Stowaway to Mars by John Wyndham Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Wyndham
Tags: Science-Fiction, Fantasy
started to count the seconds subconsciously; the surface of his mind was tormented with suggestions. Even yet it was not too late. If he were to jump up and attack Dale. .
'Half a minute.'
'And then what?' thought the doctor. He turned his head. His uneasy eyes met Dugan's, and he heard a murmur of encouragement.
'Fifteen seconds,' said Dale.
A comforting fatalism crept over the doctor. One must die sooner or later. Why not now? He'd had a good run for his money. If only it were quick . . .
'Five-four-three-two-one . . .'
The chattering of the crowd died down to a murmur, and thence to an excited silence broken only by the voice from the loudspeakers inexorably counting away the time. Every eye was turned to the centre of the circle, each focused upon the glittering rocket, scarcely daring even to blink lest it should miss the critical moment of the start. Into the dullest mind there crept at this moment some understanding of the scene's true meaning a thrill of pride in the indomitable spirit of man striving once again to break his age old bondage: reaching out to grasp the very stars.
So, into unknown perils had gone the galleys of Ericson so, too, had gone the caravels of Columbus, fearing that they might sail over the edge of the world into the Pit of Eternity, but persistent in their courage. It might well be that this day, this twelfth of October, 1981, would go down to history as a turning point in human existence it might well be. .
The telescopes in the great observatories were trained and ready. They had been trained before. They had followed the flaring tracks of adventurers from Earth, had seen them break from the shell of atmosphere into the emptiness of space, seen them fail to hold their courses and watched the beginnings of falls which would last for months until they should end at last in the sun. And now, before long, the fate of the Gloria Mundi would be told by the great lenses whether fate had decided that she should turn aside to be drawn relentlessly into the centre of the system, or whether she would be allowed to see the red disc of Mars growing slowly larger in the sky before her . . .
The last tense seconds passed. The watchers held their breath and strained their eyes.
A flash stabbed out between the tail fins. The great rocket lifted. She seemed balanced upon a point of fire, soaring like the huge shell she was into the blue above. Fire spewed from her ports in a spreading glory of livid flame like the tail of a monstrous comet. And when the thunder of her going beat upon the ears of the crowd, she was already a fiery spark in the heavens ....
The Daily Hail's correspondent had left his telephone on the Press tower and was gravitating naturally towards the bar. Before he could reach it, he found himself accosted by an excited individual clad in mechanic's overalls. This person gripped him firmly by the lapel.
'Mr. Travers, do you want a scoop?' he inquired urgently.
Travers detached the none too clean hand.
'Scoop?' he said. 'There are no scoops nowadays. Everybody knows all about everything before it's happened.'
'Don't you believe it,' the mechanic insisted earnestly. 'I've got a real scoop for you if you see that I'm treated right.'
'The Hail always treats everybody right,' Travers said loyally. 'What is it? About the rocket?'
The mechanic nodded. After a hasty glance to reassure himself that no one else was within hearing, he leaned closer and whispered in the journalist's ear. Travers stopped him after the first sentence.
'Nobody else knows?'
'Not a soul. Take my oath on it.'
Two minutes later, the mechanic, with Travers firmly clasping his arm, was being rushed across the ground in the direction of the Hail's special 'plane.
Chapter VII. IN FLIGHT.
----
DOCTOR GRAYSON's eyes were tightly shut. The lids were pressed desperately together as though the slender membranes could cut him off from all sensation. Dugan's were open, and his head was turned slightly to one
'Half a minute.'
'And then what?' thought the doctor. He turned his head. His uneasy eyes met Dugan's, and he heard a murmur of encouragement.
'Fifteen seconds,' said Dale.
A comforting fatalism crept over the doctor. One must die sooner or later. Why not now? He'd had a good run for his money. If only it were quick . . .
'Five-four-three-two-one . . .'
The chattering of the crowd died down to a murmur, and thence to an excited silence broken only by the voice from the loudspeakers inexorably counting away the time. Every eye was turned to the centre of the circle, each focused upon the glittering rocket, scarcely daring even to blink lest it should miss the critical moment of the start. Into the dullest mind there crept at this moment some understanding of the scene's true meaning a thrill of pride in the indomitable spirit of man striving once again to break his age old bondage: reaching out to grasp the very stars.
So, into unknown perils had gone the galleys of Ericson so, too, had gone the caravels of Columbus, fearing that they might sail over the edge of the world into the Pit of Eternity, but persistent in their courage. It might well be that this day, this twelfth of October, 1981, would go down to history as a turning point in human existence it might well be. .
The telescopes in the great observatories were trained and ready. They had been trained before. They had followed the flaring tracks of adventurers from Earth, had seen them break from the shell of atmosphere into the emptiness of space, seen them fail to hold their courses and watched the beginnings of falls which would last for months until they should end at last in the sun. And now, before long, the fate of the Gloria Mundi would be told by the great lenses whether fate had decided that she should turn aside to be drawn relentlessly into the centre of the system, or whether she would be allowed to see the red disc of Mars growing slowly larger in the sky before her . . .
The last tense seconds passed. The watchers held their breath and strained their eyes.
A flash stabbed out between the tail fins. The great rocket lifted. She seemed balanced upon a point of fire, soaring like the huge shell she was into the blue above. Fire spewed from her ports in a spreading glory of livid flame like the tail of a monstrous comet. And when the thunder of her going beat upon the ears of the crowd, she was already a fiery spark in the heavens ....
The Daily Hail's correspondent had left his telephone on the Press tower and was gravitating naturally towards the bar. Before he could reach it, he found himself accosted by an excited individual clad in mechanic's overalls. This person gripped him firmly by the lapel.
'Mr. Travers, do you want a scoop?' he inquired urgently.
Travers detached the none too clean hand.
'Scoop?' he said. 'There are no scoops nowadays. Everybody knows all about everything before it's happened.'
'Don't you believe it,' the mechanic insisted earnestly. 'I've got a real scoop for you if you see that I'm treated right.'
'The Hail always treats everybody right,' Travers said loyally. 'What is it? About the rocket?'
The mechanic nodded. After a hasty glance to reassure himself that no one else was within hearing, he leaned closer and whispered in the journalist's ear. Travers stopped him after the first sentence.
'Nobody else knows?'
'Not a soul. Take my oath on it.'
Two minutes later, the mechanic, with Travers firmly clasping his arm, was being rushed across the ground in the direction of the Hail's special 'plane.
Chapter VII. IN FLIGHT.
----
DOCTOR GRAYSON's eyes were tightly shut. The lids were pressed desperately together as though the slender membranes could cut him off from all sensation. Dugan's were open, and his head was turned slightly to one
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