The Red Planet

by Charles Chilton

  “The light?” asked Lemmy, in a hoarse whisper.

  “Yes. Or whatever was carrying the light. It must have come here to investigate the ship after it had crashed. Maybe it even caused the crash.”

  “You mean somebody’s been here, messing around with our ship?” asked the Cockney.

  “Exactly.”

  “But what about our crew? What’s happened to them?”

  “It’s pretty certain that they, or their bodies if they were dead, have been taken and transferred to some other kind of machine.”

  “But where have they been taken to?” asked Lemmy. “And who took them?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out. That light, when we last saw it, was moving directly west from here.”

  “Yes, Jet. And pretty fast, too,” I reminded him.

  “Very well. From now on we travel westwards.”

  “You mean you’re going after that thing?” asked Mitch.

  “Yes.”

  “But how are we going to find it? A flying machine doesn’t leave any trails.”

  “If we don’t find it,” Jet replied, “we’ll come back here and continue our journey towards the equator as originally planned. Now come on.”

  We ran back to the trucks and, once inside, took off our suits and settled down in the driving seats. Then, at top speed, we headed westward.

  Neither Jet nor I spoke a word to each other, but we both thought very hard; at least, I know I did. Here was something quite unexpected; definite proof that life existed on this strange planet. An intelligent life; a life, apparently, very similar to our own.

  Chapter Twelve

  The ground over which we travelled was a sea of purple mud. Portions of it clung to our tractor treads in thick clods but it must have been fairly hard underneath for we didn’t sink very far into it. There was not a hill or mound of any kind in sight now, and the purple soil stretched clear to the horizon, uninterrupted and undisturbed.

  Towards the middle of the afternoon, I noticed that the land to the north-west had a pink tinge about it and Jet suggested it must be the south-eastern tip of the great Argyre Desert.

  During our long trip since dawn neither Jet nor I had mentioned the flying machine which we were pursuing. We both realised that the chances of our overtaking it were so remote as to be virtually non-existent. We were like a car-- a very slow one at that--trying to overtake a fast aeroplane.

  The silence was broken by the voice of Frank coming over the radio. “Hullo, Land Fleet,” it said, “Rogers calling.”

  “Hullo, Frank,” replied Jet. “We can hear you.”

  “This is to report that we have now topped the hill and are about to descend down the other side. We can see Number Two from up here--through the glasses at any rate.”

  “When you get to her,” said Jet, “look her over straight away. Give me a report on the chances of salvaging her cargo and getting it back to Polar Base.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You can enter her by the cargo hatch. We left the ladder extended so you wouldn’t have any trouble getting up. We also left the air supply to build up so that you can spend the night inside if you wish.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Keep in regular contact, Frank, and be sure to be under cover with all hatches tightly closed at least an hour before sunset. And make no attempt to leave the ship or your trucks between then and sunrise, no matter what happens.”

  “You’re darned right I won’t, skipper.”

  “Now our position at the moment is approximately, longitude eleven degrees thirty-four minutes, latitude minus fifty-three degrees twenty-two minutes. We are heading directly westwards along the latitudinal line. Call again as soon as you reach the ship, Frank. And good luck.”

  The afternoon wore on as we sped on our way through the purple mud. At last the sun sank below the horizon. Twilight descended and rapidly turned to a glorious, star-studded night. When it was completely dark, we made camp, but before going back into the living quarters, Jet called up the other truck.

  “Now listen, Lemmy,” he said, “I want you to keep watch while we get something to eat. If you see any sign of that light, call us up immediately. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Jet.”

  “As soon as Mitch has finished his meal he will relieve you, and then Doc and I will take over in this truck.”

  My turn for watch came four hours later. Jet was asleep on his bunk as I made my way through the connecting airlock between the two trucks and into the driving cabin of the tractor. It was quite dark in there. We had decided not to put on any lights that could be seen from outside. Having eased myself into my seat, I let my eyes get used to the darkness until the stars in the sky seemed to hang like brilliant, multi-coloured lamps just above my head. Then I called up Mitch to tell him that he could go back to bed.

  “How about it?” I asked. “Did you see anything?”

  “No, Doc, not a thing.”

  “Any word from Frank?”

  “Yes, he decided to spend the night in Number Two. He and Grimshaw have kept a constant watch from there but they’ve seen nothing, either.”

  “Well, get some shut-eye, Mitch. I’ll give you a call if I see anything.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  I could imagine Mitch crawling through the airlock into the living quarters truck, thankful that it would be another six hours before he would again be called upon to keep the lonely vigil. I scanned the sky from east to west and from north to south as far as the window of the cabin would allow. I saw nothing but the stars.

  The time went by incredibly slowly. After what seemed an eternity I looked at my watch and saw that I had been keeping sentinel for only twenty minutes. I had to force myself to stay awake. Suddenly my attention was drawn to the horizon in the north-west, to a bright blue ‘star’ which had appeared above the black line that marked the spot where the purple plain met the sky. Slowly, very slowly, it rose and, as it rose, grew larger.

  I switched on the microphone and spoke quietly into it. Jet could not have been sleeping very deeply, for he answered my call immediately.

  “Hold on, Doc,” he said, “I’ll be right out.”

  I had to call Mitch and Lemmy a second time before I received a reply from them.

  I don’t think it took Jet above two minutes to reach me and by that time the light was very much bigger and heading in our direction. Soon it had grown from pinpoint size to something like three or four feet in diameter. It was now a bright orange colour and varied in strength.

  Then, at colossal speed, the light passed over our heads and was behind us. Both Jet and I spun round in the tiny cabin and tried to follow its path, but the back of the cabin obstructed our view.

  “If it stays on that course,” I heard Lemmy say, “it won’t be going anywhere near Number Two.”

  But it wasn’t staying on that course. Quite suddenly it veered round, changed its line of flight and swept round in a huge arc. I thought at first that it was going to encircle us but it flew due east, in a direct line towards Freighter Number Two.

  “Call up Frank, Lemmy,” Jet said urgently. “Warn him that the thing is coming.”

  “Right, Jet. Hullo, Frank--Lemmy here.”

  Frank, his voice distant, answered immediately. “Hullo, Lemmy--Rogers speaking.”

  “We don’t want to put the wind up you, chum, but that light we told you about...”

  “Well?”

  “It passed over us a moment ago and it looks as though it’s heading straight for you.”

  “Oh, is it?” said Frank, emphasising the verb.

  “Yes, mate,” went on Lemmy. “Keep a sharp look out and if you hear anybody knocking at the door, pretend you’re out.”

  “Don’t worry, Lemmy,” said Frank. “We’re sealed up tighter than sardines in a tin.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Did they see you, Lemmy?”

  “We don’t see how they could have missed us. Passed right ove
rhead, but they didn’t even hesitate.”

  “OK, Lemmy. If it comes this way I’ll let you know the minute I sight it.”

  “Thanks, mate--and don’t go doing anything hasty.”

  The ship, or whatever it was, must have been travelling at about a thousand miles an hour, for approximately twelve minutes later Frank called up to say that he could see the light heading straight for him.

  Jet immediately took over the radio and talked to Frank direct. “Hullo, Frank. Where are you keeping look-out-- from the pilot’s window?”

  “No, Jet. Through the televiewer.”

  “Where is the light now?”

  “Directly in front of us. Elevation about forty-five degrees--no, now its descending very gently. It’s almost down. It’s touched the deck and--the light’s gone out.”

  “Can you see a ship of any kind?”

  “Not really, Jet. It’s so dark out there.”

  “Have you got the lights on in the cabin?”

  “Yes, Jet.”

  “Then put them out.”

  “But they can’t be seen from outside, sir.”

  “I realise that, Frank. But the darker the cabin the better your chance of seeing things on the televiewer.”

  “Very well, sir. Hold on a moment.”

  “I wouldn’t like to be in Frank’s shoes right now,” said Lemmy quietly; “not with that thing sitting on his doorstep.”

  Frank was now calling again, and he sounded very excited. “Hullo, Frank,” said Jet.

  “Things are happening, sir. That thing out there is definitely circular, and a pale green, oval-shaped light has appeared in the lower part of it.”

  “Some kind of door, you mean?”

  “Possibly.”

  There was another, shorter pause and then Frank, hoarsely whispering so that we could hardly hear him, said:

  “Oh, Jet. . . somebody . . . something is coining out!”

  “What do they--it--look like?” asked Jet.

  “It’s difficult to tell. All we can see are faint shadows. The green light is so pale--like luminous paint. It’s only because parts of it are being obscured occasionally that I know anything is there at all. There’s one, two, three--yes, three shadows passed across it. Apparently towards the ground.”

  “Listen, Frank.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “They must be going to approach the ship, but almost certainly they are not aware that you are in there. They probably expect to find the cargo flaps still down as they left them yesterday.”

  “Then they have a big surprise coming, haven’t. . . oh-- what’s that? What the . ..?”

  “What is it, Frank?”

  “There’s a click coming from the control board. The cargo flap relays are working, sir--somebody outside is pressing the switch.”

  “But they can’t get in, can they, Frank?”

  “I hope not, sir. That switch won’t open the doors, that’s for certain--we’ve broken the remote control circuit. Oh, they’ve stopped now--they must have given up. Look, sir, it’s so dark outside that it’s impossible for the televiewer to show a bright picture, but if I went out into the pilot’s cabin and looked through the window I might see much more.”

  “Very well, Frank. But be careful. Switch off the televiewer and the control board lights before you go, in case they should be seen when you open the pilot’s cabin door.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a pause. “About to enter the pilot’s‘ cabin. Now.”

  We heard the hum of the motors over the radio as Grimshaw opened the door for Frank.

  “I’m in the pilot’s cabin now, skipper,” came Frank’s voice.

  “Can you see any better?” asked Jet.

  “Yes, just a little. The green light is an opening into that sphere.”

  “How big is it? Can you tell?”

  “Not without knowing exactly how far away she is. At a rough guess I’d say between six and ten feet, but . . .” Frank stopped as though he had seen something that startled him.

  “What is it, Frank?”

  “It’s the crew,” Frank whispered. “I can just see them. Vague shapes. They just passed under the port wing and are heading back to the sphere.”

  “Frank,” said Jet nervously, “what do they look like? How big are they?”

  “It’s difficult to tell. They’re all bunched up together and their silhouettes seem to mingle. If only there was a little more light!”

  “Keep watching them, Frank. When they reach the door they should show up clearly against it.”

  “Yes.” There was a pause during which we all waited expectantly. But when Frank spoke again it was merely to say: “If they are heading for their ship, Jet, they couldn’t have reached it yet. It must be a lot farther away than I thought.”

  “Can you still see them?”

  “No, skipper. They’ve been completely swallowed up by the darkness. Oh, wait a minute. They’ve reached the light now. They stand out as clearly as . . . oh, one’s about to climb back in and I . . . oh, my . . .” There was a clatter in our headphones as though Frank had dropped his microphone.

  Jet called him two or three times to ask what had happened. There was no reply for some seconds, and then at last Frank said: “It’s all right, skipper. The light--the big one--it came on again and I threw myself to the floor.”

  “Oh, blimey,” said Lemmy. “Now we’ll never know what they look like.”

  “But I saw them, skipper,” went on Frank. “For a split second I saw them.”

  “Then what did they look like, Frank?” Jet asked urgently.

  “Just like you and me, Jet. Just normal human beings.”

  I heard Jet catch his breath. “Frank, are you sure? You were straining your eyes in the darkness. They could have played you tricks.”

  “I’d stake my life on it,” went on Frank. “When the big light came on it showed them up so clearly. I couldn’t have made a mistake.”

  “Did you see the ship take off again?”

  “No. While the light was on I thought it best to lie low. A couple of minutes later she was gone. The last I saw of her was a diminishing light in the sky. It must be heading back your way.”

  It was. It arrived in about ten minutes. But this time it kept a perfectly straight course and passed over our heads to disappear below the horizon in the direction of the Argyre Desert.

  It wasn’t long before Jet was calling Frank again, asking every possible question about what Frank had seen. How were the men dressed? How tall were they? Was he sure that they were normal human beings?

  Finally, Frank was allowed to get some sleep which, I felt sure, he needed --for on top of his disturbed night he faced an early start back to Polar Base with as much of the salvaged cargo as he and Grimshaw could carry in their land trucks.

  The first rays of the morning sun had hardly lightened the sky when our two caravans set out. We travelled steadily in a straight line towards where the light of the strange ship had disappeared over the horizon the night before.

  Three hours and sixty miles later the soft, damp, purple soil of the Mare Australis gave way to the pink dust of the Argyre. By noon the Mare had been left far behind. Now the two trains of vehicles ploughed through desert, each trailing a miniature dust storm behind it.

  For the first time since landing on the planet, the sun’s rays shining through the windows of the driving cabins were hot enough to allow us to travel through the day without the need of heaters to keep us warm.

  The desert scene was unbelievably beautiful. The sand was pink and, unlike the flat plain of the Mare Australis, gently undulating. Slowly, as the day wore on, a copper-coloured sun made its way across the mauve northern sky. At noon we rested, refreshed ourselves and stretched our legs by walking ankle-deep in the sand, for sand it certainly seemed to be. By then we were well into the desert, surrounded on every side by low, pink hills, without the tiniest living plant to relieve the monotonous, if colourful, scene.

  In ou
r first day across that great desert, we covered nearly two hundred and fifty miles and then, under a canopy of the blackest sky, studded with the brightest of stars, we settled down to sleep. We kept a constant watch but no sign of the mysterious ship was seen. Not long after we had made camp we had a call from Frank, telling us that he had now reached Polar Base again and had taken a considerable part of the cargo of the wrecked freighter with him. He reported, too, that all was well with the rest of the Fleet still travelling above the planet’s surface in free orbit.

  Next morning we were on our way again, hoping to make the far side of the desert before nightfall. Jet didn’t allow us to let up for a moment. While one man drove the truck, his companion navigated and, in between times, scanned the horizon with the powerful binoculars in the hope of sighting the strange sphere or some sign that would lead us to its base. But there was none, nothing but the pink sand stretching on endlessly.

  It was two hours before sunset and I was driving. Suddenly the motor began to vary and our speed with it.

  “Maybe we had better stop,” said Jet reluctantly, “and let Mitch look her over. We can’t afford to have the trucks breaking down at this stage.”

  Jet called up Mitch and told him to halt, and a few moments later we had drawn up alongside. We all got out of the trucks and Mitch immediately began to carry out an inspection of the motor. It didn’t take him long to find the trouble but, he said, it would take him at least an hour to put it right. Under the circumstances, there was nothing to do but wait.

  I suggested that perhaps as the motor had gone ‘on the blink’ we should make camp here for the night anyway, but Jet was determined to press on so long as there was daylight left. We had halted at the bottom of a high sand dune and, while Mitch was tinkering with the inside of the tractor, Jet walked round in small circles and occasionally stopped and looked up to the ridge which lay ahead. At last he said: “Look, Mitch, while you’re tending to that, I’d like to climb to the top of this dune and see what’s on the other side. I won’t go out of sight.”

  And with that, and calling to Lemmy to follow him, Jet started climbing up the slope. Fifteen minutes later I could see the minute figures of he and Lemmy silhouetted against the sky. We were, of course, still in radio contact and I could hear every word that Lemmy and Jet were saying. So could Mitch, but he was so busy tinkering with the tractor’s motor that I doubt if he even noticed.