Some two days after we arrived over the planet the job was done. The time to go down had arrived.
While Lemmy, Mitch and I positioned our control panels, Jet went forward to the tiny pilot’s cabin from which he would guide the Discovery down to the surface. As soon as he was safely settled in his seat he called us up on the inter-communication system. “Now,” he said calmly, “I’ll just run over the procedure again for luck. Once the motors have been fired, we should enter the Martian atmosphere within a few minutes. We use its resistance to reduce our speed until it is low enough for us to attempt a landing.”
“I only hope there’s enough atmosphere to make the necessary difference,” said Mitch. “That we’ll find out,” said Jet. “If there isn’t, we’ll attempt a tail-first landing such as we normally make on the Moon. Now, are you all set?”
We were. Jet then called up the pilot of Number One. “Hullo,” he said, “we’ll be on our way in just a few moments. You will wait ninety minutes and then follow. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Jet,” replied Rogers.
“And in the event of your not landing on the prearranged spot you are fully acquainted with the procedure for locating us?”
“Yes, Jet.”
“Thank you, Frank. Then we’ll be off.”
“OK. And good luck, skipper. Good luck to all of you.”
“Same to you,” yelled Lemmy. “We’ll see you down there.”
“OK, Mitch, it’s all yours,” said Jet lightly. “Turn on the motor and I’ll take her down.”
“Stand by for firing,” said Mitch, his voice shaking with excitement. “Contact!”
We felt the motors burst into action and almost at once the Fleet fell behind us as, nose down, we headed for the Martian surface.
Ten minutes later we were in the atmosphere. As we touched it, the ship bounced, like a stone thrown along the surface of a pond. By now the motors had been cut and we were depending on the gravitational pull of Mars to take us down and on the atmosphere to slow us up. An hour and a half later we were gliding, as smoothly as you please, about ten miles above the planet’s surface.
“Now on the last lap,” came Jet’s eager voice in my ear, “and approaching the pole fast. I can see the snow shining in the sun--if it is snow.”
“We’re going just a little too fast,” said Mitch anxiously. “Air speed three hundred and fifty, Jet.”
Jet let out another parachute brake.
We knew that behind us, but as yet over another part of the planet, was Freighter Number One. “We expect to make our landing soon,” I heard Lemmy telling Frank over the radio. “Approaching the ice cap now.”
“I’ll keep a lookout for you. Have you seen any Martians yet?” asked Frank.
“No,” said Lemmy. “Jet keeps me so busy with the radio I don’t get time to go near the televiewer. For all I’m seeing of what’s outside I might as well be in a submarine.”
“Well, I’ve got a good view from the pilot’s cabin here,” said Frank enthusiastically, “and it’s a wonderful sight, Lemmy. Everything is pink, like it was perpetually bathed in the light of a beautiful sunset.”
“Is that right, Doc?” Lemmy called over to me.
“Yes, Lemmy,” I told him. “That’s as good a description as any.”
“I wish you’d take over the radio for a spell,” he begged, “and let me have a look.”
“Come on, then,” I said, “but make it quick.” Lemmy and I changed seats.
“Televiewer’s pointed directly below us,” I told him. “But don’t forget we’ll be landing soon and every man will have to be at his own post.”
Jet, who was busy piloting our ship, did not talk except to ask Mitch for height and speed checks, but Lemmy kept up a running commentary on what he could see of the Martian surface in the televiewer. He asked innumerable questions and then, quite suddenly, said: “Oh, blimey!”
“What’s the trouble, Lemmy?” asked Mitch, looking up from his little table.
“Doc, come over here, quick. Look!”
I left my seat and moved over to the televiewer, scanning it over Lemmy’s shoulder. “What is it?” I asked him.
“There was something down there. A light--a brilliant, orange light.”
“What!”
“Yes. Like the reflection from a huge mirror. Only came on for a second and then it went again.”
“Where did you see it, Lemmy?” I asked.
“There--see? Where those two dark green lines cross. Where that big purple patch is.”
“That’s the Lacus Solis,” I told him.
“I don’t care what it is. I saw a light there.”
“May be water,” I suggested, “reflecting the sunlight.”
“But I thought you said it was unlikely there was any water on Mars.”
“Well, maybe there is after all.’’
“But it was so sudden, Doc, and so bright.”
“What did you think it was?” called Mitch sarcastically. “A Martian signalling landing instructions?”
“Now there’s no need to be sarky,” retorted Lemmy. “It might be important.”
“I think it’s more important that you get back to the radio and let Doc carry on with the observing as he’s supposed to.”
“Yes, Mitch,” said Lemmy dejectedly, and he got out of my seat and moved back to his own.
I looked intently at the Lacus Solis, often known, because of its shape, as ‘The Eye of Mars’. It is frequently visible in telescopes down on Earth and has always been an interesting point of observation for earthbound astronomers. But very soon the Lacus Solis moved out of the picture and the edge of the ice cap, now only a few thousand feet below us, came into view.
“Where are we now, Doc?” Lemmy called.
“Just over the cap.”
“Is it ice?”
“I don’t see what else it can be.”
“I knew I should have packed my skis.”
“Hullo, back there.” It was Jet’s voice.
“Yes, Jet?” asked Lemmy.
“Landing is imminent. You’d better strap yourselves in.”
We did as we were told and the picture in the televiewer showed the ground coming up ever closer.
“Height five thousand feet,” announced Mitch. “Speed two hundred and twenty. Think you can get her to stay upright, Jet?”
Jet laughed. “I think so. She’s behaved herself very well up to now.”
“Then put her down gently,” said the Australian. “I’d hate her to pile up after coming all this way.”
“Do me a favour, Mitch?” said Lemmy. “Can’t you think of anything more cheerful than that?”
For the next ten minutes nobody said anything, cheerful or otherwise. I think we were all holding our breath as we rapidly descended towards the white glare below us. Soon our height was only a few hundred feet and our speed down to little more than one hundred and fifty miles an hour. We were almost at landing speed.
I did my utmost to relax but found myself tense and gripping the sides of my seat. Mitch was monotonously reeling off the figures from the height indicator. Lemmy, like me, sat motionless and silent.
“About to make the run-in,” announced Jet. And then: “What on earth is that noise?”
I saw Lemmy cock his head to one side as though trying to catch any unfamiliar sound. I, too, listened, but Mitch, intent upon his work, didn’t appear to have heard Jet’s question. But for the low hum of the power-packs there was no sound in the ship.
“Can’t you hear it back there?” asked Jet again.
“No, Jet,” I yelled, “I don’t hear anything. What kind of noise is it?”
“It’s like the buzzing of a thousand bees. It’s as though they were right inside my head. You must hear it.”
But none of us did--neither Lemmy, Mitch nor I.
Jet gulped. “Putting her nose down,” he said. “Oh, good heavens!”
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s the trouble?”
“I don’t know, Doc. I feel most peculiar. I think I’m going to black out.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Lemmy.
We were down to less than two hundred feet now.
“I feel so sleepy.” Jet sounded as though he were trying to stifle a yawn.
“One hundred feet,” announced Mitch.
“Jet,” I called, greatly alarmed, “are you going to make it? Shall I come up there and ...”
My words were cut off by the sudden impact as the landing wheels struck the surface. The ship lurched, bounced, and rose up again.
“Watch it, Jet,” cried Mitch sharply. “What are you trying to do?”
“Sorry,” came back Jet’s hesitant voice. “We bounced. I’ll try again.”
Now our port wing dipped down in a steep angle. I saw Mitch clutch at the air in an effort to support himself; had he not been strapped into his seat, I’m sure he would have fallen out of it.
“For Pete’s sake!” he called. Then, turning to me: “What’s come over him, Doc? He doesn’t seem able to control the ship.” He began to unfasten his safety belt but I stopped him.
“No, Mitch,” I yelled. “Stay where you are.”
“But there’s something wrong up front. Jet’s in trouble.”
Jet certainly must have been. “Unless I land her now,” he said, haltingly, “we’ll never make it.”
“No, take her up again,” shouted Mitch. “Switch on the motor.”
“I daren’t--I haven’t the time. Stand by for crash landing.”
I heard Lemmy give a groan. A split second later the ship touched down, swerved sharply to port, lifted her starboard wheel and then, by some miracle, put it back on the deck again. She swayed a little, began to lose speed, straightened up and then gently rolled to a standstill.
Lemmy groaned
.
“You all right?” I asked him.
“Yes, Doc. I think so.”
“Then what were you moaning for? I thought you’d been hurt.”
“No, Doc. That was a sigh of relief at finding myself all in one piece.”
“How about you, Mitch?”
“I’m OK, Doc. But what about Jet?”
Obviously Jet was not OK, for he did not respond to our calls.
Lemmy was the first out of his chair. He undid his safety straps, took a couple of steps in the direction of the pilot’s cabin and immediately sank to his knees.
“What are you doing down there?” Mitch asked him.
“I don’t know,” replied the Cockney, looking up at us rather pathetically and obviously not daring to move. “I seem to have lost the use of my legs. What’s happened to them, Doc?”
“Lemmy,” I told him, “for six months, while travelling through space, we have been living under gravityless conditions and now, the moment gravity returns, you leap out of your chair and try to run. Your legs just aren’t used to it.”
“Oh, is that all?” replied the Cockney with relief. “For a minute I thought I must have been hurt in the crash.”
“Get up slowly,” I said, “take off your magnetised boots and, when you start walking, go easy.”
Mitch was the first to reach the pilot’s cabin. He opened the power-operated door to reveal the figure of Jet slumped over the controls. Between us, Mitch and I lifted him out of the cabin while Lemmy reconverted one of the chairs to a bunk.
Jet had a nasty-looking, bluish lump on his forehead and had evidently struck it on the instrument panel during touchdown. Apart from that, he did not seem to be hurt but, to my surprise, his skin was extremely cold to touch.
I sent Lemmy over to the medical locker for a dressing to put on the wound and Mitch began to remove Jet’s boots. As he did so, Jet gave a low moan and opened his eyes.
“Hullo, Jet,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
It took him a few moments to realise where he was. “What happened?” he asked.
“We made an emergency landing. You bumped your head and were knocked out cold.”
“Is the ship all right?”
“Yes, Jet,” said Mitch. “It wasn’t much of a bump.” “What was wrong, Jet?” I asked. “Why did we have to crash land?”
“I couldn’t help it. I was blacking out. All I remember was that frightful noise and the louder it got the hazier everything became. Didn’t any of you hear it?”
“No, Jet. We didn’t.”
“But it was so loud, and I’d stake my life that it had something to do with my losing control. What could it have been?”
“It could have been anything,” I said as I applied the dressing which Lemmy had now brought. “Maybe the descent was too fast for you; the change in atmospheric pressure too sudden.”
“But the pilot’s cabin is airtight; the pressure in the ship remains constant at whatever speed we come down. And what about the noise? I’m absolutely convinced it was that which induced the blackout.”
“Or whatever induced the blackout also induced the noise.”
“And I feel so cold.”
“Lemmy is making some tea. It will warm you.”
I must say Jet’s condition puzzled me. There was really no accounting for his blacking out and certainly no accounting for the ‘noise’ he had heard nor, most important of all, for the drop in his temperature. The only similar case in my experience was Whitaker’s. His temperature, also, had been extremely low when we found him, asleep on his feet, in the freighter, only a day or two after takeoff.
However, I said nothing of this to Jet who, after drinking the tea, seemed to recover very rapidly. Soon he was up on his feet again and, but for the bruise on his head, was perfectly normal.
We were all, of course, consumed with curiosity to see what the world looked like outside and, as soon as Jet was able to join me, he and I went into the pilot’s cabin while Lemmy and Mitch took their first look at Mars from the navigation hatch.
I cannot say that the sight which met our eyes was one of great beauty, but it was certainly startling. The ground was a brilliant white sheet as far as the eye could see. The skid marks of the ship had left deep black furrows in the ice, if it was ice, showing that it was of no great depth; perhaps a foot or so, no more. But the most amazing thing was the sky. It was mauve, and the sun, which hung near the horizon, a deep orange. The ship threw a long, deep blue shadow across the ice.
Lemmy seemed rather disappointed with the view. The only thing that surprised him was the sky. “I thought it would be blue,” he said. “Will it be this colour all over the planet?”
“Almost certainly,” I told him. “It’s because of the thin atmosphere.”
Having taken our first glimpse of this strange new world, our next move was to set foot on it. We donned our space suits and went outside, taking along a collection of instruments of various kinds with which to carry out our preliminary tests. The first thing I did on setting foot on the Martian ground was to scoop up a handful of the ice. It was hard and brittle like tiny crystals and, as I let it run through my fingers, it glistened in the sun like a shower of minute diamonds.