The Second Officer came through again on the headset. He reported that the coating on the ship appeared to be building up and thickening.
“How's it with you?” I asked.
“It's all over me now, sir. I have to keep wiping the face plate every half minute or so to see at all. Otherwise I'm okay, sir.”
There was no falling off in his transmission which suggested that we had been right in assuming that interference with the hull-aerial system was the trouble. The radio operator decided to see if he could rig a serviceable internal aerial. So far, twenty-four hours later, he had not been successful in achieving transmission — at least, we were without replies to his messages.
It is difficult to see what can be done. Were we near any body with an atmosphere we might try by travelling reverse and flying into the blast of our own main tubes to burn ourselves clear of the mess; but, unfortunately, the only place with an atmosphere within many hundred thousand miles is Mars which we can have no hope of reaching with our instruments out of commission.
The only other way which suggests itself to us is the construction of some kind of pressure torches operated from our main fuel supply with which we may be able to incinerate the stuff, and the engineers are at present attempting to construct devices of the kind.
Whether, if they are successful, it will be possible to carry out the operation in space we cannot say. We are therefore cautiously and by visual findings only of an officer on outside watch in the direction of Pomona Negra on which asteroid we can ground if necessary.
In the twenty-four hours which have passed since we encountered the red substance I have myself been outside twice to inspect the vessel. There is no doubt whatever that the layer which covers us is increasing in thickness, and in traversing the side of the vessel one's feet slide through it as through a semi-liquid mud. The officer on watch is covered with the stuff so as to be almost indistinguishable from the ship, and is under the necessity of wiping it from the faceplate of his helmet several times in a minute.
The nature of the substance we have not been able to determine since we dare not retain a specimen inside the ship for examination. It is necessary to be most thorough in the decontamination of all persons re-entering after duty outside as any minute particle overlooked is capable of growing with surprising speed. The air-lock so rapidly began to choke that it has to be decontaminated after every entrance or exit.
From superficial examination it has occurred to us that the substance may be some algae-like form capable of sustaining life by the creation of light alone, and of transferring this nourishment throughout the whole, though we are aware that this is somewhat in conflict with its observed ability to grow or reproduce itself within the ship as swiftly as without.
It has been decided to send out these particulars and other documents in a message globe lest we should be unable to establish radio-communication. The dispatch port will be cleared on the outer side by specially modified blowlamps so that it is hoped that the globe may be released without contamination.
Any vessel approaching us should be warned of the highly active nature of the substance, and is advised not to make use of magnetic grapples or any other devices which may give a physical link with the ship.
The date beneath the signature of the Master to the full version of the above report was 21st December 2049.
CHAPTER III
On the 10th of February of the current year, a little over a month of the finding of the message-globe, the Annabelle, a service and research ship out of Gillington, Mars, made rendezvous with the Space-Control's vessel, Circe, dispatched from Mexico, Earth, by way of Clarke Station.
The Annabelle pulled into the appointed area situated within the Asteroid Belt in the sector of Pomona Negra to find the Circe already arrived and lying idle at orbit speed as she waited. Even as his braking tubes went into action Captain Richard Bentley of the Annabelle made personal radio report to his opposite number in the other ship, and announced himself.
“Oh, it's you, Dick, is it?” responded the Circe's Captain, with a tinge of relief evident in his tone. “They didn't tell me who'd be in your ship. Glad you're here. I'd a nasty feeling it might be one of those trip-round-the-Moon merchants —you never can tell with Head Office. I think the best thing would be for you to come over and have a chat once you're up to us. Suit you?”
Bentley agreed. The Annabelle continued to brake smoothly until she too was down to orbit speed. Then, with occasional little tufts of flame from one steering tube and then another her pilot expertly manoeuvred her until she lay close in to the other ship. A magnetic grapple floated out towards the Circe with its cable looping lazily behind it. It moved a trifle wide of the ship and looked likely to miss it, but a momentary touch of current down the cable caused it to veer in the right direction. A minute or two later it made contact on the hull and clamped itself there as the power was switched on. Captain Bentley emerged, space-suited, from the air-lock of his ship, laid hold of the cable and pulled himself across the void which separated the two. He seemed to swim through the black emptiness, using only one hand on the rope with a dexterity which revealed experience.
Inside the Circe's lock Captain Waterson greeted him and, after he had got rid of the suit, led the way to his cabin. He handed the visitor a drink in a space-bottle, tapped a globule into his own mouth from another with the skill of long practice, and lit a cigarette. Dick Bentley lit one also and inhaled.
“Lucky man,” he said. “Our owners don't allow smoking.”
“Bad luck,” said Captain Waterson. “Anybody would think we were sailing in wood and paper ships to read some Company's rules. They want to spend some time in space and learn that a contented crew is more important. Well, now, what about this business?”
“I don't know any more than there is in Foggatt's report.”
“Nor does space-control. That's why we're here. They want all the details we can get.”
“What's your own view?” Bentley asked.
“I'm not forming any views yet, but I'm not discounting anything Foggatt says; he is — or was — a sound man. It's clear that Space-Control takes it seriously or they wouldn't have arranged for the two of us to be on the job.”
Bentley nodded.
“Well, you're in charge, Tom. What's the plan?”
“We've got two jobs really. One is to locate the Joan III and give all assistance we can. The other is to find some of this red stuff Foggatt talks about. Learn what we can about it, and collect some specimens for examination at home.”
Bentley nodded again.
“There shouldn't be a lot of difficulty about the second part. From Foggatt's account of the red asteroids I gather he thought that it existed on them. They're somewhere in this area, so they ought not to be hard to find. What isn't at all clear is how the Joan III became covered with the stuff. If the report's right it didn't gradually grow over her. The instrument glasses and windows were all covered at once at more or less the same moment.”
“I know,” Captain Waterson agreed. “It would seem almost as if she ran through a cloud of the stuff just lying about in space, as it were. Queer things do lie about in space ... I've seen one or two myself in my time, but all the same ... Besides, how was it they didn't spot it before they ran into it? They don't seem to have had a suspicion there was anything there.”