CHAPTER 5
All Hands to Control
Chuck’s mind was half-asleep, but the shock of the acceleration hit at him before he could begin to sit up. They were using less acceleration here than from an Earth start-the lighter gravity of the moon made less violent beginnings economically sound—but it was still bad.
The cushion had never been designed for such pressure. It sank beneath him, leaving his hips and shoulders against the flat metal floor. He groaned, trying to take up more of the crushing weight on his legs and arms. But it was useless. He had to take it. Then it was too much. Painfully, he rolled onto his side; the effort sent the blood racing to the lower side of his body; then he managed to get over on his stomach. It was almost as bad, but not quite.
The minutes dragged, while he sweated it out. Acceleration seemed to go on endlessly, though it could not have been more than ten minutes.
Suddenly it was over. The recoil of the cushion threw him against the bottom of the tank, bringing a groan from him as his bruised flesh took the force of it
But he had no time to worry about that. He was on his way to Mars! All he had to do was to remain hidden for a day, and there was nothing that could keep him from making the trip.
He crawled about, using his hands
The sound of footsteps sent him scurrying back under the tank before the big figure of Dick Steele came down the handrails from above, hand over hand. The engineer glanced over the huge hydroponics room, and went on down to the lower levels.
Chuck darted out to where he’d left the bag in plain view. He’d been lucky that time, but Steele might see it on the way back. He glanced at the opening for the handrails.
The sound of a gong reached his ears, but he disregarded it. It was too late when he realized what it meant. The rockets suddenly roared behind, slapping him down against the floor. He had barely time to fall limply, and to try to support himself on his hands and bruised knees.
Then it was over. The speed must have been slightly too little, but it had needed only a touch to correct it. Chuck had been braced when it went off. Now his legs and arms acted as springs, throwing him up against the ceiling. He grasped for a hold and almost managed to stop.
But his clawing just missed the mark. He began sailing along midway between floor and ceiling, heading thirty feet away toward the wall of the ship, traveling as slowly as a falling feather.
He looked down and up, but it would be at least a minute before he could get his hands on something to pull him down. He began threshing the air, trying to swim through it. Each motion of his arms jerked his whole body in the opposite direction. Swimming in air was possible, but it was slow and very awkward business.
“Hey!” He jerked his head around, setting his body to jerking sharply and saw Dick Steele’s head protruding through the central shaft.
The man pulled himself up, braced his legs for a second, and leaped out. Chuck tried to duck, but the other had plotted his course accurately. The big arms suddenly made contact, and the two of them shot together toward the wall. Dick’s hand found a post and pulled them down together.
“Who—Chuck!” The suspicion faded to a grin. “Well, I’ll be switched! Stowaway to Mars. You crazy kid! Why the dickens couldn’t you stay hidden until we’d gotten farther out?”
His voice became suddenly official. “Charles Svensen, I arrest you in the name of the United States for illegal passage on a chartered ship, in violation of UN regulations. You will come with me!”
One big hand held firmly onto Chuck’s wrist as he began moving cautiously from tank to tank, using the other hand to keep from sailing out of control. “I’ll have to take you to Captain Vance, kid. You know what this means?”
Chuck nodded. It meant that they were still within reach of one of the little rockets and that a radargram back to the Moon would mean he would be picked up within a couple of hours. He cursed himself for his stupidity in not hearing the gong in time, but it was too late to do anything now.
Steele found the handrail and began pulling his way along it. Chuck wriggled in his grasp. “I’ll go along, Dick, if you’ll let go.”
The engineer released him, and he followed Dick up the rail. They went through the living quarters passage to the closed door of the control room where Steele knocked once. He pulled the door open and reached back for Chuck.
Captain Miles Vance sat at the control board staring at the instruments. He was a tall, thin man, and there were touches of gray in his hair in spite of his being barely twenty-seven. His posture showed the Army training that had preceded his work with rockets. Outwardly, he looked like a harsh disciplinarian, but in reality he was one of the most pleasant men to work with Chuck had known. Lew Wong was sitting beside him at the radar, and the black curls of Nat Rothman barely showed up above the third seat as the pilot dug into the readings from his instruments.
Vance looked up as the door opened, a faint smile on his face. His mouth sagged to a round circle of surprise as he saw Chuck, then tightened quickly. “Dick, unless you’ve got something important, stay out of here until I send for you! I haven’t got time for routine details yet Lew, get back to work! I want reports of the observatory readings. We haven’t time to waste listening to congratulations, or chatting with Lunar HQ. Well?”
The last was to Steele. The big man grinned. “Nothing, sir. Sorry.” He reached for the door.
Vance’s eyes met Chuck’s briefly before it closed. There was no sign in them that he had even seen the boy. Then one eyelid came down faintly in a wink, and the captain turned smartly back to his instrument board.
Dick’s face broke into an amused grin, and Chuck let out his breath with a whistle. “Do you think…?” he began.
The engineer laughed softly. “I’m not thinking. Chuck. But in a new ship like this, there are lots of things to do. Vance can’t be bothered radaring back right now for a ship to come get you. Come on, I’ll have to lock you up until he can see you.”
Chuck went along, quite content. He dropped into a hammock in the little crew-quarters with a groan of relief. Dick grinned at him and went out, locking the door behind.
Vance would send word back, of course. But it wouldn’t be until they were too far for any ship to pick up Chuck. The boy went over to the tiny microfilm library fastened to one wall and began catching up on his reading. He’d missed three issues of
once they were actually on Mars, all the stories about the planet were probably going to seem silly. He had to read them while he could still get a kick out of them.
It was hours later when he heard the door open. Captain Vance slipped in, pushed himself to one of the hammocks, and threw a restraining strap over himself.
“I was just informed you stowed on board,” he told Chuck, his voice severe. “Naturally, I reported it at once, but we’ve passed beyond the area where you could be taken off. So it seems you’re to be with us. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, sir. It means I’m going to Mars.”
“It means you’re asking every man here to give up one-seventh of his supplies and chances for living to make room for you! You didn’t think of that, did you? You should have thought of it. This ship was meant for six men, not for seven! It means we have to carry a man along who has no specific work to do. And it means that you’ll be under arrest until we return to the Moon, where your case will be up to the Space Commission. Officially, I can’t condone your conduct, Charles Svensen. But there’s nothing I can do about it. So, as you say, you’re going to Mars.”
Chuck looked for any sign of joking in the captain’s face, and found none. He thought carefully—and it wasn’t a joke. He had decreased the chances for the others. He pulled himself down to a hammock opposite the captain and tried to think of something to say. Nothing seemed adequate.
