done it, we still hadn’t the least idea.
Nothing we found gave us any indication as to why Peterson had abandoned ship, for we could only assume that he, too, was dead. Somewhere, in between the orbits of Earth and Mars, his body, still enclosed in his suit, must even now be drifting on a course that will take him forever round the Sun. If not for ever, then for thousands of years, until he comes close enough to some heavenly body to be drawn to it by gravitational attraction, finally to crash upon its surface.
I wondered what the next tragedy would be, for, up to now, our trip seemed, as Lemmy put it, to have the ‘mockers’ on it and to be cursed with one unfortunate occurrence after another. Happily for us, however, the next event was a very welcome one; Lemmy made contact with Control. The cloud of ionised gas through which we had passed must have moved out of line with us and Earth and once more our signals were able to reach home.
Lemmy called up Mitch and me in Number Six and told us the good news. No doubt about its being Control this time for reception wasn’t very good and the time-lag between call and reply amounted to more than half a minute.
So elated was Jet at being able to talk to home once more that he allowed all ships to tune in to Control’s frequency and listen to Base’s transmissions. After the normal routine calls and reports had been made, Jet asked Control for the news bulletin. This was an item to which we all looked forward and, before we lost contact with home, it was relayed to the Fleet every twenty-four hours. Not only did we hear the latest international news but also the results of recent sporting events which made us all feel very much less cut off than we had been hitherto. We began to look forward again to the time when we would reach the Red Planet.
Mitch and I now made up the crew of Number Six, but there were occasions when one or other of us had to go over to the Discovery to help out Jet and Lemmy with some of the major duties which were peculiar to the Flagship. We were getting very close to Mars when I received one such summons from Jet.
I arrived in the Discovery to find Jet sitting at the Control table on watch while Lemmy examined the surface of Mars through the navigational telescope. The radio operator turned to greet me as I entered and asked if I would like to take a close look at the planet. Not knowing as yet what Jet wanted me for, I declined.
“It’s beautiful, Doc,” said Lemmy, “really beautiful. To call it the Red Planet is a mistake, if you ask me; there’s as much green as red--and so bright.”
“Now don’t go getting too ecstatic, Lemmy,” I said jokingly, “or the crews of every freighter will be wanting to come over here and take a look as well.”
“Two weeks from now,” said Jet, “every ship will be less than a thousand miles above the Martian surface. We’ll be able to see it much clearer then than we do now--even with the telescope.”
“I can hardly believe we’re that close,” I said, almost to myself.
“And the nearer we get, Doc,” Jet said, “the stranger I feel.”
“You, Jet?” I exclaimed. “After twenty-seven trips to the Moon?”
“I can’t explain it, Doc. That’s why I’ve asked you to come over here. Let’s go to my bunk and sit down.”
I
One of the first things Jet did when he got back to the Flagship was to play over the recording tape that I had salvaged. It consisted mainly of routine calls from Control to the Discovery. Whitaker had obviously taken them down during his radio watches, probably while Peterson was asleep. Clearly these were the tapes he had played in the hope of fooling us that he was Control before giving the order to turn back. But why he had done it, we still hadn’t the least idea.
Nothing we found gave us any indication as to why Peterson had abandoned ship, for we could only assume that he, too, was dead. Somewhere, in between the orbits of Earth and Mars, his body, still enclosed in his suit, must even now be drifting on a course that will take him forever round the Sun. If not for ever, then for thousands of years, until he comes close enough to some heavenly body to be drawn to it by gravitational attraction, finally to crash upon its surface.
I wondered what the next tragedy would be, for, up to now, our trip seemed, as Lemmy put it, to have the ‘mockers’ on it and to be cursed with one unfortunate occurrence after another. Happily for us, however, the next event was a very welcome one; Lemmy made contact with Control. The cloud of ionised gas through which we had passed must have moved out of line with us and Earth and once more our signals were able to reach home.
Lemmy called up Mitch and me in Number Six and told us the good news. No doubt about its being Control this time for reception wasn’t very good and the time-lag between call and reply amounted to more than half a minute.
So elated was Jet at being able to talk to home once more that he allowed all ships to tune in to Control’s frequency and listen to Base’s transmissions. After the normal routine calls and reports had been made, Jet asked Control for the news bulletin. This was an item to which we all looked forward and, before we lost contact with home, it was relayed to the Fleet every twenty-four hours. Not only did we hear the latest international news but also the results of recent sporting events which made us all feel very much less cut off than we had been hitherto. We began to look forward again to the time when we would reach the Red Planet.
Mitch and I now made up the crew of Number Six, but there were occasions when one or other of us had to go over to the Discovery to help out Jet and Lemmy with some of the major duties which were peculiar to the Flagship. We were getting very close to Mars when I received one such summons from Jet.
I arrived in the Discovery to find Jet sitting at the Control table on watch while Lemmy examined the surface of Mars through the navigational telescope. The radio operator turned to greet me as I entered and asked if I would like to take a close look at the planet. Not knowing as yet what Jet wanted me for, I declined.
“It’s beautiful, Doc,” said Lemmy, “really beautiful. To call it the Red Planet is a mistake, if you ask me; there’s as much green as red--and so bright.”
“Now don’t go getting too ecstatic, Lemmy,” I said jokingly, “or the crews of every freighter will be wanting to come over here and take a look as well.”
“Two weeks from now,” said Jet, “every ship will be less than a thousand miles above the Martian surface. We’ll be able to see it much clearer then than we do now--even with the telescope.”
“I can hardly believe we’re that close,” I said, almost to myself.
“And the nearer we get, Doc,” Jet said, “the stranger I feel.”
“You, Jet?” I exclaimed. “After twenty-seven trips to the Moon?”
“I can’t explain it, Doc. That’s why I’ve asked you to come over here. Let’s go to my bunk and sit down.”
I
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