To venus to venus, p.1
To Venus! To Venus!, page 1
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To Venus! To Venus! by David Grinnell
CHAPTER I
"Chet, this is Orbiter. Do you read us?"
"Loud and clear. What's cooking?"
"Nothing. Just wanted you to know that your target is right on the other side of the next ridge. One more climb and you're there. Just keep picking them up and laying them down and you'll be there in time for lunch. Going clear."
"Thanks a lump. Out."
Chet Duncan knew that the boys in the mother ship, orbiting high above the moon's surface, were being flip in an attempt to encourage him; he appreciated their efforts but he was tired and did not want to waste energy talking unnecessarily. He had been trekking across the dry lunar landscape for several hours, and it was hard work. Theoretically, the one-sixth Earth gravity pull should have made the trip a series of effortless leaps and long strides. But, as usual, there was a tremendous gap between theory and practice, particularly when you were dealing with a branch of one of the most specialized government services, the Space Agency of the United States.
Survival in space required an extraordinary amount of gear, and, of course, you were expected to survive in the manner and method approved. As a result, the advantage of a weakened gravity was more than compensated for by the necessity of carrying six times the equipment required for a similar trip on Earth. The cumbersome suit with its heavy helmet, bottled oxygen, air-conditioning equipment, the recycling apparatus; these plus batteries and communications equipment and sundry emergency supplies added up to a burden which had Chet perspiring. But he had crossed the empty crater and only its wall stood between him and his goal.
He clumped along, dragging one heavy foot after the other as he started the long climb which would take him over the final ridge. His left earphone was tuned in to the wavelength of Jim Holmes, who was his target. Jim had been fulfilling his assignment of cruising the surface in the ungainly looking but very efficient moonwalker when the machine had suddenly stopped operating. Chet hoped to get it restarted.
His right earphone received the wavelength of the mother ship, which would eventually take everybody back to Earth. It took a bit of getting used to, this business of receiving two channels simultaneously, but it had been covered in the intensive training he had received, and now he could listen to two conversations at the same time and make sense of both. The microphone in his helmet beamed his words to the mother ship, which received them and relayed them back over the entire lunarscape or even, when desired, back to Earthbase.
Chet figured that at the present rate he would be at the top of the crater's ridge in just under two hours, and from there it would be a downhill slide until he reached the moonwalker. He had no way of being sure exactly what had caused it to stop working because Jim, although an excellent geologist, was absolutely hopeless when it came to anything mechanical. If it was the shearpin, as Chet guessed, he would have it operating again within fifteen minutes of his arrival. If it was anything else, he would have to run a series of tests and hope he found the source of the trouble quickly and that it would not involve some unobtainable part.
As he panted his way up the steep cliff, Chet was surprised to find that uppermost in his mind was not the failure of the mission if he was unable to repair the moonwalker; his immediate attention was occupied by the discouraging possibility of having to hike all the way back to his point of origin in order to be picked up by the mother ship. Since he was in no mood to concentrate on so unpleasant a prospect, he fixed his mind on the broadcasts from Earth which were being rediffused into his left earphone. As often happened, Earthbase was relaying the international news broadcast:
"It was officially announced in Moscow today that a team of cosmonauts headed by Commander Raffalovich has effected a landing on the planet Venus."
Chet snorted. He had long ago learned to withhold judgment on first hearing any news which officially proclaimed a great Russian breakthrough. It was true that they had accomplished a great deal. One could never forget that they had been the first of Earth's nations to achieve space orbit. Nevertheless, it was just as true that they had often announced spectacular achievements which later turned out to be of minor substance. This story could mean that an orbiting mothership captained by Raffalovich had sent an unmanned probe on to the Venusian surface, or they might be claiming the actual setting foot of cosmonauts on Earth's neighbor. This would indeed be spectacular. Even if the explorers never left the ship, their very presence on Venusian soil would constitute an impressive first.
Chet listened intently as he plodded carefully upward.
"Information relayed by the landing to the team is being transmitted and, when it has been analyzed and tested for accuracy, its results will be made public for the greater betterment of mankind."
Experts in various parts of the world had been contacted and their comments sought in order to clarify the news item. But in view of the terseness of the announcement and the lack of accompanying data, there was little they could venture beyond giving their views on the planet itself and the feasibility of any sort of landing. Chet himself was not one to deny that such a feat was possible. After all, while he was climbing up and down on the surface of the moon, he was not apt to feel that further adventures to nearby planets were beyond the reach of man.
But the key words, as Chet saw it, were, "… information relayed by the landing to the team…" This would seem to be a clear indication that the landing unit was unmanned. The "team" to which the information was being relayed could be anywhere from a close-parked orbit around Venus to headquarters somewhere "East of the Urals." In view of the fact that the United States had announced months ago that its own probe, carrying the most sophisticated instruments, was on its way to penetrate the clouds of Venus and report on its atmosphere, temperature and ground conditions, he found it easy to believe that the Soviet announcement was calculated to steal the thunder from the American effort.
Turning it over in his mind and considering the announcement from every conceivable angle kept him occupied so that time flew by as he covered the difficult ground. Almost before he was ready, for it, he reached the top of the crater and paused as he glanced down its sloping outer rim. Not only was it downhill, but it was nowhere near as steep as his upward climb. Two hundred yards away, just where the slope met the level ground, the moonwalker was perched motionless.
"Hey, Jim," he called on the intercom wavelength, "I've got you in sight and I'll be with you in a couple of minutes."
"I know," Jim replied casually, "I've been following you on the bounce-radar. Judging by your speed, I thought at first that I had latched onto some fat moon caterpillar and I was about to report it as a fantastic discovery when I recognized your outline. They wouldn't have believed me anyway," he concluded solemnly; "caterpillars travel much faster than that. Even fat ones."
Chet smiled but made no reply. Regulations required radio silence except for necessary conversation. And going by the book, a three word answer was all that would have been required from Jim. But going by the book was not Jim's habit. He was a well trained geologist whose natural aptitude for his profession made him one of the finest in the business. He was not the military type and had been induced to enter the Space Service simply because his country needed him and made its need very clear. He would go anywhere they wanted to send him and do anything they wanted done, but he would do it his way. Jim Holmes was an innate civilian.
When he was just a few yards from the walking machine, Chet called out, "Are you prepared to open up?"
"Sure thing," came the laconic answer. "Suit's under pressure, cabin depressurized."
The main hatch swung open and Chet climbed aboard. Although face to face within the confines of the small cabin, the two still conversed by radio within their individual pressure suits.
"Have you any idea of what's wrong?" Chet asked.
"Not the slightest," Jim said, shaking his head. "I thought that's why they sent you."
"Sure. I just thought you might have some clue. Let's take a look at the shearpin."
"Help yourself."
Chet dropped to his knees, unscrewed a floor plate, and lifted it off. He thrust his arm deep into the aperture, felt around, and allowed his fingers to run up and down the smooth shaft he located.
"Tell me," he asked his friend, who sat comfortably watching him. "what happened?"
"It just quit."
"I know that," he answered a trifle impatiently. "I mean, did the power fail or did you suddenly lose traction?"
Jim looked genuinely baffled. "I really don't know," he said. "We just stopped and then I turned off the motor and called in."
"Okay. Let's try it another way," Chet persisted. "Was the motor running before you shut it off?"
"Oh, sure. That's what I've been trying to tell you. It was running but we weren't getting anywhere so I switched it off." Jim seemed to think he was dealing with an idiot.
"Gotcha," Chet said. "One minute you were rolling merrily alone; and then there was a snap and the walker stopped walking but the motor kept running so you switched it off and called Orbiter."
"You are so right." Jim smiled then he looked puzzled. "But how did you know about the snap?"
"I didn't. I was just hoping. I think we may be in luck. It sounds as if the problem is nothing more than a broken shearpin, and I brought along a spare. We ought to be underway
"Well, if it's that easy," Jim said, "you'd think they would tell us about it so that we could fix it ourselves."
"They did."
"Oh." He watched as Chet removed the broken pin and slipped the new one into place. Then an idea occurred to him.
"But won't whatever caused it to break in the first place have the same effect on this one? I mean, nothing's changed inside, has it?"
Chet finished his repairs but left the floorplate out of place. "No, nothing's changed," he explained, "but nine times out of ten when these things go, it's because of ordinary fatigue. Unless you were jammed and tried to force the moonwalker through, the chances are we'll be on our way."
"Nothing jammed and I didn't force anything," Jim said. He sounded relieved.
Chet climbed into the driver's seat, which was perched high on a pole which slanted out of the floor. Jim took the navigator's seat to the right of the driver; the moonwalker could be operated from either location, but Jim was delighted to ride as a passenger. They buckled on their shoulder harnesses and Chet threw the main switch, which activated the instrument panel. All gauges showed normal with ample power reserves indicated. Through long habit, he read out each gauge, and Jim's eyes flickered over the panel as he followed the routine. Finally Chet closed his heavily gloved fingers over the motor switch and moved it to the on position.
The microphones in his helmet picked up the answering hum and the slight vibration testified that the motor was turning efficiently. He increased power and reached for the clutch shaft. He eased it forward slowly and the giant revolving legs on either side of the cabin came to life. Lurching and heaving like some giant beetle, the moonwalker moved ahead as it started to climb the slope. At once, Chet pulled back the clutch and reduced power to minimum idling. He spun the crank which locked the clutch into neutral and unfastened his harness.
"I guess we're okay," he said simply.
"Thank heavens," Jim breathed fervently.
Swiftly, Chet replaced the floorplate and plugged his suit into the moonwalker's system. Jim remained in his seat but plugged himself into the same system.
"Moonwalker to Orbiter." Chet had switched to the correct frequency and placed the call. The answer came immediately.
"Orbiter. Gotcha. Go ahead."
"This is Chet. Moonwalker's operational. Shall I proceed to the bug?"
"Right. How long do you expect it to take you?"
"I'm going to take the easy way around, even though it will take me a little longer. I should be there in about three and a half hours. Figure time to transfer. We should be in a position to lift off in four and a half hours from now. How does that fit in?"
As Chet talked, he pulled a set of charts from their nesting place and spread one of them on the table in front of him. The orbiting mother ship would be feeding the information he had relayed into their computer in order to determine how soon, after three and a half hours, they would be in a position to rendezvous. This gave Chet just enough time to double-check his route and confirm his time estimates.
"Okay, Chet, we'll take you off in four hours, seventeen and three-quarter minutes; that will be 15:20:22 Washington Mean Time. Do you want a time check?"
Chet immediately punched the button at the bottom of the clock located on the instrument panel. This allowed it to be electronically checked and corrected by Orbiter. Now it was simply a matter of keeping to his schedule. Perhaps "simply" was the wrong word. A thousand things could go wrong. Navigating the lumbering moonwalker was in itself a job which could be rated a solid day's work.
If everything went well, they should reach the bug in plenty of time to button up the walker, deactivating it and transferring its delicate instrumentation to the vehicle which would take them to the mother ship. The walker would be left behind to await the arrival of the next team. Then there would be the activating of the bug, the correct setting of the telemetry and guidance equipment and a serene wait to be lifted off and picked up by the mother ship. That was all there was to it, if everything went well. Chet realized, of course, that the reason he and Jim, two human beings, were involved at all was because when things did not go entirely as planned, there was no machinery which could match the brain.
The bug hove into view with time to spare. Chet maneuvered the walker close in, tucking it under an overhanging promontory as protection against a shower of meteorites which might damage it during its idle wait. Then the two men began the laborious transfer of equipment. The solar batteries were dismantled and placed within their insulated storage containers where they would remain inoperative and shielded from the excesses of heat and cold until needed again. When this work was completed, Chet took a final look around as Jim clambered aboard the bug, then he joined him. The pressure door clanged shut and Chet spun the locking wheels; that done, he began the pressure buildup, drawing on the vehicle's atmospheric tanks.
He brought the instrument panel to life and carefully adjusted a series of slide-switches, tuning the main antennae to the precise pattern of the mother ship's emanations. From then on, the remote-control equipment upon which their safe pickup depended would respond only to the precise radar pattern of the orbiting base.
All the instruments brought from the moonwalker were plugged into their appropriate receptacles so that they became part of the bug's integral system. Once the bug had been picked up by the mother ship, they would be available to it as well. Now there was nothing to do but wait. If something went wrong during the pickup and coupling, Chet would be available to take over direct, manual control; but barring mishap, lift-off, rendezvous and final coupling would be effected automatically.
As soon as the cabin-pressure light winked green, indicating that the atmosphere aboard equaled that of Earth at about six thousand feet, Jim started to divest himself of the bulky spacesuit. This was not correct procedure.
"Hey, buddy, you might want to have that thing on if we suddenly lose pressure," Chet called pleasantly. Since the cabin was up to pressure, voice could travel normally through the air. Chet, however, still enclosed in his helmet, spoke through microphones. Jim, who had discarded his earphones when he had taken off his helmet, could hear Chet's words clearly over the cabin loudspeakers. His own voice was picked up by the in-cabin microphone.
"If we suddenly lose pressure," he said, "I don't want to be around to know it. I'd rather cash in quickly than linger around on this desolate rock or up in the emptiness. You know they couldn't rescue us soon enough. Besides, the suit's a drag. It weighs a ton."
"True enough. Nevertheless, regulations call for—"
"Aw come on, Chet. Regulations are written by some cat whose job calls for him never to leave his desk except for an occasional parade. When we dock with Mama, we'll go straight through a pressurized air lock into her pressurized cabin where everyone will be wearing regular fatigues, right? So what's the point of waiting around in a full suit of armor?"
Chet was about to persist, but the warning buzzer sounded and lights blinked to life on the panel, indicating lift-off was about to occur.
Without a voice-transmitted message, the bug lifted off and was swept into contact with the mother ship.
CHAPTER II
Chet crawled gingerly through the air lock, taking care not to strike his helmet against the narrow bulkhead. He snapped a perfunctory salute as he stepped aside to permit the entry of Jim, who followed close behind. Two of the crewmen came to his side and helped him take off his helmet. He swung his head this way and that, enjoying his new-found freedom. The crewmen, both officers who equaled him in rank, continued to help him shed his awkward suit: Phillip Lombardi and Douglas Mailie, both excellent astronauts.
Captain Alexander Borg, senior officer in charge of the expedition, came forward to greet the returning men.
"Good to see you safe aboard, Chet," he said, his face softening as much as it ever did.
"Thank you, sir."
The softness disappeared from the captain's swarthy countenance.
"Holmes! Where is your suit?"
"In there, sir." Jim pointed toward the air lock which led to the bug.
