At last, however, I managed to doze off, and remembered nothing until a steward woke me with breakfast, which I ate from a little tray fixed over my bed. Though I was anxious to see the station, I took my time over this meal. This was a novel experience which I wanted to savor to the fullest. Breakfast in bed was rare enough, but to have it aboard a space station as well was really something!
When I had dressed, I started to explore my new surroundings. The first thing I had to get used to was the fact that the floors were all curved. (Of course, I also had to get used to the idea that there were floors anyway, after doing without up and down for so long.) The reason for this was simple enough. I was now living on the inside of a giant cylinder that slowly turned on its axis. Centrifugal force, the same force that held the station in the sky, was acting once again, gluing me to the side of the revolving drum. If you walked straight ahead, you could go right round the circumference of the station and come back to where you started. At any point, “up,” would be toward the central axis of the cylinder, which meant that someone standing a few yards away, farther round the curve of the station, would appear to be tilted toward you. Yet to them, everything would be perfectly normal and you would be the one who was tilted! It was confusing at first, but like everything else, you got used to it after a while. The designers of the station had gone in for some clever tricks of decoration to hide what was happening, and in the smaller rooms the curve of the floor was too slight to be noticed.
The station wasn’t merely a single cylinder, but three, one inside the other. As you moved out from the center, so the sense of weight increased. The innermost cylinder was the “One Third Earth Gravity” floor, and because it was nearest to the air locks on the station’s axis it was devoted mainly to handling the passengers and their luggage. There was a saying that if you sat opposite the reception desk long enough, you’d see everyone of importance on the four planets.
Surrounding this central cylinder was the more spacious “Two Thirds Earth Gravity” floor. You passed from one floor to the other either by elevators or by curiously curved stairways. It was an odd experience, going down one of these stairs. At first I found it took quite a bit of will-power, for I was not yet accustomed even to a third of my earth weight. As I walked slowly down the steps, gripping the handrail very firmly, I seemed to grow steadily heavier. When I reached the floor, my movements were so slow and leaden that I imagined that everyone was looking at me. However, I soon grew used to the feeling, I had to, if I was ever going to return to earth!
Most of the passengers were on this “Two Thirds Gravity” floor. Most of them were homeward bound from Mars, and though they had been experiencing normal earth weight for the last weeks of their voyage—thanks to the spin of their liner—they obviously didn’t like it yet. They walked very gingerly, and were always finding excuses to go “up” to the top floor, where gravity had the same value as on Mars.
I had never met any Martian colonists before, and they fascinated me. Their clothes, their accents—everything about them had an air of strangeness, though often it was hard to say just where the peculiarity lay. They all seemed to know each other by their first names. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising after their long voyage, but later I discovered it was just the same on Mars. The settlements there were still small enough for everyone to know everybody else. They would find things very different when they got to earth.
I felt a little lonely among all these strangers, and it was some time before I made any acquaintances. There were some small shops on the “Two Thirds Gravity” deck, where one could buy toilet goods and souvenirs, and I was exploring these when three young colonists came strolling in. The oldest was a boy who looked about my age, and he was accompanied by two girls who were obviously his sisters.
“Hello,” he said, “you weren’t on the ship.”
“No,” I answered. “I’ve just come over from the other half of the station.”
“What’s your name?”
So blunt a request must have seemed rude or at least ill-mannered down on earth, but by now I learned that the colonists were like that. They were direct and forthright and never wasted words. I decided to behave in the same way.
“I’m Roy Malcolm. Who are you?”
“Oh,” said one of the girls, “we read about you in the ship’s newspaper. You’ve been flying round the moon, and all sorts of things.”
I was quite flattered to find that they’d heard of me, but merely shrugged my shoulders as if it wasn’t anything of importance. In any case, I didn’t want to risk showing off, as they’d traveled a lot farther than I had.
“I’m John Moore,” announced the boy, “and these are my sisters Ruby and May. This is the first time we’ve been to earth.”
“You mean you were born on Mars?”
“That’s right. We’re coming home to go to college.”
It sounded strange to hear that phrase “coming home” from someone who’d never set foot on earth. I nearly asked “Can’t you get a good education on Mars, then?” but luckily stopped myself in time. The colonists were very sensitive to criticism of their planet, even when it wasn’t intended. They also hated the word “colonist,” and you had to avoid using it when they were around. But you couldn’t very well call them “Martians,” for that word had to be saved for the original inhabitants of the planet.
“We’re looking for some souvenirs to take home,” said Ruby. “Don’t you think that plastic star map is beautiful?”
“I liked that carved meteor best,” I said. “But it’s an awful price.”
“How much have you got?” said John.
I turned out my pockets and did a quick calculation. To my astonishment, John immediately replied, “I can lend you the rest. You can let me have it back when we reach earth.”
This was my first contact with the quick-hearted generosity which everyone took for granted on Mars. I couldn’t possibly accept the offer, yet didn’t want to hurt John’s feelings. Luckily I had a good excuse.
“That’s fine of you,” I said, “but I’ve just remembered that I’ve used up my weight allowance. So that settles it. I can’t take home anything else.”
I waited anxiously for a minute in case one of the Moores was willing to lend me cargo space as well, but fortunately they must all have used up their allowances too.
After this, it was inevitable that they took me to meet their parents. We found them in the main lounge, puzzling their way through the newspapers from earth. As soon as she saw me, Mrs. Moore exclaimed, “What has happened to your clothes!” and for the first time I realized that life on the Inner Station had made quite a mess of my suit. Before I knew what had happened, I’d been pushed into a brightly colored suit of John’s. It was a good fit, but the design was startling, at least by earth standards, though it certainly wasn’t noticeable here.
We all had so much to talk about that the hours spent waiting for the ferry passed extremely quickly. Life on Mars was as novel to me as life on earth was to the Moores. John had a fine collection of photographs which he’d taken, showing what it was like in the great pressure-domed cities and out on the colored deserts. He’d done quite a bit of traveling and had some wonderful pictures of Martian scenery and life. They were so good that I suggested he sell them to the illustrated magazines. He answered, in a slightly hurt voice, “I already have.”
The photograph that fascinated me most was a view over one of the great vegetation areas—the Syrtis Major, John told me. It had been taken from a considerable height, looking down the slope of a wide valley. Millions of years ago the short-lived Martian seas had rolled above this land, and the bones of strange marine creatures were still embedded in its rocks. Now new life was returning to the planet. Down in the valley, great machines were turning up the brick-red soil to make way for the colonists from earth. In the distance I could see acres of the so-called “Air-weed,” freshly planted in neat rows. As it grew, this strange plant would break down the minerals in the grou
nd and release free oxygen, so that one day men would be able to live on the planet without breathing masks.
Mr. Moore was standing in the foreground, with a small Martian on either side of him. The little creatures were grasping his fingers with tiny, clawlike hands and staring at the camera with their huge, pale eyes. There was something rather touching about the scene. It seemed to dramatize the friendly contact of two races in a way that nothing else could do.
“Why,” I exclaimed suddenly, “your dad isn’t wearing a breathing mask!”
John laughed.
“I was wondering when you’d notice that. It’ll be a long time before there’s enough free oxygen in the atmosphere for us to breathe it, but some of us can manage without a mask for a couple of minutes—as long as we’re not doing anything very energetic, that is.”
“How do you get on with the Martians?” I asked. “Do you think they had a civilization once?”
“I don’t know about that,” said John. “Every so often you hear rumors of ruined cities out in the deserts, but they always turn out to be hoaxes or practical jokes. There’s no evidence at all that the Martians were ever any different from what they are today. They’re not exactly friendly, except when they’re young, but they never give any trouble. The adults just ignore you unless you get in their way. They’ve got very little curiosity.”
“I’ve read somewhere,” I said, “that they behave more like rather intelligent horses than any other animal we’ve got on earth.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said John. “I’ve never met a horse.”
That brought me up with a jerk. Then I realized that there couldn’t be many animals that John had met. Earth would have a great many surprises for him.
“Exactly what are you going to do when you get to earth?” I asked John. “Apart from going to college, that is.”
“Oh, we’ll travel round first and have a look at the sights. We’ve seen a lot of films, you know, so we’ve a good idea what it’s like.”
I did my best to avoid a smile. Though I’d lived in several countries, I hadn’t really seen much of earth in my whole life, and I wondered if the Moores really realized just how big the planet was. Their scales of values must be quite different from mine. Mars is a small planet, and there are only limited regions where life is possible. If you put all the vegetation areas together, they wouldn’t add up to much more than a medium-sized country down on earth. And, of course, the areas covered by the pressure-domes of the few cities are very much smaller still.
I decided to find out what my new friends really did know about earth.
“Surely,” I said, “there are some places you particularly want to visit.”
“Oh, yes!” replied Ruby. “I want to see some forests. Those great trees you have—we’ve nothing like them on Mars. It must be wonderful walking beneath their branches and seeing the birds flying around.”
“We’ve got no birds either, you see,” put in May rather wistfully. “The air’s too thin for them.”
“I want to see the ocean,” said John. “I’d like to go sailing and fishing. It’s true, isn’t it, that you can get so far out to sea that you can’t tell where the land is?”
“It certainly is,” I replied.
Ruby gave a little shudder.
“All that water! It would scare me. I should be afraid of being lost—and I’ve read that being on a boat makes you horribly sick.”
“Oh,” I replied airily, “you get used to it. Of course, there aren’t many boats now, except for pleasure. A few hundred years ago most of the world’s trade went by sea, until the air transport took over. You can hire boats at the coast resorts, though, and people who’ll run them for you.”
“But is it safe?” insisted Ruby. “I’ve read that your seas are full of horrible monsters that might come up and swallow you.”
This time I couldn’t help smiling.
“I shouldn’t worry,” I replied. “It hardly ever happens these days.”
“What about the land animals?” asked May. “Some of those are quite big, aren’t they? I’ve read about tigers and lions, and I know they’re dangerous. I’m scared of meeting one of those.”
Then I thought, I hope I know a bit more about Mars than you do about earth! I was just going to explain that man-eating tigers weren’t generally found in our cities when I caught Ruby grinning at John, and realized that they’d been pulling my leg all the time.
After that we all went to lunch together, in a great dining room where I felt rather ill at ease. I made matters worse by forgetting we were under gravity again and spilling a glass of water on the floor. However, everyone laughed so good-humoredly I didn’t really mind. The only person who was annoyed was the steward who had to mop it up.
For the rest of my short stay in the Residential Station I spent most of my time with the Moores. And it was here, surprisingly enough, that I at last saw something I’d missed on my other trips. Though I’d visited several space stations, I’d never actually watched one being built. We were now able to get a grandstand view of this operation—and without bothering to wear space suits. The Residential Station was being extended, and from the windows at the end of the “Two Thirds Gravity” floor we were able to see the whole fascinating process. Here was something that I could explain to my new friends. I didn’t tell them that the spectacle would have been equally strange to me only two weeks ago.
The fact that we were making one complete revolution every ten seconds was highly confusing at first, and the girls turned rather green when they saw the stars orbiting outside the windows. However, the complete absence of vibration made it easy to pretend—just as one does on earth—that we were stationary and it was really the stars that were revolving.
The station extension was still a mass of open girders, only partly covered by metal sheets. It had not yet been set spinning, for that would have made its construction impossibly difficult. At the moment, it floated about half a mile away from us, with a couple of freight rockets alongside. When it was completed, it would be brought gently up to the station and set rotating on its axis by small rocket motors. As soon as the spins had been matched exactly, the two units would be bolted together and the Residential Station would have doubled its length. The whole operation would be rather like engaging a gigantic clutch.
As we watched, a construction gang was easing a large girder from the hold of a ferry rocket. The girder was about forty feet long, and though it weighed nothing out here, its mass or inertia was unchanged. It took a considerable effort to start it moving, and an equal effort to stop it again. The men of the construction crew were working in what were really tiny spaceships, little cylinders about ten feet long, fitted with low-powered rockets and steering jets. They maneuvered these with fascinating skill, darting forward or sideways and coming to rest with inches to spare. Ingenious handling mechanisms and jointed metal arms enabled them to carry out all ordinary assembling tasks almost as easily as if they were working with their own hands.
The team was under the radio control of a foreman—or, to give him his more dignified name, a controller—who stayed in a little pressure-hut fixed to the girders of the partly constructed station. Moving to and fro or up and down under his directions, and keeping in perfect unison, they reminded me of a flock of goldfish in a pool. Indeed, with sunlight glinting on their armor, they did look very much like underwater creatures.
The girder was now floating free of the ship that had brought it here from the moon, and two of the men attached their grapples and towed it slowly toward the station. Much too late, it seemed to me, they began to use their braking units. But there was still a good six inches between the girder and the skeleton framework when they had finished. Then one of the men went back to help his colleagues with the unloading, while the other eased the girder across the structure. It was not lying in exactly the correct line, so he had to slew it through a slight angle as well. Then he slipped in the bolts and began to tighten them up. It all looke
d so effortless, but I realized that immense skill and practice must lie behind this deceptive simplicity.
Before you could go down to earth, you were supposed to spend a twelve-hour quarantine period on the “Full Earth Gravity” floor—the outermost of the station’s three decks. So once again I went down one of those curving stairways, my weight increasing with every step. When I had reached the bottom, my legs felt very weak and wobbly. I could hardly believe that this was the normal force of gravity under which I had passed my whole life.
The Moores had come with me, and they felt the strain even more than I did. This was three times the gravity of their native Mars, and twice I had to stop John from falling as he tottered unsteadily about. The third time I failed, and we both went down together. We looked so miserable that after a minute each started laughing at the other’s expression and our spirits quickly revived. For a while we sat on the thick rubber flooring (the designers of the station had known where it would be needed!) and got up our strength for another attempt. This time we didn’t fall down. Much to John’s annoyance, the remainder of his family managed much better than he did.
We couldn’t leave the Residential Station without seeing one of its prize exhibits. The “Full Earth Gravity” floor had a swimming pool, a small one, but its fame had spread throughout the solar system.
It was famous because it wasn’t flat. As I’ve explained, since the station’s “gravity” was caused by its spin, the vertical at any spot pointed toward the central axis. Any free water, therefore, had a concave surface, taking the shape of a hollow cylinder.
We couldn’t resist entering the pool, not merely because once we were floating, gravity would be less of a strain. Though I’d become used to many strange things in space, it was a weird feeling to stand with my head just above the surface of the pool and to look along the water. In one direction, parallel to the axis of the station, the surface was quite flat. But in the other it was curved upward on either side of me. At the edge of the pool, in fact, the water level was higher than my head. I seemed to be floating in the trough of a great frozen wave. At any moment I expected the water to come flooding down as the surface flattened itself out. But it didn’t, because it was already “flat” in this strange gravity field. (When I got back to earth I made quite a mess trying to demonstrate this effect by whirling a bucket of water round my head at the end of a string. If you try the same experiment, make sure you’re out of doors!)