The Red Planet (4 page)

“Well, that settles that. There’s nothing wrong with us. Switch on the televiewer, Doc. Let’s take a look at Number Two.”

I moved over to the control. A few seconds later the televiewer screen glowed and showed the long line of ships stretching out below us. We could see No 2 quite clearly. She looked no different from any of the other freighters. She was in line, in perfect formation. We all looked at the screen in silence. Then Jet said: “I’d give anything to know what’s going on in there.”

“Then why don’t we go across and see?” suggested Lemmy.

“Use your sense, Lemmy,” said Mitch. “If we went across, how would we get inside? If they don’t hear the radio, how do we get them to open the door?”

“If one of us banged on it with a wrench they’d hear that all right.”

“I think it’s worth a try, Jet,” I put in. “We have no other way of contacting them.”

“Very well then,” said Jet. “Lemmy, get my suit.”

“Shall I get mine, too?” volunteered the Cockney.

“No, stay here, Lemmy. Keep trying to contact them. Doc will see me safely across.”

From my position close to the door I stood by as Jet made his way across to No 2, while back in the ship Mitch watched his progress on the televiewer. Meanwhile Lemmy was constantly calling the freighter on the radio, but with no result.

When Jet reached the freighter’s tightly-closed main door he rapped on it with the wrench. But he had hardly begun knocking when a familiar voice was heard on the inter-comm.

“Hullo, Discovery--Freighter Number Two Calling. Urgent. Come in please.” It was Frank Rogers.

Lemmy immediately connected him to Jet and a few minutes later I heard Frank say: “Hullo, skipper. Have to report that Whitaker is sick. Very ill, I think.”

“What? Then why didn’t you answer when we called?”

“Have you been calling? I was asleep and . . .”

“Asleep!” There was no mistaking the anger in Jet’s voice.

“Yes, sir,” said Frank apologetically. “And when I woke up I found Whitaker flat out. I can’t rouse him.”

“Listen to me, Frank,” said Jet sharply; “if you’re awake enough to get to the main door, open it and let me in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hullo, Doc,” Jet called to me.

“Hearing you,” I told him.

“Come over here, will you?”

“Sure thing,” I replied, and unfastening the hook of Jet’s line from where it was secured to the ring near my feet I hooked it to my belt and, by way of No 1, hauled myself across. When I arrived at No 2 the main door was already open and Jet was waiting for me in the airlock. After the lock had been exhausted and the hatch opened Jet led the way up into the crew’s quarters.

“Where’s Whitaker?” he asked as he reached floor level.

“There,” was the reply.

“Good grief!” I heard Jet say. “He’s still standing up!”

By this time I, too, had climbed the ladder and stepped into the cabin. While I was removing my helmet I had time to take in the scene. Whitaker was standing near the control table in front of the radio and leaning to one side an angle of forty-five degrees.

“It makes no difference whether he’s standing up or lying down, Jet,” I interrupted. “He’s unconscious just the same. Help me get him over to his bunk.” Although common sense told me Whitaker’s strange attitude was due to lack of gravity within the ship, I must admit that seeing him like that--his eyes half-open but lifeless--was uncanny.

Jet untied Whitaker’s magnetic boots and between us we got him to his bunk. He appeared to be in a coma. His breathing was quite regular but his temperature was abnormally low.

While I was still examining Whitaker, Jet questioned Frank. “Now,” he said, “let’s get to the bottom of this. Why didn’t you answer us when we called?”

“If I’d known you were calling I would have,” replied Rogers.

“But good heavens, man, the radio’s loud enough, isn’t it? Do you want an alarm clock, too?”

“Well, no matter how loud it was, sir, I’m afraid it didn’t wake me.”

“What time did you go to sleep?”

“About two hours ago.”

“Did you take a pill?”

“No, Jet, but while I was sleeping...”

“Well?”

Frank swallowed, looked at the floor, hesitated a moment and then continued: “I had the most horrible dream. One of those nightmares when you know that if you don’t wake up something terrible will happen to you. I thought I was back on Earth but the funny thing was that . . .”

“You don’t have to give me details of your dream,” broke in Jet impatiently. “What was Whitaker doing when you went to bed?”

“Sitting at the radio, on watch.”

“Did you notice anything odd about him then?”

“No more than usual. He didn’t have a word to say.”

By this time my examination had been completed and Jet moved over to the bunk. “Well, Doc?” he asked.

“Still unconscious,” I told him.

“Any idea why?”

“No,” I said, “I can’t understand it at all. I can find nothing wrong with him but I can’t rouse him.”

“If it’s just sleep, it must have come upon him very suddenly.”

“It certainly did,” I replied. “Anyway, I don’t intend to leave him before he wakes again--and that might be hours. Perhaps you’d better go back to the Discovery.”

“But that would mean Frank virtually running this ship on his own,” Jet protested. “You can’t share his watches and stay with Whitaker at the same time.”

“I can manage for a few hours anyway, sir,” said Frank, trying to be helpful.

“No, I have a better idea,” said Jet. “Do you think we could move Whitaker over to the Discovery?” he asked, turning to me. “We could keep an eye on him then without upsetting the watch routine.”

I was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of Jet’s suggestion, but Frank received it enthusiastically. “He doesn’t weigh anything, sir,” he reminded us eagerly. “It would only be a matter of towing him across.”

“Rogers,” I said, “you almost sound as though you’d be glad to get rid of him.”

“Under the circumstances, Doc,” said Jet, “if we can move him I think we should.”

“Very well,” I replied. “Give him an hour. If he doesn’t wake by then, I’ll consider it.”

The hour passed slowly but at the end of it there was still no sign of life from Whitaker. He lay on his bunk, breathing a little heavily but otherwise not moving. Jet called up Mitch and told him to prepare to transfer to No 2. Once Mitch was outside the Discovery, Jet and I, carrying Whitaker between us, were hauled across and when we reached our own ship Mitch pushed off towards the freighter.

Back in the flagship we removed Whitaker’s suit and laid him on Mitch’s bunk. We had hardly done this when the chief engineer called up from No 2 to say he was safely aboard. At that moment there was a moan from Whitaker id Jet hurried to my side.

“He’s waking,” I told him. A second later Whitaker’s eyes opened. He looked around him in surprise and tried to sit up.

“Here,” I said, “get this down. It’ll make you feel better.” But he refused the little flask I offered. “Where am I?” he asked quietly.

“Doc and I went over to your ship and brought you back,” said Jet.

“Sleeping,” I said. “At least, that’s what you appeared to be doing.”

“Can’t a man sleep without he has to be hauled from one ship to another?” he asked almost angrily.

“Now take it easy,” said Jet; “you fell asleep standing on your feet. That’s not natural.” “Under gravity-less conditions?”

“What I mean is, you fell asleep in the middle of talking to me.”

“Oh, yes;” Whitaker paused a moment as he cast his mind back. “I remember. Records had lost my dossier.”

“I didn’t say so. I merely said that they wanted information about you.”

“Do they still want it?”

“Yes.”

“Then get it over with.”

“I’d rather you waited a bit, Jet,” I suggested; “at least until I’ve given him a thorough look over.”

“Ask your questions, Captain Morgan,” said Whitaker flatly and apparently disinterested.

“No,” said Jet, “you’ll stay where you are until Doc considers you’re fit to get up. Later I’ll have you transferred to another freighter.”

“I’m not going back to Number Two?”

“No.”

“But Number Two is my ship. I must go back to it.”

“I’m sorry, Whitaker, but under the circumstances that is impossible. You and Rogers don’t get along too well. One of you has to be moved.”

“Then let it be Rogers. He’s the one who complains.”

“Whitaker,” said Jet firmly, “if I decide to move you, you’ll move, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jet lowered his voice. “All right, Doc, he’s all yours. I’ll question him later.”

“Sure, Jet,” I said.

Whitaker ‘rested’, much against his will, for six hours. At the end of that time the only report I could give Jet was that he was fit and well again, physically at any rate. In due course Jet got the information he required and had it radioed back to Base.

As to the cause of the strange, deep sleep that had so suddenly overtaken Whitaker, I was none the wiser, nor, apparently, was he. But, if I learned nothing else, after spending an hour or more in his company I could appreciate how difficult Frank Rogers had found him. There was some indefinable--well--’atmosphere’--surrounding Whitaker that made me uneasy just to be near him.

When Whitaker was fit enough to take up his duties again and began moving around the cabin, Jet and Lemmy noticed his strangeness, too. Tension in the ship began to mount and then, less than twenty-four hours after Whitaker had joined us, something happened that drove all thoughts of his behaviour from our minds.

A report came through from Freighter No 5. Every ship took its turn at radar watch and No 5 had just started its two-hour vigil when Grimshaw, one of its crew, made a startling discovery.

“Unless I’ve gone crazy, sir,” The Canadian was saying excitedly, “there’s something pretty solid in front of us. And it lies right across our path.”

“How strong are the signals?” Jet asked him.

“Very faint, but they’re there, skipper.”

“All right, Number Five,” said Jet. “Keep constant watch, will you? I’ll get the other ships to see if they can pick up anything.”

A few minutes later we were getting signals on our own radar and as more reports came in it became obvious that the object which blocked our path, whatever it was, was colossal.

‘What do you may of it, Doc?” Jet asked me after the series of reports had been received.

“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “It could be a cloud of meteors or even tiny asteroids. How far are we from it now?”

“Well, I estimate we’ll reach it in about twenty-one hours, if we stay on our present course.”

“Then don’t you think we should notify Control and see what they have to say?”

“Yes,” said Jet; “perhaps we should.”

It was more than four hours (by which time Lemmy had retired to his bunk) before we received a reply to our urgent message, and then all Control could say was: “Unable to say with certainty what the object is. Possibility that it may be one of these things: meteor swarm, comet dust or a cloud of ionised gas. If either of the first two, suggest evasive action be taken as soon as practicable. If ionised gas, you can expect to pass through it safely with no adverse results other than a temporary upsetting of electronic equipment. Please keep us fully informed. End of message.”

“Well,” said Jet, “with regard to the first two objects they’re much the same thing and equally as dangerous. But if it is ionised gas then we can take a chance and plunge straight through it.”

“And how are we to tell which it is?” I reminded him.

“I don’t think we will be able to, Doc, until we get fairly close to it--and by then it will be too late to get out of its way. We’ll see what Mitch thinks.”

The Australian was sure that the swarm we were approaching was composed of meteors. “For safety’s sake, Jet, I think we should treat it as though it were and take evasive action,” he said.

“That will mean changing course,” said Jet, “and once we start that we may never reach Mars.”

”If we’re battered to pieces by meteors we’ll never reach it either.”

“WeII, wp’re not likely to meet the outer layers of that swarm for some hours yet,” Jet went on, “and that gives us plenty of time to get you back into the ship. If we decide change course, you’ll have to be here.”

“And I shan’t be sorry,” said Mitch. “Being a member of a freighter crew can get darned dull.”

“Very well,” said Jet. “I’ll call you later.” And with that he switched off the receiver and again turned to me. “Well, Doc,” he asked, “what is our estimated distance from it now?”

“About half a million miles,” I told him. “We should reach it in about seventeen hours.”

“Then if we are going to transfer Whitaker and get Mitch back here, we’d better start doing something about it at once.”

“Where do you intend sending him?” I asked.

“I don’t know. If he has the same effect on other crews as he has on Frank, wherever we send him could well be disastrous.” Jet thought for a moment and then said:

I was about to wake the construction engineer and tell him to put his suit on when Lemmy, who occupied the bunk above him, began to moan.

“What on earth’s the matter with him?” asked Jet in surprise, looking first at Lemmy and then at me. “Is he having a nightmare or something?”

Apparently Lemmy was, because he suddenly began to twist and turn in his bunk and to cry: “No, no--oh, help. Help!”

I moved over to the bunk with Jet close behind me. As I did so, Lemmy gave a piercing scream as though he were in great pain. I took him by the shoulder and shook him. “Lemmy,” I called. “Lemmy! What’s the matter?”

But he just went on yelling and screaming. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide and he sat up in his bunk and began to grapple with me. After a bit of a struggle I freed myself from his grasp and slapped his face. That brought him round. The yelling stopped and he sat quite still, staring at me.