WITHIN THE SILVERY HULL
The Nardak was coining into her hangar--not drifting through the air,
but rolling in on wheels. From far down the track line that entered the
covered dock came a heavy rumbling. Then a long line of trucks appeared,
running smoothly over the docking rails. Anchored to these was the vast,
silvery shape of the Nardak, an aeronautical leviathan nearly eight
hundred feet long by a hundred and forty feet high.
"The Nardak on wheels! I thought it was a ship of the air!" gasped
Renaud.
"So it is," laughed Captain Bartlot, "but this is the simplest way of
getting her into her hangar. Even with these rolling doors opened to
make an enormous entrance, there is always the danger that the cross
winds and gusts that sweep into the hangar will batter this
lighter-than-air craft against the walls or roof. She's been on a test
flight. Her crew landed her out on the unobstructed field, then anchored
her on wheels for the trip indoors."
After the Nardak was in the hangar, the ground crew stepped forward and
fastened her ropes through the iron rings in concrete pillars that
studded the floor here and there on either side of the docking rails.
"We won't have all this assistance and landing paraphernalia to help us
when we get up into the ice country," said Bartlot. "But we are counting
on another landing method that we are going to try out when the need
comes. All right, young man," motioning Lee to follow, "want to see this
'cigar' of mine at close quarters?"
The huge dirigible in its sheen of silvery paint did look like a
mammoth, tinfoil wrapped cigar--a cigar eight hundred feet long!
As Lee Renaud went up the little set of drop-steps and entered the hull,
he was overwhelmed at the amazing intricacy of the interior. Seen from
without, the simple lines of the dirigible would seem to indicate that
it was nothing more than a great gas bag. But within that silvery casing
was a structure as complicated as that of a steel skyscraper. Three
thousand metal struts criss-crossed in a maze of latticed girders.
"Tons, and thousands of tons of weight!" thought Lee. "How can this load
even lift, much less fly!"
As if in answer to the thought, Bartlot spoke. "These struts--duralumin,
an alloy metal, that's what they are made of. There, laid on the floor
of the runway, is a discarded girder that's just been taken out. Lift
it."
Lee took a long breath, got a grip on the thing, gave a great tug--and
almost fell backwards. Sixteen feet of girder, and it weighed next to
nothing! He could almost lift it with a finger!
"And yet the weight of six men couldn't bend it!" Bartlot remarked in
answer to Lee's questioning look.
They passed on down the catwalk, or metal promenade plank that ran the
whole length of the hull. On either side were arranged the great tanks
of gasoline that furnished the motive power for the dirigible, and the
twenty separate balloonets or gas bags that contained helium, which was
the lifting power of the ship.
"Here's a case where _a la_ the old rhyme, the cow will jump over the
moon." Captain Jan pointed to the gas bags. "These remarkable gas-tight
containers are made of thousands upon thousands of portions of
gold-beater's skin, which is the small tough section of the intestine of
a steer. More than 1,500,000 cattle from the various stockyards
contributed to the making of these helium bags--so in the name of
science, the cow is going to soar pretty high."
One marvel after another aroused Lee Renaud's admiration as his capable
guide took him from end to end of the ship, and down through the
ladderways that connected with the outside gondolas that housed the
engines, the navigating room, the quarters for the crew. There was the
great rudder to guide her through the ocean of air, the flippers for
elevation, the keel corridor for storage, the laboratory, the
photographic room, the instruments for recording speed, height, weather.
Wonderful equipment, on a wonderful craft. Yet Lee Renaud found his eyes
straying here and there, searching for something more.
"The radio-room, eh? I'll bet a ton of duralumin, you're on pins to set
your eyes on it. Well, I've saved radio for the climax--saved the best
for the last, and I know that's a truth, so far as Lee Renaud's
concerned." Captain Jan exploded into his big laugh as he led the way
forward toward a compartment in the navigating section of the ship which
was built at the bow, just under the nose. This navigating section was
arranged with the control-room set first, the chart-house immediately
behind, and behind this again the radio-room with its complete
broadcasting and receiving equipment.
As Lee Renaud got his first eyeful of the Nardak's radio equipment, his
breath seemed to cut off and his hair fairly stand on end for
excitement. Here was radio--real radio!
Into wall panels, from floor to ceiling, were set elaborate mechanisms
of grills and tubes and coils. In the center of the compartment was a
desk and chair, as though this were some secretarial room in a
skyscraper office building. But instead of housing pen and ink and
paper, this desk housed the marvelous apparatus that could send word by
air, instead of by ink.
A man in shirt sleeves, and with head phones adjusted, sat humped over
the radio desk, working at a dial. This was Jack Simms, radio chief of
the Nardak. As Captain Bartlot made the introductions, a ferocious
scowl, emphasized by a great scar across the left cheek, seem to draw up
Simms' face, and he spoke shortly, "Howdy, youngster!" with what
appeared to Lee unnecessary emphasis on the "youngster." All these
veterans seemed to have it in for the youngest member of the crew, and
to resent his being thrust in among them.
While Simms rather perfunctorily explained to his newly arrived
assistant the various parts of this very modern and powerful radio unit,
Lee couldn't keep his eyes off the scar across the man's cheek. What Lee
did not know, at that time, was that Simms had gained that perpetual
decoration by sticking to his radio post aboard a rammed and sinking
ocean liner--a post that he held till he had put wireless through to
other ships that answered the call and rescued every man jack aboard the
wreck.
"Now here are our ten-meter transmitters for exploring ultra-short
waves," Simms' cool voice went on. "With condensers adjusted for maximum
plate current, sounds from quite a respectable distance can be brought
into the clear. I'll demonstrate." He turned the tiny marking light on
the dial. "That ought to get us Station ZEAF at Brinton, two hundred
miles away."
As the dial light came to rest, a clear burst of beautiful music rolled
through the little room.
"That's hitting it up pretty fine." Lee's face glowed. "I reached out to
two hundred once with an old battery, some barbed wire and the like. Got
the sound, but it was distorted, like the singer was yelling out of the
side of his mouth--"
"You've made radio, huh? Receiver, or transmitter?"
"Both."
As Lee, at Simms' prompting, told something of the various experiments
he had tried, Bartlot quietly left the room, to return later bearing the
leather case containing the boy's portable model.
Without a word, the Captain opened back the leather and shoved the
contents up under Jack Simms' nose. The latter half arose, then settled
back, and went over the little mechanism carefully. He gave a long
whistle. "Some points to that, kid!"
After that, there wasn't much in the way of radio that Jack Simms didn't
go into minutely for Lee Renaud's benefit. Old Simms had found that he
and Lee talked the same language--audio frequency, voltage, detector
grid input, C3, filter, and the rest of the jargon.
* * * * *
For a fortnight longer, the preparation aboard the Nardak went forward.
On former trips the Nardak had been a floating pleasure palace circling
the globe with a crew of forty and with twenty passengers in luxurious
staterooms. In view of her impending arduous flight into the barren
polar wastes, all of this was being changed. Such luxurious features of
the ship as the cabin de luxe and the magnificent passenger saloon were
being discarded, and small plain cabins installed. This was done to
lighten the load on the ship and increase the capacity for the useful
load of food and fuel necessities.
During this interim, on a special rush order, an Adron factory pushed
forward the work of making six portables after Lee's little radio model.
These were for field work on the Arctic barrens.
In the airship itself, several structural changes were made. There was
the protecting of vital parts against the effects of low temperatures
and the preparation of certain special equipment for landing without any
help from the ground.
Then the great day came. The day for all aboard, and then off, adventure
bound!
For the last time the huge ship came out of her hangar on wheels. She
was ready now to be loosed, ready to take the air. To the high daring of
her mission the city of Adron did homage. Horns blared, great factory
sirens roared their calls, bands played. Now a wedge of airplanes zoomed
across the sky, come to bid the expedition farewell in their own
particular aerial style. For this departing mammoth of the air was
answering the greatest challenge of them all--a prolonged exploration
flight over the vast frozen Arctic.
On this exploration were going a wonderful picked crew of scientists,
geologists, meteorologists--learned men of many professions had striven
for a chance to face any hardship, if only they might go on this
expedition to the "geologist's paradise," the fearful, mysterious frozen
Polar Region with its lure of unrevealed secrets.
Out of the hundreds of applicants, only so few could go--some sixty men.
Because this dangerous expedition could be no stronger than its weakest
member, its personnel had to be selected with an eye to strength, health
and disposition as well as scientific ability.
A large order in the way of exploration personnel! Yet Jan Bartlot's
genius for leadership led him to pick an astonishingly capable, loyal,
brave body of men to companion him into the wilds of the Arctic.
There was stocky, blond Norwegian Olaf Valchen who came from
Spitzbergen, that far northern settlement. He had long been a lone flyer
of the icy wastes, a carrier of dynamite and other mining supplies
across the Hudson Bay territory.
"Tornado" Harrison of the United States Weather Bureau was going along
to "get the weather" for the various undertakings.
A most important member of the crew was Sandy Sanderson, the cook.
Sanderson was already well up on frigid zone cooking, having dished up
seal steak patties and walrus goulash to whaling ships over half the
oceans of the world.
On this flight, there were explorers who had already battled ice fields
with various forms of polar locomotion, some with shaggy Siberian
ponies, some with sledge huskies, some with ships of the sea. But now,
by ship of the air, by radio, by electricity, Commander Bartlot hoped
not only to penetrate the Arctic, but also to explore it.
He would have need of all the aids of modern science, for the Arctic
world breeds the most fearful of storms, spews forth the most monstrous
of grinding, treacherous icebergs, forever shifts its sky lights in a
strange visibility that deceives and magnifies and lures with mirages.
As the great ship of adventure began to rise, the bands burst into
martial tunes. Shouts roared from the throngs below. Handkerchiefs
fluttered. A little girl in a red dress held her doll aloft for her
father on board to see. Wives, mothers, sweethearts waved farewell.
Lee Renaud, looking over the side, felt suddenly engulfed in loneliness.
In all that crowd there was not one to personally wish him God speed.
The last ropes were being cast off. The vessel rose higher.
There came a shout from below. A boy on a motorcycle was threading the
crowd. "Telegram! Drop a hook!" was bawled up through a megaphone
amplifier.
Then the little yellow envelope went fluttering up on the end of a line.
"Renaud,--Lee Renaud, it's for you!" Lee's hands trembled as he tore it
open. What did it mean? What had happened?
From Great-uncle Gem! Lee's eyes devoured the line of words on the
yellow sheet. "God bless you, and keep you, and help you to show to the
world the stuff you're made out of, Lee Renaud. (Signed) G. Renaud."
Lee gulped. "G-gosh, I bet he sold a silver candlestick to get cash to
send this!" The boy was humble and exultant at the same time. Somebody
believed in him.
The ship was riding the air now. It rose majestically, like a gigantic
silvery bird, turned its prow into the north and was off.
Before the Nardak stretched uncharted wastes--the ocean of air.