But after a time I was glad she had said it. My angry thoughts kept
me occupied and that helped pass the time. Almost before I knew it, I
heard the voice outside say:
"Fifteen minutes!"
I am a congenital heathen. This is not to say that I'm an atheist or
anything of the sort. It's simply that I've never accepted religion the
way most people do. In a way, I think I've missed something and I envy
those who can accept their faiths without question or doubt, and mold
their lives accordingly. For the first time, I wished I knew how to
pray.
"Ten minutes!" said the voice of doom.
It seemed as if the words were still echoing in my ears when I heard:
"Five minutes--four--three--two--sixty seconds--"
And then came the final ten seconds, ticked off one by one, ending in:
"_Zero!_"
The huge Saturn shuddered as the fuel ignited. It seemed to hesitate,
as if unwilling to leave the earth. I held my breath. Then I felt the
seat pressing against my buttocks and I knew we were on our way.
With each second the acceleration increased, the pressure grew greater.
I heard Morrie groan, but I knew he was all right. He was merely
expressing his reaction to the tension. Out of the corner of my eye I
saw Gail, her face contorted, her jaw firmly set. Spartan's eyes were
on the instruments, although his face revealed that he, too, was under
strain. Axel Ludson seemed to bear up best, probably because his body
was the strongest of all and his rugged frame could absorb the shock.
Dr. Warner Joel looked the most frightened and his eyes were fixed
on Dr. Spartan as if that man represented all of the security in the
universe at that instant.
Although the long wait before the lift-off had seemed unbelievably
short--just as the last hour would seem to a condemned criminal in his
death cell--the flight to the plasma ship, which had been nicknamed
the Jehad, after our own code name, was interminably long. We felt the
momentary halt and resurgence of acceleration as each successive stage
of the rocket was dropped. Then, after the third stage had burned out,
Spartan's hands grasped the controls, his eyes on a small television
screen in front of him.
"Right on the nose," he said, as if talking to himself. "At least,
Operations has done one thing right."
It was a typical remark, because as a perfectionist, Dr. Spartan was
aware of and magnified each minor imperfection in everyone else. So far
as I knew the entire operation had gone smoothly and without a hitch.
Spartan continued to operate the controls. I felt slight pressures as
the ship adjusted its orbit. We were moving alongside and close to the
plasma ship.
Six years, and as many billions of dollars, had been spent to build the
Jehad, which was the most revolutionary space craft ever to be put in
orbit.
To be accurate, the Jehad never had been put in orbit in one piece.
Each part, and all of the equipment needed to put those parts together,
had been rocketed into orbit from the ground. A team of highly skilled
scientists and construction workers had pieced it together, an amazing
job considering they had done this in a state of weightlessness. Eight
men had lost their lives as a result of punctured spacesuits.
The strange thing about the Jehad was that it could never have lifted
off the earth under its own power. Although the twelve generators which
would drive the Jehad to Mars produced fantastic voltage, their force
would not have knocked down a child--in fact, the push from a single
motor was about equal to the power exerted by a pigeon in flight.
However, it was the most efficient and most economical motor man could
use to travel ninety million miles to Mars--which is not the shortest
route, but the most practical since it makes use of the earth's motion
and the sun's gravitational power.
The plasma motor, more correctly the traveling-wave plasma motor, was
developed after several years of research at the NASA laboratories near
Cleveland, expressly for space propulsion. The first big breakthroughs,
which led to the eventual perfection of the machine, were made in 1961.
Because the machine was so complicated, involving principles laymen
found hard to understand, it had received very little publicity.
In the simplest terms, the plasma engine, like the rocket, makes use
of Newton's law on the conservation of energy--for every action there
is a corresponding and opposite reaction. But here the similarity with
rockets ends.
In effect, it means that if you throw a ball, as much pressure and
force is backward thrust on the hand as forward thrust on the ball.
Since the ball has smaller mass, it sails through the air while your
hand and body stay put because you are anchored by your weight and
gravity. But in space you would go back in proportion to your mass,
just as the ball goes forward. And if you continued to throw balls you
would accelerate with each toss.
The plasma motor is an electric generator, "spread out." That is, the
rotor--the part that revolves--is removed, the motor opened up and
flattened. Then it is coiled into a tube so that the field travels at
right angles to its normal direction. This makes the electrical field
run down the tube in waves, instead of in a circular motion.
Instead of a rotor, some lightweight element is ionized--heated and
vaporized until the electrons and protons of the atoms are torn
apart--and the resulting plasma rides down the tube on the waves as
circulating systems of positive (protons) and negative (electrons)
charges. When they are expelled there is a good-sized kick--kinetic
energy. In space, any kick, no matter how small, results in motion,
which will continue unless another force is applied to stop it. But in
this case the only applied force is more kicks forward, thus there is
acceleration.
The chief advantage of the plasma motor is that it can give a very good
thrust with a very small amount of fuel. Even the earliest calculations
disclosed that the amount of fuel needed to accelerate and decelerate
the ship amounted to practically nothing compared to the payload it
could push through space. A one-hundred-pound thrust would suffice to
drive a 150-ton spaceship to Mars. Compare this with the one thousand
pounds of thrust necessary to lift one pound of payload by rocket from
the surface of the earth.
The fuel used on the Jehad was lithium, the third-lightest element.
It had been used in the first experiments with the plasma engine but,
since it had to be heated to 2500 degrees in order to vaporize it,
argon--which was a gas to begin with--was experimented with. However,
it had been decided to use lithium, for two reasons: one, heat to
vaporize it could easily be obtained through high frequency heaters
powered by solar batteries; two, lithium is lighter than argon. Thus
was gained double advantage.
In theory, the Jehad could travel five-ninth's the speed of light, or
about one hundred thousand miles _per second_. As yet the Jehad had
never attained this velocity, because building up to that speed would
take months. In the 12-hour test flight, Spartan, Ludson and Gail
Loring reported that the craft behaved according to expectations and
there was reason to believe that, in practice, it would not fall short
of its theoretical speed.
However, speed was not important, since a good part of the time on
the trip would be spent in waiting for the earth and Mars to get into
proper positions. It was necessary only to be fairly close to schedule
in arriving on Mars.
I had been trained in the operation of the plasma ship and to me it
represented the summit of safety in space. That's why the trip to the
Jehad seemed so long. I didn't feel secure in the Saturn capsule and I
knew I'd be much safer on the Jehad.
We were weightless now as we orbited close to the plasma-powered ship.
Spartan, Joel and Ludson could see the craft on a small television
screen near the control panel. I couldn't see it from where I sat,
but I was familiar with its appearance. It looked something like an
elongated sausage with a small glass knob on each end. It was 185
meters long from the center of its forward cabin--an astrogation
observatory--to the center of the rear. This base line had been
measured to compute distances by parallax during the flight to Mars.
The center section was partitioned to contain motors, control and
communications room, storage and living quarters for the crew. There
was a difference, however, inasmuch as the entire interior could be
utilized as floor. Small rockets in the side would start the cylinder
spinning to give a weak but effective artificial gravity so that we
could walk, rather than float, during our weightless voyage. This
pressure would be equal on all walls, so it was possible for us to be
suspended from what earthbound people call the "ceiling," or to stand
out at right angles from the walls, without fear of falling. No matter
where we stood, the centrifugal force would always be outward.
"We're less than fifty yards from the Jehad," Dr. Spartan announced.
"This is about as close as I dare bring us. Drake, you'll carry a line
to the Jehad--make it fast to the door of the locks. We'll follow you
across."
"Yes, sir," I said.
I unbuckled the straps to my harness, taking a great deal of care
with my movements. I was weightless, and the slightest exertion might
send me spinning away in another demonstration of Newton's law on the
conservation of energy.
Grasping a grab rail, I pulled myself upward to the escape hatch. In a
rack were six aluminum tanks filled with oxygen. I slipped the straps
over my shoulders, tightened them, brought the flexible tube around
to my chest and fastened it into the fitting. Then I disconnected the
long air hose that fed oxygen to my helmet from the Saturn's supply and
opened the hatch. A gentle push of my toes on the grab rail sent me
floating into the air lock.
A reel of thin, stout copper wire was fastened to the wall near the
outside hatch. I slipped the end of this through a ring on my spacesuit
and ran out about a dozen feet, leaving a loose end, twice my height,
trailing.
Then I opened the hatch. A small amount of air in the locks escaped,
sucking me with it into outer space. For the first time I had a glimpse
of the universe, unshielded by atmosphere or clouds.
At my feet lay the earth, looking up with a bluish-white countenance.
To my left was the half moon, peeking over the dark blue horizon, its
craters plainly visible. Above was the sun, too dazzling to look at,
and all around were brilliant stars and planets, although I had no
time to pick them out, much as I would have liked to spot Mars, our
destination.
I was aimed toward the long sausage-shaped Jehad, but my trajectory
would take me above it and I had to make immediate adjustment. To do
this, I used a petcock on the belt of my spacesuit, which released a
very tiny jet of oxygen from the tank on my back. I twisted my body so
the force would send me in the right direction.
One little push was all I needed and now I had to somersault quickly,
and, at the same time, push out the long loose end of copper wire so
that it would strike the side of the Jehad before I did. This was very
important, for the electrical potential of the Jehad must be adjusted
to that of the Saturn capsule to guard against being struck by a bolt
of lightning as I contacted the sides of the craft. Apparently there
was not much of a differential for I saw no sparks against the black
sky.
My feet struck the sides of the Jehad gently, and magnetic strips in my
boots held me fast.
Walking with soft footfalls, because even a slightly heavy push might
tear me loose and send me out into space, making it necessary for me to
maneuver my way back to ship again, I approached the locks. I opened
the outer door and then made my line of copper wire fast to an eye just
above the opening.
"A-okay, Dr. Spartan!" I announced into my helmet microphone. "The
line's fast. I'll stand by to assist you folks aboard."
"Roger!" Spartan's voice echoed in my ears.
They came one by one, hand over hand, with safety hasps fastened over
the wire. First Morrie, then Gail, then Axel, Joel and Dr. Spartan,
playing his role of captain to the hilt, being the last to leave the
ship.
I pulled them into the locks. There had been a little danger from
meteors, of course, but the experts had figured that the chance of a
meteor large enough to penetrate a spacesuit hitting an individual was
one in 241 years. So far the estimate had been holding up. The nineteen
men who built the Jehad had worked six years in space--a total of 114
man years. We had yet to experience a meteor casualty.
None of my companions seemed afraid. All were a little glad to be
aboard the Jehad.
As Spartan came into the locks, he unfastened the wire line that held
us to the Saturn capsule. Then he closed the door. He turned a valve,
filling the chamber with air, and after a few seconds he opened the
inside locks and we all walked into the large, roomy interior of the
little planet of our own.
_Chapter 4_
You could call those five days aboard the Jehad a honeymoon, although
the usual definition did not apply to Mr. and Mrs. William Drake. Not
only had I promised to keep the marriage on a purely platonic level,
but Gail, by her actions and formality, gave me to understand that I
was not expected to even go through the motions of playing the newlywed
husband.
However, it was a happy time for all of us, and I include Dr. Spartan,
even though he might never again be described as being in sympathetic
rapport with the rest of us.
As soon as we had cut loose from the capsule and filled the plasma
craft with air, we got the artificial gravity in operation by starting
some auxiliary rockets which made the ship rotate slowly. The gravity
was only ten per cent, but it was sufficient to keep us from floating
around the room. We took off our spacesuits and laughed uproariously
at our costumes--shorts, T-shirts and lightweight sandals which had
magnetic strips in the soles to assist the artificial gravity in
holding us to the floor.
Axel relayed our messages back to the earth, telling of our safe
arrival, and Dr. Spartan and Warner Joel got the plasma motors going.
There were four banks of three motors each encircling the ship.
Although we had twelve engines, we planned to use only eight at a
time. Four were for emergencies and extra power, when needed.
There were no portholes except in the control room and even here the
outside view was partially blocked by a huge nuclear reactor, well
shielded and stuck out in front of the ship. This supplied all our
electrical power. However, there were video cameras on the outside--in
the front and rear of the craft--so that we could always see the
heavens about us on the monitor screens. There were four of these
in the control room and four more in the main cabin, which was the
middle segment of the ship. There were six sections, not counting the
rear cupola where Gail was quartered. The control dome was in front.
Dr. Spartan's private cabin, which was partitioned for sleeping and
working, was second.
The large main cabin was where we did most of our living, if you can
call it that. Directly behind it was a small galley and storeroom for
our food supplies. Next was the lavatory and shower room, and the rear
segment was filled with machinery--air and water-cycling equipment,
laundry, and some electrical tools for repairing the ship.
There wasn't much to see outside after we got in space but, during
those early days when we circled the earth and gained momentum, we
had a beautiful view of our world. There was also a procession of
multicolored and unwinking stars. The sun, too, was beautiful because
the corona could always be seen.
Probably it was because we were so busy in those first days that we got
along so well. Or maybe it was the excitement of finding everything
so new and different. From the moment we boarded the ship, we were in
another world, an independent planet, no longer associated with the
earth.
We had to learn to walk in diminished gravity; we had to accustom
ourselves to looking up and finding a companion sleeping on the ceiling
as if he were stuck there. Even the day was changed. Because there were
five of us, we had a 25-hour day, each man, with the exception of Dr.
Spartan, taking a five-hour control-room shift. The terrestrial day no
longer had any meaning, since our little planet rotated once every 30
seconds.
We had a garden--two trays, one above and one below the tube that
carried electrical wiring the length of the ship. We planted hybrid
vegetables in the garden--plants using a minimum of water and
converting a maximum of carbon dioxide into oxygen. However, the
air-cycling machinery was sufficient for most purposes.
Our biggest problem was water. Due to its weight and bulk, we carried
as little water as possible, since a great deal of it was already being
used to shield the nuclear reactor. For all other purposes--drinking,
preparation of dehydrated foods, laundry, sanitation and irrigation
of the garden--there was a tank containing 35 gallons. Excess water,
removed from the air and extracted from all waste products, was
purified and distilled twice, then used again.
At first, Gail Loring made the trip pleasant by her very presence. She
was pretty and cheerful, and the fact that she revealed so much in
the way of feminine charm in her space clothing caused the usual male
response. Not that we were a pack of wolves. There is nothing wrong
with looking, or even giving a mental whistle. I think Gail read our
minds and I'm sure she enjoyed it.
Axel's face mirrored his thoughts in a slow grin. Dr. Joel, who was
acting with the vigor of a sales manager at a customers' convention,
treated her to adoring, but not necessarily fatherly, witticisms.
Morrie Grover positively drooled when she was around and made a great
thing of helping her out with various tasks, even though I think Gail
would have preferred not to have the help. Spartan watched her, too,
but it was impossible to read his thoughts. As I said, everything was
milk and honey in those days.
But after we had the ship functioning, the garden growing, and our
schedules perfected, we suddenly found that there was not enough to
do. The looks that had been innocently male, began slowly to change to
something else.
Gail, who had usually shown me less attention than the others,
apparently because I had a greater legal right to claim more attention,
spoke of it one day when she came through the machinery room while I
was washing out the dirty uniforms.
I'd brought a projector and a microfilm of a book on astrogation and
was reading when she paused beside the washer. "Need help, Bill Drake?"
she asked in a friendly tone.
I looked up and smiled. "Now that was a nice, wifely thing to say." I
told her. "Unfortunately it's my turn to do the laundry so you don't
have to help."
"But you wouldn't throw me out if I did?" she asked.
"There's really nothing to do," I said, nodding toward the automatic
washer which was halfway through its cycle. "But if you'd like to join
in a little small talk about the universe at large, I'll be thankful
for company. You realize, don't you, that this is the first time
the bride and groom have really been alone together since they were
married?"
She frowned. "Let's not talk about that, Bill Drake," she said.
"Why not? Afraid that if we mention it too often we might suddenly
realize we're married?"