The Red Journey Back (12 page)

What
really saved the situation—kept us going in those last two strange days of
suspense and waiting—was Miss Maggie Sherwood. Maybe I should say a word or two
about her—Dr. K.’s niece, you know, as Mike has already mentioned.

She
had come out to the launching site with us and was living in one of the huts,
same as we were. She and Mike were as thick as thieves—they’d struck up a real
friendship as soon as they had met in Chicago, and I must say they suited each
other well. Maggie was about the same age as Mike, and her hair had a tinge of red
in it (his was bright carrot). She was a big strong kind of girl, always
leaping
about—never still for a moment; tremendous fun,
really—plenty of energy about her. Not very pretty—I can’t say that; but a nice
sort of squashed-in face
[2]
that looked just swell when she smiled—and she was nearly always smiling.

Anyway,
that was Maggie more or less, and as I say, she pulled us through those last
two days. She was as lively as a cricket—always hatching up some scheme or
other to amuse us. When she wasn’t in the thick like that she was off for hours
on end with the bold Mike, the pair of them with their heads close together,
and whispering, as if they were planning something. Once, I remember, they both
were missing for several hours—nobody had any idea where they were. We searched
everywhere—all over the camp; and it was Archie who spotted them at last,
clambering stealthily down the long metal ladder that led up to the tiny
entrance hatch in the side of the
Comet.

When
we asked Mike what the pair of them had been doing for so long in the rocket’s
cabin, when it was strictly speaking out of bounds till we went into it on
business as it were, he just shrugged.

“Oh,
nothing. Just taking a last look around, you know—at least Maggie was. Don’t
forget she mightn’t ever see it again—or her uncle either for that matter—or
even any of us. You never know. We might blow up before we ever leave Earth at
all—or we might be hit by a meteor in space—or there are always the Vivores
when we do touch down on Mars, whatever they might be.”

“Cheerful,
aren’t you,” sniffed Jacky (but there was just a little shake in her voice—for
any of these things
could
easily happen to us on a job like this: it’s no simple trip to the seaside,
shooting off to Mars, you know
 . . .
).

But
at last the time did pass, and it was the final night of all. Dr. K. had
returned from his trip into Chicago and we all had a kind of solemn supper
together before going to an early bed. Mike’s mother and father were there, of
course, and J.K.C., and all of us who were going—us three and Katey and Archie.
And—needless to say—the inevitable Maggie.

We’d
meant to have speeches—some kind of celebration, almost; but you know, when the
time came it just couldn’t be done—just couldn’t. Even Maggie was subdued; and
for the first time, just before we all parted for bed, I saw that she wasn’t
all just bounce and energy after all—there was a softer side.

She
went close up to Dr. K., and her eyes were very wide and a little bit starry,
the way Jacky’s always go when tears aren’t all that far away. And she
whispered—perhaps I shouldn’t really have been lis
tening,
but I couldn’t help it, I was so close to Dr. K. myself.

“Berkeley,”
said Maggie, very softly (it was the ridiculous name she always called him), “Berkeley,
I wish you’d say right now that I could come with you tomorrow—I wish I could
have your permission.”

He
shook his head.

“You’re
all I have in the world, Berkeley,” she went on, “and I’m all you have. We
really ought to be together. There’s plenty of food in the rocket—and plenty of
spare air from the breathing apparatus—and you’re well under the weight
complement, even allowing for Mr. MacFarlane and Dr. McGillivray on the way
back.
 . . .
Won’t
you say yes?”

“I
can’t, my dear,” he answered, with a saddish kind of smile. And she shrugged.

“Oh
well. I gave you the chance at least. In that case I guess I won’t be around
tomorrow morning—you know I don’t like partings, even for a little time; I
always hated railway stations. I’ll just stay out of sight somewhere.
 . . .
”

She
put her arms around his neck and kissed him. And his eyes were a bit starry
too—in fact, all our eyes were when she came around us one by one and told us
she wasn’t coming out in the morning.

“I’ll
say my so-longs now,” she said, “and we’ll leave it at that. O.K.? Be seeing
you.
 . . .
”

And
that was it. We all trooped to bed, feeling very subdued. I remember, after I’d
undressed and put the lamp out, standing for a long, long time by the window of
my bedroom, looking out to the tall slim shape of the
Comet
, almost a mile away. It gleamed a
little in the moonlight—gleamed silver; like the strange far spire of some
cathedral of the future, maybe, in a shadowy city all huddled in the drifting
ground-mist which wreathed the tripod base.

I
looked beyond—into the star-clustered sky. In a few hours we ourselves would be
up there too—hurtling into the unknown—or, at least, to some of us, the partly
known. Would we ever find Steve and Doctor Mac even if we did reach Mars? Would
they be alive if we did find them? Would we ourselves ever return?

My
gaze came back to Earth, attracted by a slight movement around the corner of
one of the encampment huts. A small figure was moving stealthily forward in the
direction of the rocket; and I recognized the unmistakable features, in a
sudden glint of moonshine, of Maggie Sherwood.

I
thought I understood her feelings. She, who was being left behind—left
alone
, separated from her friends, her only
relative—was going out across the silent field for one last forlorn look at the
great rearing structure of the
Comet.
Then, in the small hours, perhaps, she would creep back desolately to bed—would
waken in the morning to the great explosive roar which would tell of our
departure—would see the vast, silvery cigar shape rise slowly, spouting fire,
gaining speed, more and more speed, until at the last, when it was no more than
a tiny pencil against the pale blue of the morning sky, it would disappear
suddenly in one last little spurt of drifting smoke
 . . .
and she
would cry a little, perhaps, and then leave the encampment for Chicago, to take
up normal life in the boarding school there, as had been arranged.

I
felt very sorry for her as I crept into bed; and so lay for a long time, just
thinking and dreaming—and waiting; until, in spite of everything, I dozed off
to sleep.
 . . .
(I
hope you’ll forgive this bit
of “fine writing,” by the way, as J.K.C. calls it: I did feel it all rather
strangely that night. Ah well.)

It
was cold—terribly cold—when we drove next morning to the ship. We shivered, in
spite of the warm clothing we wore. We assembled in the reinforced concrete hut
close beside the base of the gigantic machine that was to be our only home for
so many, many weeks.

We
said our farewells—to Mike’s mother and father, to Dr. K.’s assistants, to dear
old J.K.C., who was in a pale kind of awe at last, and silent for once, now
that the moment of climax had come.

One
by one we mounted the long swaying ladder and went through the little dark
entrance hatch in the
Comet’s
gleaming side. We took our places—still in silence, following out the
instructions that had been dinned into us at a dozen conferences.

Katey
was very white—her lip trembled a little. I saw Jacky take her hand and squeeze
it comfortingly—after all, she had been through it all before.
 . . .

Archie
took up his position beside Dr. Kalkenbrenner at the control panel. The Doctor
looked around inquiringly and we all nodded from the bunks in which we lay—to
which, indeed, we were strapped, in readiness for the tremendous impact when
the
Comet’s
own jets should come into use after the release of the booster.

Twisting
my head around on the sorbo pillow, I could see J.K.C. and some half-dozen
assistants on the ground, close to the door of the concrete hut. J.K.C. waved
once, then he and the others trooped inside for shelter from the terrific blast
there would be.

A
long silence. I heard Dr. K. counting slowly to himself: “Seven—six—five—four—three—two—ZERO!”

And
instantly there was an immense explosion, seeming almost to shatter our
eardrums. Far beneath, the ground seemed to rock and tilt—then the concrete hut
seemed to reel and steady itself—receded—grew smaller, smaller and smaller
 . . .
and
with the danger from the blast now gone, J.K.C. and the others—tiny, tiny black
figures—rushed out once more, waving ecstatically after us as, in full triumph,
the
Comet
rose higher and higher into the pale sky.
 . . .

the
Comet
rose higher and higher into the pale sky

The
speed of our ascent increased—the figures, the hut itself—all were lost to
view. Dr. Kalkenbrenner, by the instrument panel, cried out to us in warning as
he prepared to release the booster and set the
Comet’s
own jets into action.

A
second explosion—even more gigantic-seeming than the first. An immense hand
seeming to press me down and down into the soft mattress
 . . .
and
everything swam before my eyes and went black.
 . . .

When
I came back to consciousness—slowly at first—all was quiet. We were in full
flight—were already many, many hundreds of miles away from Earth, heading
toward the Angry Planet we knew so well—and yet so slightly too.

I
looked around. Some of the others had already recovered also—others were still
blacked out. In the confusion of the moment it was as if we were still in the
dear old
Albatross;
and I remembered with a chuckle the bewilderment we had seen then on the faces
of Doctor Mac and Uncle Steve when the door of the store cupboard had wavered
open and we three stowaways had floated out to confront them.

I
set to loosening the straps that held me, so that, for old times’ sake, I could
sail off the bed in the old weightless way. As I twisted around to reach the
buckle, my eyes fell on the metal door of one of the storage cupboards in the
Comet’s
cabin, not unlike the old storage
cupboard on board the
Albatross.

For
an instant I thought I was dreaming—that I was still in a mist from the black-out
and so had confused the two journeys.

But
I was not dreaming! Not by a long chalk! The door of the
Comet’s
storage cupboard was wavering
open—someone was floating out toward us, as we had floated on that other
occasion!

I
cursed myself for feeling so sentimental about Maggie Sherwood the evening
before—for wasting all my good sympathy on her. I knew now why she had crept
out from the encampment in the moonlight to steal toward the rocket!