However, the next few days were a fever of activity. Not far from the entrance to the Colony stands a shallow crater. It is about a mile in diameter and almost spherical in shape; in fact, it could hardly be called a crater at all, though it obviously had been once. But over the aeons of time its walls had been worn down and are now no more than a few feet high at their summit. It was in this crater that the Mars Fleet had been erected.
The ships were huge; nearly three hundred feet tall and ninety feet in diameter. Only one of them, the Flagship Discovery, was of conventional rocket shape; the rest were quite out of line with the popular conception of what a space ship should look like. As they would never have to travel through any atmosphere they were not streamlined. They consisted of only the barest essentials; solar reflectors, radio antennae, fuel tanks and other equipment held together by what appeared to be a tangle of girders. The whole was topped by a large sphere which, besides carrying most of the cargo, also housed the tiny cabin which served as living quarters for the two men needed to man each vessel. The freight ships, numbered one to eight in huge, red letters on their spheres, stood in a large circle about three-quarters of a mile in diameter. And, in the centre of that circle, stood the Discovery, painted a bright blue for identification.
Twelve hours before takeoff, every man not on duty was looking towards the lunar horizon, waiting for the sun to rise. Behind us, hanging motionless in the void, itself like a great moon, was the Earth.
Then suddenly there appeared behind the rugged skyline a spearpoint of red light; one of the sun’s prominences, a herald of its approach. Instantly, as though some giant hand had turned a switch, the whole area was bathed in the sun’s hard glow, the mountains, rocks and crater rims throwing long, black, pointed shadows across the Moon’s surface.
The lunar day had begun--the space fleet to Mars could now leave.
Once we had passed into the airlock and the great, oval-shaped door had closed behind us I put on my helmet which until then I had carried under my arm. Its rim slid comfortably into position in the groove of the suit’s collar. I fastened the catch and tested its security. Then I switched on the radio, listened for the faint ‘mush’ in my headphones that told me the receiver was alive and waited for further orders.
There were twenty of us in the lock, all similarly dressed in reinforced rubber-like, white, plastic suits. They were, except for the helmet, of one piece. The knees, elbows and shoulders were fuller than the rest of the suit and were ridged for flexibility. The soles of the feet were thick and hard and over them we had pulled our boots; tough, snugly fitting articles that were expected to last (even with almost continuous wear) for longer than our expedition was estimated to take.
Every man carried a back-pack containing his oxygen and battery power units. A small panel in the front of the suit just below chest height held a set of switches by which each man could control his radio, regulate the temperature of his suit, and increase or decrease the oxygen supply.
Standing in a tight little bunch, we all faced the door on the other side of which lay the Bay and the space’ ships. A white light gleamed above our heads. It was the signal that the air in the lock was about to be extracted.
A cold, flat voice sounded in my ear. “Zero, minus one hour fifty minutes.”
As the pressure went down and my suit inflated, I could feel the flexible joints tightening. Soon I was a stiff, rounded figure, like a knight of old in a shapely suit of armour.
Now a blue light glowed, indicating that air pressure was down to zero and that the door to the outer Moon was opening.
An intense glare greeted us from outside. It was so brilliant I instinctively closed my eyes against it. Quickly I felt for my control panel and dropped a neutral-tinted light filter into place. When I opened my eyes again it was to see the floor of the Bay, indented and rock strewn, stretching clear to the horizon.
The scene was a study in black and white; night and day at the same time. The sun lit up the rocks and mountains with a dazzling light. Where the sun could not reach all was black--blacker than the deepest Earth night--and it was impossible to see any detail where the shadows lay.
The sky, black as pitch, was studded with millions of multi-coloured stars in numbers far greater than can ever be seen from Earth. The Milky Way shone out as though a giant hand had dipped a huge whitewash brush into a bucket of shining Stardust and swept it in a mighty arc across the heavens.
Owing to the sharp curvature of the Moon’s surface, the horizon was no great distance away and we could just see the tops of the space ships rising above it. The sun, lighting up the spherical cabins of the freighters, gave them the appearance of huge beacons.
Parked outside the door of the Colony were two land trucks. Drivers were already seated in each of the hermetically sealed cabins and, as we left the airlock and walked towards them, they smiled and waved their hands at us.
Ten men climbed inside the passenger compartment of each vehicle and, once we were as comfortably seated as our suits would allow, we began to move swiftly along the red, concrete road. Nobody spoke for, as conversation could be held only via the radio, any unnecessary speech would have jammed the channel.
We rode, at twenty miles an hour, in complete silence. Not even the sound of our motors could be heard in that airless atmosphere; it was like living in an old, silent film.
Massive rocks slid by and were gone. Gradually the Jura mountains sank below the horizon behind us while the ships rose up slowly in front, as though mounted on a vast, rising platform.
We entered the great circle of rocketships half an hour later. Every ship was still enclosed within its elevator gantry; scaffolding on wheels into which was built the lift that would carry the men to the open doors of the crews’ cabins. In the centre of the circle stood the Discovery, resting on a concrete platform of about one hundred yards’ diameter. Radiating from the platform and built of the same red concrete as the road were eight tracks, each leading to a freight ship. Another road, like the rim of a great wheel, connected the ships on the outside.
When we reached the perimeter, the other truck turned off towards Freighter No 1 while we continued our journey in towards the hub where Discovery towered above the launching ground. On reaching her, Jet, Mitch, Lemmy and I boarded the little elevator and soon the ground began to fall away beneath us. I could see the two trucks making their way from freighter to freighter. The ships cast great long shadows across the ground and when the trucks drove through them only their headlights were visible. Shadows on the Moon are so dense headlights are essential if you are to steer your way through them safely.
When we were all inside the cabin airlock, Jet closed the outer door and filled the vacuum with ship’s air. As the chamber filled up our suits lost their stiffness and the hum of the air-pump gradually grew in volume. Finally the pressure reached maximum and, even through our helmets, we could hear the low whirr of the cabin hatch as it opened above our heads.
Jet led the way and as soon as we were all in the cabin we closed the hatch and removed our helmets.
Lemmy spoke first. “Well, Doc,” he said, still holding his helmet in his hand, “this is it. All aboard the Skylark. A trip round the sun and back in time for dinner.”
The tone of Lemmy’s voice told me he was keyed up.
As calmly as we could, we did as we had been ordered, carrying out a familiar routine in an unfamiliar mood of excitement and tension. By the time Lemmy had established radio contact both with Control and freighters 1 to 8, Mitch and I had finished our inspections and had reported to Jet that everything was in order. “Then get on your bunks,” he said, “and strap yourselves in.”
We moved to our takeoff couches and as we did so we heard the voice of ‘Tim’. “Zero, minus thirty minutes’’
We lay on our backs and tried to relax--as we had been taught. One by one we heard the freighters check in to Control and ask for their gantries to be removed. The last ship to ask was No 2. After that the radio was silent, and silence also reigned over our little cabin.
It was broken finally by Mitch. “Well, there’s one thing to be said for these new atomic motors,” he observed; “with their slow acceleration we’re not likely to go through the agony we did when we first took off from Earth on our way to the Moon--remember?”
“Will I ever forget?” said Lemmy. “Luna was no more than an old crate compared to this job.”
“Lemmy,” said Jet, ignoring both his engineer’s and radio operator’s remarks, “televiewer.”
The little screen above my head glowed and in it I could see a small picture of the Moon’s surface outside. Even in the short time we had been on the launching ground it was noticeable that the shadows thrown by the mountains, rocks and crater rims were already shorter.
Suddenly an arc of light rose up from the darkness, seemed to tower above the mountains for a second and then burst into a brilliant cascade of fight.
“There goes the first flare,” I said. “Takeoff imminent.”
“Zero, minus twenty minutes,” observed ‘Tim’ by way of confirmation.
“Well, gentlemen, it won’t be long now,” said Jet. “Remember, takeoff is fully automatic. Nothing should go wrong.”
“Let’s hope not,” said Lemmy, with mock fear in his voice. “Thirty-five million miles is a long way from home.”
“We’ll be first off,” went on Jet. “The others will follow at two-minute intervals. Thirty thousand miles above the Moon’s surface the motors will be cut and we’ll be coasting the rest of the way. Next stop--Mars.”
We lay back in silence. In spite of two years’ preparation, Jet’s last sentence came almost as a shock.
The time passed slowly, and every few minutes ‘Tim’ announced the fact. Five minutes before Zero we received a direct call. “Hullo, Discovery. Control calling Flagship Discovery.”
The picture above me changed. The view now was of the launching platform directly beneath us. At the top edge of the screen I could see the rim of our motor exhaust.
“Zero, minus forty-five seconds.”
“Stand by,” said Jet.
The voice of Control came through from the loudspeaker. “Hullo, Freighter No 1. Control calling.” We heard No 1 reply.
“Zero, minus fifteen seconds.” This was to us.
“Minus ten seconds. Minus five--four--three
--two-one--.
“Here we go!” shouted Lemmy.
There was a pronounced vibration and a dull, muffled, distant explosion as the rocket motors came into play. For two or three seconds we did not rise, although the ship shook considerably. Suddenly the vibration ceased and there was the gentlest rocking sensation. The ship was leaving the ground. Perhaps poised no more than a foot above it. I tensed as I felt the ship move and then suddenly forced myself to relax.
We increased speed, slowly at first and then extremely rapidly. As speed increased, so did our weight. I felt myself growing heavier and heavier; being pushed down into the inflated bed which prevented my being pressed against its metal base. I had made many trips from Earth to the Moon since that first historic takeoff back in 1965 but I could never get used to the sensation of takeoff. It is the only thing I dislike about space travel. But, fortunately for us, the low gravitational pull of the Moon and the revolutionary type of rocket motor we were now using enabled our maximum acceleration to be reached gradually. Consequently, although my body felt like lead and it was impossible to move even a muscle, the experience was nothing like so unpleasant as that which we had all endured in Luna.
“Zero, plus thirty seconds.”
Control spoke now for the first time since takeoff. “Hullo, Discovery. Height forty-five point one, velocity five thousand two hundred; maximum acceleration rate will be reached in thirty seconds.”
I looked again at the picture above my head. Below us was the Moon’s surface. Now we were high enough to see not only the whole of the Bay of Rainbows but also a considerable part of the Mare Imbrium to the south and the Sinus Roris (which lay on the other side of the Jura Mountains) to the north. The Moon’s terminator, the division between light and darkness on a ‘non-full’ Moon, lay directly below us. To the east all was black; to the west the Moon was bathed in brilliant light; and down the middle, where light met darkness, where the angle of the sun was low, it was a mixture of white and black.
Up and up we went, the details of the Moon’s surface growing rapidly smaller as the area of view became correspondingly larger. I have never ceased to be thrilled by the sight of a land mass, whether it be the Earth or the Moon, swiftly dropping away beneath me. I was preoccupied with my thoughts when suddenly Jet asked: “All OK with you, Doc?”
Quickly I diverted my gaze from the screen to the gauges in front of me. “Yes, Jet,” I replied. “First class takeoff,” said our captain.
“Let’s hope the rest of the Fleet do as well,” I replied.
“Control calling Discovery. Maximum acceleration has now been reached. Motors will be cut in one hour.”
“Message received,” said Jet, “and thank you.”
Control now called Freighter No 1. “Stand by for takeoff--fifteen seconds.”
“Good luck boys,” called Lemmy. “See you at the rendezvous.”
“Ten seconds,” said ‘Tim’.
“I wonder how they’re feeling?” asked Mitch.