THE SECRET OF THE MOON
Norton, whose watch it was, had already hurried toward the pilot room
where were located the controls and the various instruments. This
room, which was just forward of the engine-room, was in effect a
circular conning-tower which projected about twelve inches above the
upper hull. The entire circumference of this twelve inch
superstructure was set with small ports of thick crystal glass.
As I turned to follow Norton I spoke to West. “Mr. West,” I said,
“you and Mr. Jay will place Lieutenant Commander Orthis in irons
immediately. If he resists, kill him.”
As I hurried after Norton I heard a volley of oaths from Orthis and a
burst of almost maniacal laughter. When I reached the pilot house I
found Norton working very quietly with the controls. There was
nothing hysterical in his movements, but his face was absolutely
ashen.
“What is wrong, Mr. Norton?” I asked. But as I looked at the compass
simultaneously I read my answer there before he spoke. We were moving
at right angles to our proper course.
“We are falling toward the Moon, sir,” he said, “and she does not
respond to her control.”
“Shut down the engines,” I ordered, “they are only accelerating our
fall.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he replied.
“The Lunar Eighth Ray tank is of sufficient capacity to keep us off
the Moon,” I said. “If it has not been tampered with, we should be in
no danger of falling to the Moon’s surface.”
“If it has not been tampered with, sir; yes, sir, that is what I have
been thinking.”
“But the gauge here shows it full to capacity,” I reminded him.
“I know, sir,” he replied, “but if it were full to capacity, we
should not be falling so rapidly.”
Immediately I fell to examining the gauge, almost at once discovering
that it had been tampered with and the needle set permanently to
indicate a maximum supply. I turned to my companion.
“Mr. Norton,” I said, “please go forward and investigate the Lunar
Eighth Ray tank, and report back to me immediately.”
The young man saluted and departed. As he approached the tank it was
necessary for him to crawl through a very restricted place beneath
the deck.
In about five minutes Norton returned. He was not so pale as he had
been, but he looked very haggard.
“Well?” I inquired as he halted before me.
“The exterior intake valve has been opened, sir,” he said, “the rays
were escaping into space. I have closed it, sir.”
The valve to which he referred was used only when the ship was in dry
dock, for the purpose of refilling the buoyancy tank, and, because it
was so seldom used and as a further precaution against accident, the
valve was placed in an inaccessible part of the hull where there was
absolutely no likelihood of its being accidentally opened.
Norton glanced at the instrument. “We are not falling quite so
rapidly now,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, “I had noted that, and I have also been able to
adjust the Lunar Eighth Ray gauge—it shows that we have about half
the original pressure.”
“Not enough to keep us from going aground,” he commented.
“No, not here, where there is no atmosphere. If the Moon had an
atmosphere we could at least keep off the surface if we wished to. As
it is, however, I imagine that we will be able to make a safe
landing, though, of course that will do us little good. You
understand, I suppose, Mr. Norton, that this is practically the end.”
He nodded. “It will be a sad blow to the inhabitants of two worlds,”
he remarked, his entire forgetfulness of self indicating the true
nobility of his character.
“It is a sad report to broadcast,” I remarked, “but it must be done,
and at once. You will, please, send the following message to the
Secretary of Peace:
“U.S.S. _The Barsoom_, January 6, 2026, about twenty
thousand miles off the Moon. Lieutenant Commander
Orthis, while under the influence of liquor, has destroyed
auxiliary engine and opened exterior intake valve Lunar
Eighth Ray buoyancy tank. Ship sinking rapidly. Will
keep you—”
Norton who had seated himself at the radio desk leaped suddenly to
his feet and turned toward me. “My God, sir,” he cried, “he has
destroyed the radio outfit also. We can neither send nor receive.”
A careful examination revealed the fact that Orthis had so cleverly
and completely destroyed the instruments that there was no hope of
repairing them. I turned to Norton.
“We are not only dead, Norton, but we are buried, as well.”
I smiled as I spoke and he answered me with a smile that betokened
his utter fearlessness of death.
“I have but one regret, sir,” he said, “and that is that the world
will never know that our failure was not due to any weakness of our
machinery, ship or equipment.”
“That is, indeed, too bad,” I replied, “for it will retard
transportation between the two worlds possibly a hundred years—maybe
forever.”
I called to West and Jay who by this time had placed Orthis in irons
and confined him to his stateroom. When they came I told them what
had happened, and they took it as coolly as did Norton. Nor was I
surprised, for these were fine types selected from the best of that
splendid organization which officered the International Peace Fleet.
Together we immediately made a careful inspection of the ship, which
revealed no further damage than that which we had already discovered,
but which was sufficient as we well knew, to preclude any possibility
of our escaping from the pull of the Moon.
“You gentlemen realize our position as well as I,” I told them.
“Could we repair the auxiliary generator we might isolate the Lunar
Eighth Ray, refill our tank, and resume our voyage. But the
diabolical cleverness with which Lieutenant Commander Orthis has
wrecked the machine renders this impossible. We might fight away from
the surface of the Moon for a considerable period, but in the end it
would avail us nothing. It is my plan, therefore, to make a landing.
In so far as the actual lunar conditions are concerned, we are
confronted only by a mass of theories, many of which are conflicting.
It will, therefore, be at least a matter of consuming interest to us
to make a landing upon this dead world where we may observe it
closely, but there is also the possibility, remote, I grant you, that
we may discover conditions there which may in some manner alleviate
our position. At least we can be no worse off. To live for fifteen
years cooped in the hull of this dead ship is unthinkable. I may
speak only for myself, but to me it would be highly preferable to die
immediately than to live on thus, knowing that there was no hope of
rescue. Had Orthis not destroyed the radio outfit we could have
communicated with Earth and another ship been outfitted and sent to
our rescue inside a year. But now we cannot tell them, and they will
never know our fate. The emergency that has arisen has, however, so
altered conditions that I do not feel warranted in taking this step
without consulting you gentlemen. It is a matter now largely of the
duration of our lives. I cannot proceed upon the mission upon which I
have been dispatched, nor can I return to Earth. I wish, therefore,
that you would express yourselves freely concerning the plan which I
have outlined.”
West, who was the senior among them, was naturally the one to reply
first. He told me that he was content to go wherever I led, and Jay
and Norton in turn signified a similar willingness to abide by
whatever decision I might reach. They also assured me that they were
as keen to explore the surface of the Moon at close range as I, and
that they could think of no better way of spending the remainder of
their lives than in the acquisition of new experiences and the
observation of new scenes.
“Very well, Mr. Norton,” I said, “you will set your course directly
toward the Moon.”
Aided by lunar gravity our descent was rapid.
As we plunged through space at a terrific speed, the satellite seemed
to be leaping madly toward us, and at the end of fifteen hours I gave
orders to slack off and brought the ship almost to a stop about nine
thousand feet above the summit of the higher lunar peaks. Never
before had I gazed upon a more awe-inspiring scene than that
presented by those terrific peaks towering five miles above the broad
valleys at their feet. Sheer cliffs of three and four thousand feet
were nothing uncommon, and all was rendered weirdly beautiful by the
variegated colors of the rocks and the strange prismatic hues of the
rapidly-growing vegetation upon the valley floors. From our lofty
elevation above the peaks we could see many craters of various
dimensions, some of which were huge chasms, three and four miles in
diameter. As we descended slowly we drifted directly over one of
these abysses, into the impenetrable depths of which we sought to
strain our eyesight. Some of us believed that we detected a faint
luminosity far below, but of that we could not be certain. Jay
thought it might be the reflected light from the molten interior. I
was confident that had this been the case there would have been a
considerable rise of temperature as we passed low across the mouth of
the crater.
At this altitude we made an interesting discovery. There is an
atmosphere surrounding the Moon. It is extremely tenuous, but yet it
was recorded by our barometer at an altitude of about fifteen hundred
feet above the highest peak we crossed. Doubtless in the valleys and
deep ravines, where the vegetation thrived, it is denser, but that I
do not know, since we never landed upon the surface of the Moon. As
the ship drifted we presently noted that it was taking a circular
course paralleling the rim of the huge volcanic crater above which we
were descending. I immediately gave orders to alter our course since,
as we were descending constantly, we should presently be below the
rim of the crater and, being unable to rise, be hopelessly lost in
its huge maw.
It was my plan to drift slowly over one of the larger valleys as we
descended, and make a landing amidst the vegetation which we
perceived growing in riotous profusion and movement beneath us. But
when West, whose watch it now was, attempted to alter the course of
the ship, he found that it did not respond. Instead it continued to
move slowly in a great circle around the inside rim of the crater. At
the moment of this discovery we were not much more than five hundred
feet above the summit of the volcano, and we were constantly, though
slowly, dropping. West looked up at us, smiled, and shook his head.
“It is no use, sir,” he said, addressing me. “It is about all over,
sir, and there won’t even be any shouting. We seem to be caught in
what one might call a lunar whirlpool, for you will have noticed,
sir, that our circles are constantly growing smaller.”
“Our speed does not seem to be increasing,” I remarked, “as would
follow were we approaching the vortex of a true whirlpool.”
“I think I can explain it, sir,” said Norton. “It is merely due to
the action of the Lunar Eighth Ray which still remains in the forward
buoyancy tank. Its natural tendency is to push itself away from the
Moon, which, as far as we are concerned, is represented by the rim of
this enormous crater. As each portion of the surface repels us in its
turn we are pushed gently along in a lessening circle, because, as we
drop nearer the summit of the peak the greater the reaction of the
Eighth Lunar Ray. If I am not mistaken in my theory our circle will
cease to narrow after we have dropped beneath the rim of the crater.”
“I guess you are right, Norton,” I said. “At least it is a far more
tenable theory than that we are being sucked into the vortex of an
enormous whirlpool. There is scarcely enough atmosphere for that, it
seems to me.”
As we dropped slowly below the rim of the crater the tenability of
Norton’s theory became more and more apparent, for presently, though
our speed increased slightly, the diameter of our circular course
remained constant, and, at a little greater depth, our speed as well.
We were descending now at the rate of a little over ten miles an
hour, the barometer recording a constantly increasing atmospheric
pressure, though nothing approximating that necessary to the support
of life upon Earth. The temperature rose slightly, but not
alarmingly. From a range of twenty-five or thirty below zero,
immediately after we had entered the shadow of the crater’s interior,
it rose gradually to zero at a point some one hundred and twenty-five
miles below the summit of the giant extinct volcano that had engulfed
us.
During the next ten miles our speed diminished rapidly, until we
suddenly realized that we were no longer falling, but that our motion
had been reversed and we were rising. Up we went for approximately
eight miles, when suddenly we began to fall again. Again we fell, but
this time for only six miles, when our motion was reversed and we
rose again a distance of about four miles. This see-sawing was
continued until we finally came to rest at about what we estimated
was a distance of some one hundred and thirty miles below the summit
of the crater. It was quite dark, and we had only our instruments to
tell us of what was happening to the ship, the interior of which was,
of course, brilliantly illuminated and comfortably warm.
Now below us, and now above us, for the ship had rolled completely
over each time we had passed the point at which we came finally to
rest, we had noted the luminosity that Norton had first observed from
above the mouth of the crater. Each of us had been doing considerable
thinking, and at last young Norton could contain himself no longer.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said deferentially, “but won’t you tell
us what you think of it; what your theory is as to where we are and
why we hang here in mid-air, and why the ship rolled over every time
we passed this point?”
“I can only account for it,” I replied, “upon a single and rather
preposterous hypothesis, which is that the Moon is a hollow sphere,
with a solid crust some two hundred and fifty miles in thickness.
Gravity is preventing us from rising above the point where we now
are, while centrifugal force keeps us from falling.”
The others nodded. They too had been forced to accept the same
apparently ridiculous theory, since there was none other that could
explain our predicament. Norton had walked across the room to read
the barometer which he had rather neglected while the ship had been
performing her eccentric antics far below the surface of the Moon. I
saw his brows knit as he glanced at it, and then I saw him studying
it carefully, as though to assure himself that he had made no mistake
in the reading. Then he turned toward us.
“There must be something wrong with this instrument, sir,” he said.
“It is registering pressure equivalent to that at the Earth’s
surface.”
I walked over and looked at the instrument. It certainly was
registering the pressure that Norton had read, nor did there seem to
be anything wrong with the instrument.
“There is a way to find out,” I said. “We can shut down the
insulating generator and open an air cock momentarily. It won’t take
five seconds to determine whether the barometer is correct or not.”
It was, of course, in some respects a risky proceeding, but with West
at the generator, Jay at the air cock and Norton at the pump I knew
that we would be reasonably safe, even if there proved to be no
atmosphere without. The only danger lay in the chance that we were
hanging in a poisonous gas of the same density as the earthly
atmosphere, but as there was no particular incentive to live in the
situation in which we were, we each felt that no matter what chance
we might take it would make little difference in the eventual outcome
of our expedition.
I tell you that it was a very tense moment as the three men took
their posts to await my word of command. If we had indeed discovered
a true atmosphere beneath the surface of the Moon, what more might we
not discover? If it were an atmosphere, we could propel the ship in
it, and we could, if nothing more, go out on deck to breathe fresh
air. It was arranged that at my word of command West was to shut off
the generator, Jay to open the air cock, and Norton to start the
pump. If fresh air failed to enter through the tube Jay was to give
the signal, whereupon Norton would reverse the pump, West start the
generator, and immediately Jay would close the air cock again.
As Jay was the only man who was to take a greater chance than the
others, I walked over and stood beside him, placing my nostrils as
close to the air cock as his. Then I gave the word of command.
Everything worked perfectly and an instant later a rush of fresh,
cold air was pouring into the hull of _The Barsoom_. West and Norton
had been watching the effects upon our faces closely, so that they
knew almost as soon as we did that the result of our test had been
satisfactory. We were all smiles, though just why we were so happy I
am sure none of us could have told. Possibly it was just because we
had found a condition that was identical with an earthly condition,
and though we might never see our world again we could at least
breathe air similar to hers.
I had them start the motors again then, and presently we were moving
in a great spiral upward toward the interior of the Moon. Our
progress was very slow, but as we rose the temperature rose slowly,
too, while the barometer showed a very-slightly-decreasing
atmospheric pressure. The luminosity, now above us, increased as we
ascended, until finally the sides of the great well through which we
were passing became slightly illuminated.
All this time Orthis had remained in irons in his stateroom. I had
given instructions that he was to be furnished food and water, but no
one was to speak to him, and I had taken Norton into my stateroom
with me. Knowing Orthis to be a drunkard, a traitor and a potential
murderer I had no sympathy whatsoever for him. I had determined to
court-martial him and did not intend to spend the few remaining hours
or years of my life cooped up in a small ship with him, and I knew
that the verdict of any court, whether composed of the remaining crew
of _The Barsoom_, or appointed by the Judge Advocate General of the
Navy, could result in but one thing, and that was death for Orthis. I
had left the matter, however, until we were not pressed with other
matters of greater importance, and so he still lived, though he
shared neither in our fears, our hopes, nor our joys.
About twenty-six hours after we entered the mouth of the crater at
the surface of the Moon we suddenly emerged from its opposite end to
look upon a scene that was as marvelous and weird, by comparison with
the landscape upon the surface of the Moon, as the latter was in
comparison with that of our own Earth. A soft, diffused light
revealed to us in turn mountains, valleys and sea, the details of
which were more slowly encompassed by our minds. The mountains were
as rugged as those upon the surface of the satellite, and appeared
equally as lofty. They were, however, clothed with verdure almost to
their summits, at least a few that were within our range of vision.
And there were forests, too—strange forests, of strange trees, so
unearthly in appearance as to suggest the weird phantasmagoria of a
dream.
We did not rise much above five hundred feet from the opening of the
well through which we had come from outer space when I descried an
excellent landing place and determined to descend. This was readily
accomplished, and we made a safe landing close to a large forest and
near the bank of a small stream. Then we opened the forward hatch and
stepped out upon the deck of _The Barsoom_, the first Earth Men to
breathe the air of Luna. It was, according to Earth time, eleven
a.m., January 8, 2026.
I think that the first thing which engaged our interest and attention
was the strange, and then, to us, unaccountable luminosity which
pervaded the interior of the Moon. Above us were banks of fleecy
clouds, the undersurfaces of which appeared to be lighted from
beneath, while, through breaks in the cloud banks we could discern a
luminous firmament beyond, though nowhere was there any suggestion of
a central incandescent orb radiating light and heat as does our sun.
The clouds themselves cast no shadows upon the ground, nor, in fact,
were there any well-defined shadows even directly beneath the hull of
the ship or surrounding the forest trees which grew close at hand.
The shadows were vague and nebulous, blending off into nothingnesses
at their edges. We ourselves cast no more shadows upon the deck of
_The Barsoom_ than would have been true upon a cloudy day on Earth.
Yet the general illumination surrounding us approximated that of a
very slightly hazy Earth day. This peculiar lunar light interested us
profoundly, but it was some time before we discovered the true
explanation of its origin. It was of two kinds, emanating from widely
different sources, the chief of which was due to the considerable
radium content of the internal lunar soil, and principally of the
rock forming the loftier mountain ranges, the radium being so
combined as to diffuse a gentle perpetual light which pervaded the
entire interior of the Moon. The secondary source was sunlight, which
penetrated to the interior of the Moon through the hundreds of
thousands of huge craters penetrating the lunar crust. It was this
sunlight which carried heat to the inner world, maintaining a
constant temperature of about eighty degrees Fahrenheit.
Centrifugal force, in combination with the gravity of the Moon’s
crust, confined the internal lunar atmosphere to a blanket which we
estimated at about fifty miles in thickness over the inner surface of
this buried world. This atmosphere rarefies rapidly as one ascends
the higher peaks, with the result that these are constantly covered
with perpetual snow and ice, sending great glaciers down mighty
gorges toward the central seas. It is this condition which has
probably prevented the atmosphere, confined as it is within an almost
solid sphere, from becoming superheated, through the unthinkable ages
that this condition must have existed. The Earth seasons are
reflected but slightly in the Moon, there being but a few degrees
difference between summer and winter. There are, however, periodic
wind-storms, which recur with greater or less regularity once each
sidereal month, due, I imagine, to the unequal distribution of crater
openings through the crust of the Moon, a fact which must produce an
unequal absorption of heat at various times and in certain
localities. The natural circulation of the lunar atmosphere, affected
as it is by the constantly-changing volume and direction of the sun’s
rays, as well as the great range of temperature between the valleys
and the ice-clad mountain peaks, produces frequent storms of greater
or less violence. High winds are accompanied by violent rains upon
the lower levels and blinding snowstorms among the barren heights
above the vegetation line. Rains which fall from low-hanging clouds
are warm and pleasant; those which come from high clouds are cold and
disagreeable, yet however violent or protracted the storm, the
illumination remains practically constant—there are never any dark,
lowering days within the Moon, nor is there any night.