across the switches of the rocket firing panel.
Three hundred feet away, on the far side of the great mirror, I saw the first jets of flame stabbing against the stars. A shudder ran through the framework all round us: it was never meant to be swung so quickly as this. Even so, it seemed to turn very slowly. Then I saw that the Sun was moving off to one side—we were no longer aimed directly towards it, and the invisible cone of fire converging from our mirror was now opening out harmlessly into space. How near it passed to Tex we never knew, but he said later that there was one brief, blinding explosion of light that swept past him and left him blinded for minutes.
The controlling rockets burned themselves out, and with a gasp of relief I let go my hand-hold. Although the acceleration had been slight—there was not enough power in these small units to produce any really violent effects—it was more than the mirror had ever been designed to withstand, and some of the reflecting surfaces had torn adrift and were slowly spinning in space. So, for that matter, was the whole power station: it would take a long period of careful juggling with the jets to iron out the spin that Commander Doyle had given it. Sun, Earth and stars were slowly turning all about us and I had to close my eyes before I could get any sense of orientation.
When I opened them again, the Commander was busily talking to the Orson Welles , explaining just what had happened and saying exactly what he thought of Mr Duncan. That was the end of shooting for the day—and it was quite a while before anyone saw Tex again.
Soon after this episode, our visitors packed their things and went farther out into space—much to our disappointment. The fact that we were in darkness for half the time, while passing through the shadow of the Earth, was too big a handicap for efficient filming. Apparently they had never thought of this, and when we heard of them again they were ten thousand miles out, in a slightly tilted orbit that kept them in perpetual sunlight.
We were sorry to see them go, because they had provided much entertainment—and we'd been anxious to see the famous ray-guns in action. To everyone's surprise, the entire unit eventually got back to Earth safely. But we're still waiting for the film to appear…
It was the end, too, of Norman's hero-worship. The photo of Tex vanished from his locker and was never seen again.
In my prowling around, I'd now visited almost every part of the Station that wasn't strictly 'Out of Bounds'. The forbidden territory included the power-plant—which was radioactive anyway, so that nobody could go into it—the Stores Section, guarded by a fierce quartermaster, and the Main Control Room. This was one place I'd badly wanted to go to: it was the 'brain' of the Station, from which radio contact was maintained with all the ships in this section of space, and, of course, with Earth itself. Until everyone knew that I could be trusted not to make a nuisance of myself, there was little chance of me being allowed in here . But I was determined to manage it some day, and at last I got the opportunity.
One of the tasks of the junior apprentices was to take coffee and light refreshments to the Duty Officer in the middle of his watch. This always occurred when the Station was crossing the Greenwich Meridian: since it took exactly a hundred minutes for us to make one trip around the Earth, everything was based on this interval and our clocks were adjusted to give a local 'hour' of this length. After a while one got used to being able to judge the time simply by glancing at the Earth and seeing which continent was beneath.
The coffee, like all drinks, was carried in closed containers (nicknamed 'milk bottles') and had to be drunk by sucking through a plastic tube—since of course it wouldn't pour in the absence of gravity. The refreshments were taken up to the Control Room in a light frame with little holes for the various
Three hundred feet away, on the far side of the great mirror, I saw the first jets of flame stabbing against the stars. A shudder ran through the framework all round us: it was never meant to be swung so quickly as this. Even so, it seemed to turn very slowly. Then I saw that the Sun was moving off to one side—we were no longer aimed directly towards it, and the invisible cone of fire converging from our mirror was now opening out harmlessly into space. How near it passed to Tex we never knew, but he said later that there was one brief, blinding explosion of light that swept past him and left him blinded for minutes.
The controlling rockets burned themselves out, and with a gasp of relief I let go my hand-hold. Although the acceleration had been slight—there was not enough power in these small units to produce any really violent effects—it was more than the mirror had ever been designed to withstand, and some of the reflecting surfaces had torn adrift and were slowly spinning in space. So, for that matter, was the whole power station: it would take a long period of careful juggling with the jets to iron out the spin that Commander Doyle had given it. Sun, Earth and stars were slowly turning all about us and I had to close my eyes before I could get any sense of orientation.
When I opened them again, the Commander was busily talking to the Orson Welles , explaining just what had happened and saying exactly what he thought of Mr Duncan. That was the end of shooting for the day—and it was quite a while before anyone saw Tex again.
Soon after this episode, our visitors packed their things and went farther out into space—much to our disappointment. The fact that we were in darkness for half the time, while passing through the shadow of the Earth, was too big a handicap for efficient filming. Apparently they had never thought of this, and when we heard of them again they were ten thousand miles out, in a slightly tilted orbit that kept them in perpetual sunlight.
We were sorry to see them go, because they had provided much entertainment—and we'd been anxious to see the famous ray-guns in action. To everyone's surprise, the entire unit eventually got back to Earth safely. But we're still waiting for the film to appear…
It was the end, too, of Norman's hero-worship. The photo of Tex vanished from his locker and was never seen again.
In my prowling around, I'd now visited almost every part of the Station that wasn't strictly 'Out of Bounds'. The forbidden territory included the power-plant—which was radioactive anyway, so that nobody could go into it—the Stores Section, guarded by a fierce quartermaster, and the Main Control Room. This was one place I'd badly wanted to go to: it was the 'brain' of the Station, from which radio contact was maintained with all the ships in this section of space, and, of course, with Earth itself. Until everyone knew that I could be trusted not to make a nuisance of myself, there was little chance of me being allowed in here . But I was determined to manage it some day, and at last I got the opportunity.
One of the tasks of the junior apprentices was to take coffee and light refreshments to the Duty Officer in the middle of his watch. This always occurred when the Station was crossing the Greenwich Meridian: since it took exactly a hundred minutes for us to make one trip around the Earth, everything was based on this interval and our clocks were adjusted to give a local 'hour' of this length. After a while one got used to being able to judge the time simply by glancing at the Earth and seeing which continent was beneath.
The coffee, like all drinks, was carried in closed containers (nicknamed 'milk bottles') and had to be drunk by sucking through a plastic tube—since of course it wouldn't pour in the absence of gravity. The refreshments were taken up to the Control Room in a light frame with little holes for the various
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