The Mouse On The Moon: eBook Edition (The Grand Fenwick Series 2)

by Leonard Wibberley

  Kokintz agreed kindly that that seemed like a good idea and turned the conversation to birds. "I have counted a hundred and twenty-five species in our forests in the course of one month," he said. "A wonderful variety for so small an area. There have been eight kinds of tits alone in one day and last year by the river we found a pair of kingfishers. It is unusual, as you know, to find them at any altitude. They normally prefer the lower reaches of rivers." He went on about birds and Spender told them about the time he had heard the cuckoo in Hampshire on March 3 at 6:15am and asked Dr. Kokintz if he could have the clipping from The Times back as it was the only one he had and he treasured it. The doctor promised to return it to him. Spender seemed to recall something and reached into his inner pocket and produced an envelope.

  "My credentials," he said and gave the envelope to Dr. Kokintz. It contained a number of letters from various consular officials, all in Switzerland, attesting that Mr. Spender was a bird watcher.

  These were circulated around the table, read politely, and handed back to Mr. Spender.

  "Really," said Dr. Kokintz, "it wasn't necessary for you to go to the trouble to get all that accreditation. We are quite prepared to accept you as a bird watcher if that is what you say you are."

  "In my business," said Mr. Spender, "I like to be able to produce the proper credentials. I regard that as important."

  "I'm afraid you will just have to take us at our word," said Gloriana. "None of us has any papers to say who we are."

  "That is quite a different matter," said Mr. Spender. "Quite a different matter. You don't need papers. I do." He gave them all a bright smile and stuffed the envelope back in his pocket.

  "While you're here," said Vincent of Mountjoy, "I wonder whether you wouldn't like to look over our rocket?"

  "Rocket?" said Mr. Spender and he looked very surprised.

  "Yes," said Vincent. "We are preparing to send one to the moon. Should be ready in a few weeks now. Dr. Kokintz and I are going in it."

  A look of deep caution came over Mr. Spender's face. "Ah, of course," he said, "of course," repeating the two words as if they conveyed a deep but secret significance which was nonetheless known to all present.

  Vincent, who was very keen on the rocket, was puzzled by the caution displayed but plunged enthusiastically on. "We were able to obtain a Saturn rocket casing from the United States for nothing more than the cost of transportation," he said. "We got it in pieces and put it together in the dungeon and it is installed in the Jericho Tower. The whole thing is in its most interesting stage of construction right now and I would be delighted to take you on a tour of it."

  "I really came to see the bobobinks," said Mr. Spender. "I cannot pretend to be greatly interested in the rocket."

  "Oh, you can't leave Grand Fenwick without seeing it," said Vincent. "Why don't you let me take you around, and then this evening you can see the bobolinks. It's better to see them in the evening, isn't it, Doctor?"

  "Dawn or sunset. Those are the best times," said Dr. Kokintz. "For birds and worms," he added.

  "Well," said Mr. Spender, "if you wish. Certainly people would be likely to ask me about it, wouldn't they?" But he didn't really seem very keen, and when, after breakfast, Vincent led him down the spiral staircase to the dungeon, he brought only one of his poorer cameras with him with a cheap flashgun attachment.

  Vincent was annoyed that Mr. Spender should not think his rocket worth an expensive camera, but, glad to explain the ingenuity he had exercised in the construction of the rocket, was soon lost in explaining its details.

  The interior had been laid out in three sections. The one nearest the nose was to be the living quarters of the two astronauts. It was to contain bunks, a table, chairs and several periscopes out of which the astronauts could peer to obtain a panoramic view around their space ship. The floor was of steel but with a number of circular holes through it. "Sort of a shock absorber," said Vincent. "To combat the initial acceleration when we take off. It's liable to be pretty rough. The carpet will also reduce vibration and make it easier for us to hear each other."

  Mr. Spender nodded but didn't seem to believe this and was, in fact, not very interested in any part of the rocket; even when Vincent showed him the air jets, which would meter oxygen into the compartment for the astronauts, and the air-conditioning system, which removed all the air in the compartment every few hours, making it flow over chemicals which would remove the carbon dioxide.

  "I got the idea both from the work done in submarines since the Second World War and also closed-circuit diving systems which use the same principle," Vincent explained. "As you know, atomic submarines have to stay down for a long time with a large crew and no access to fresh air. They use something of the same system as I have installed here.

  Mr. Spender took one picture of the interior of the compartment, but Vincent got the impression that he was doing it out of politeness. He next showed his visitor the second compartment below, which contained the needed stores for the trip. But again Mr. Spender was not much interested and complained of feeling hot. The third and bottom compartment contained the engine of the rocket.

  "A completely new fuel source," said Vincent, sure that this would arouse Mr. Spender's interest. "An atomic fuel, in fact. This will be the world's first atomic rocket." At this Mr. Spender picked up his ears.

  "Atomic-powered?" he asked, and his surprise was genuine.

  "Yes," said Vincent. "That is Dr. Kokintz' great discovery. He has isolated an element, Pinotium Sixty-four containing a curious particle called the Janus particle, which can change its charge from positive to negative. It is the Janus particle that provides the key to the whole thing." Vincent explained about the Janus particle and Mr. Spender listened very carefully.

  "And where does this Pinotium Sixty-four come from?" he asked.

  "From wine…Pinot Grand Fenwick, Premier Grand Cru," said Vincent.

  Mr. Spender gave Vincent a pleasant look as if to indicate that he thought Vincent was an idiot but was intent on humoring him. "From wine," he said. "Of course. From wine."

  "Wouldn't you like to take a photograph of the jet clusters?" asked Vincent. "I had quite a problem with them. I couldn't think of a system of directing the jets in any desired direction to maneuver the rocket. And then I found a real fancy shower head my father had ordered from America—you know he's installing modern plumbing in the castle—and it was just the thing. It will spray water in a solid stream, in jets like from the nozzle of a watering can, or sort of reverse itself, throwing water up in the air instead of downward. I think that feature was designed for people in America who like to take a shower but have tender heads. Anyway, that's what we're using as jets on the rocket."

  "Shower heads?" asked Mr. Spender incredulously.

  "Yes," said Vincent. "They work fine. Of course, Father was a bit angry because he wanted these shower heads for the bathrooms. But he agreed to let me have them since the rocket came first and he's ordered another shipment from America for the castle."

  He pointed below the rocket to where a number of gleaming chrome shower heads were fastened to the bottom of the rocket by stout steel brackets. A network of steel piping connected the shower heads with the interior of the rocket and Vincent said they led to the reaction chamber.

  "Want to take a picture?" Vincent asked.

  "No," said Mr. Spender firmly. "I think not."

  The tour of the rocket concluded, Vincent led Mr. Spender across the floor of the dungeon to the exit. On their way they passed several racks of copper piping stacked against the dungeon wall. A group of workmen had taken away some of the masonry of the wall and were inserting some of the piping through it. Several sections of a massive furnace stood nearby.

  "What's all that?" asked Mr. Spender, stopping by the copper Pipes.

  "Oh nothing," said Vincent, now somewhat irritated with him. "It's just part of the piping for the castle plumbing."

  "Is that so?" asked Mr. Spender. "Do you mind if I take
a picture?"

  "It's only plumbing," said Vincent, miffed that his rocket had been given such scant shrift. "I don't know what you would want to take a picture of it for."

  "Nonetheless it is interesting," said Mr. Spender, and he leveled his camera and shot a flash photo of the racks of copper pipe.

  "Another one is permitted?" asked Mr. Spender.

  "Oh come on," said Vincent, thoroughly fed up. "Dr. Kokintz is probably waiting for you." But Mr. Spender nonetheless shot a picture of the parts of the furnace lying about and then, and only reluctantly, followed Vincent out of the dungeon. Dr. Kokintz proposed that they might go that evening to get a picture of the bobolinks, but Mr. Spender said that he was rather tired from his traveling and the following evening might be better.

  He retired to his apartment, which was close to that of the Count of Mountjoy. Gloriana politely inquired whether he would like to have dinner in his room if he wished to rest. To this Mr. Spender agreed and he was not seen about the castle for the rest of the day.

  "Bird watching is a fatiguing business," said Dr. Kokintz at dinner that evening, for he was a firm ally of Mr. Spender's. "I have no doubt he has been up many, many times at dawn and is in need of a good rest."

  "What did you think of him, Vincent?" asked Gloriana.

  "He's a queer duck," said Vincent. "Shot one picture of the rocket and two of the plumbing. Why do you suppose he would want to take a picture of some workmen putting copper piping in the walls of a fourteenth-century castle?" he asked of his father.

  "Ah, my boy," said the Count of Mountjoy, "there you have an interesting comment on the English character—to which I might add our own character is somewhat related, for let us never forget that Grand Fenwick was founded by Englishmen.

  "Many of the English nobility live in castles like these and have been freezing in them for years, lacking every kind of convenience but so bound by tradition that they will do nothing to modernize them. Modern piping being run through the walls of a fourteenth-century castle would be much more interesting to an Englishman than a rocket designed to go to the moon. He'll show those pictures around his club time and time again, and always to an incredulous audience. I still think that the modernizing of this castle will in the long run redound more to the credit of Grand Fenwick than the success of that rocket you are working on. To get to the moon and back is undoubtedly an astounding feat. But to be able to have a hot bath whenever one wants it—that is an enduring contribution to the refinement of man, which is the proper objective of all governments."

  "Bobo," said Gloriana, "you are not running for re-election at the present moment."

  "What is your estimate now on the take-off date for the rocket?" asked Tully, turning to Vincent of Mountjoy.

  "Four weeks," said Vincent. "But that's just the engineering end of it. Dr. Kokintz will have to set the time because he has to calculate the orbit."

  "The twentieth of July would be the best date," said Dr. Kokintz. "At that time the moon will be at its perigee." He looked apologetically at Gloriana, for he always felt self-conscious about using terms that others might not understand, though now and again one slipped out. I mean that the moon will be closest to earth at that time and the distance between the two will be about twenty-six thousand miles less than when the moon is at its farthest from the earth."

  "You speak about it all in such a casual way," said Gloriana. "It is still difficult for me to believe that all this is going to take place."

  "It isn't really such a big event," said Kokintz. "From the surface of the earth to the surface of the moon when the two are closest together is only about two hundred and twenty thousand miles in round figures. Very many people travel such a distance these days in the course of their lives, though not all at once. The distance then is a trifle. What makes the project seem so dramatic is leaving earth to venture into space to the moon. But the moon is really a part of earth, though we haven't visited it before. It is the little sister of earth. We should not be so astounded at traveling the small distance that separates the two. Men have done much more remarkable things than that

  "For example?" asked Gloriana.

  "Well," said Dr. Kokintz, "learning to write. The ability to transfer the intangible thoughts in one man's mind to another man's mind by the use of a series of symbols called letters—that is much more remarkable than going to the moon. But it is so commonplace that it does not seem remarkable to us. When we have got used to making lunar trips, we will all be surprised that so much fuss was made about the first one."

  "You are so sure you will be able to get there—and return?" asked Gloriana.

  "We will be back for Your Grace's birthday celebration, said Kokintz. "And if we find any rare stone on the moon, we will bring it back for you as a birthday gift."

  "Just bring back yourselves," said Gloriana softly. "That is all I could desire."

  "I think that by then the bobolinks will have a nest full of fledglings," said Kokintz to Tully.

  "Yes," said Tully. "I think so." But at this point the conversation lagged and they all fell quiet, thinking of the twentieth of July—a date which now overshadowed all the others on the calendar, as if it were the date of Doomsday.

  CHAPTER XI

  Later that same evening Vincent of Mountjoy called on Cynthia Bentner and the two went for a walk together down the road which skirted the Forest of Grand Fenwick. Vincent, busy with the rocket for the past several weeks, had not seen much of Cynthia for he had had on many occasions to work far into the night. He felt a strong need for her company now, but, as they walked together, had so little to say that Cynthia wondered whether she had in some way offended him.

  "Have I done anything wrong?" she asked after a while.

  "No," said Vincent. "I just don't feel much like talking. I want to be with you but my mind keeps returning to the rocket and the journey to the moon. Gloriana said at dinner this evening that she could hardly bring herself to realize that the whole project was true, and ever since I started working on it, I've had the feeling of being in a dream, and wouldn't be very surprised if I woke up and discovered that, after all, it was only a dream."

  "It's not a dream for me," said Cynthia, "but a nightmare. I wish I could wake up and find that it was all nothing but my imagination, and there wasn't any rocket. And yet if there wasn't a rocket you would be leaving Grand Fenwick and going perhaps to America and I wouldn't see you again."

  "Please don't say that," said Vincent.

  "What?" said Cynthia.

  "Don't ever say anything about not seeing me again. It isn't that I'm afraid of what might happen. But just the thought of not seeing you again—well, that frightens me. I don't mind dying as dying. But since dying would entail not seeing you again—then I am afraid of it."

  "You never spoke like this to me before," said Cynthia.

  "I wasn't able to get anything into focus before," replied Vincent. "It’s hard to explain how it was with me. I hated Grand Fenwick. I didn't want to be here. It was like being buried alive. I couldn't use my mind or my training here. And yet the thought of going to someplace where I could do useful work, but being without you, was more than I could bring myself to face. I was almost content to be buried alive—well, not content, but resigned to it. And yet I knew that wouldn't work. I couldn't cut myself off from my future to be here with you."

  "I could go with you wherever you wanted to go," said Cynthia quietly.

  Vincent shook his head. "That wouldn't do," he said. "You have a kind of a goodness to you that would just get you hurt over and over again anywhere but here. You are like the earth—you are strong and enduring and peaceful and goodness grows out of you."

  "If I'm like that," said Cynthia, "nothing would change me wherever I was."

  "In the cities," said Vincent, they take the earth and pour cement over it and put buildings up on top and it isn't the earth any longer. It dies."

  "I planned to get that money spent on the rocket, during the election, so that
there would be something to keep you here with me," said Cynthia. "But what was I to do? If there wasn't the rocket to keep you here, you would have gone. And now the rocket means that you will go anyway—much farther away than New York or London; to a place no living creature has ever been before. Oh Vincent, I'm terrified that you won't be able to get back."

  He took her in his arms and held her tightly. "I will get back," he said. "I will get back. There will be you to bring me back here and that will be enough. Besides," he added cheerfully, "there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong with the rocket. It's foolproof. It's the engineer's ideal—a machine which functions without moving parts. The nuclear stream thrusts out of the jets in the back and the rocket takes off. That's all. And it is much easier to get from the moon to the earth than from the earth to the moon, because the moon's gravitational pull is only one-sixth of that of earth. That means that to take off from the moon, we need only one-sixth of the power required to take off from here."

  He talked enthusiastically about the rocket, explained the method by which it would reverse itself when landing on the moon, coming down on legs which would be extended from it at the right time. "It will land so gently," he said, "that it will be just like a fly landing on a table top. Much the worst part of the whole trip will be the take-off from here because of the huge acceleration we have to develop to escape from the gravitational pull of the earth. The power requirement decreases as we get farther and farther away."

  "How long will it take?" asked Cynthia.

  "Nine days and four hours," said Vincent.

  "So long?" asked Cynthia. "I thought it would be much quicker than that."

  "We're only going to go at a thousand miles an hour," said Vincent. "It's Dr. Kokintz' idea and I thoroughly agree with him. We're in no hurry and a great increase in speed brings a huge number of problems."

  "What kind of problems?" asked Cynthia.

  "Oh—heat, for instance. The outer shell of the rocket would get heated up to such a degree that it might vaporize. Then there are meteorites which are microscopic in size. They won't do any harm at a thousand miles an hour. But they would penetrate a rocket colliding with them at really high speeds and go right through the bodies of the people inside, killing them. They've tried that with monkeys—accelerating particles to huge velocities and directing them at the monkeys. The monkeys died though there wasn't a mark on them. It's curious in a way because our bodies are being penetrated by cosmic radiation and probably cosmic particles as well all the time, but because they travel relatively slowly we suffer no ill effects. Speed them up and they would be fatal. It's actually the principle of the old ray guns we used to read about in comics when we were kids."