“Roll Circe. Gently over,” Bentley ordered.
Slowly, still bathed in the fiery spume, the Circe began to turn on one side, and as the farther side rolled into the heat the scarlet vanished to leave nothing but a sticky, incinerated mess.
Bentley was being cautious. The Circe made six complete revolutions before he gave her the word to stop, and shut off his tubes.
A moment after she had ceased to turn half a dozen men with their adapted torches already lighted emerged from the air-lock and scattered about the hull. Another half dozen joined them a minute later, and already a party was floating across from the Annabelle to join them. They found the smooth hull sterilized of all life. The remains were now no more than an inert rough covering baked on like a black varnish. Even so, the stuff had not been completely eliminated. Where there were crevices or angles protecting it from the direct flame it had managed to survive the heat of the metal beneath it, and with a persistent tenacity was starting to spread again from such sheltered spots as the bunched flanges mounting fore and rear tubes and others which had chanced to lie in the lee of some projection. The men swarmed around the danger points playing their flames into any and every cranny which had the least chance of holding a grain of the scarlet pest intact. After an hour's work they were satisfied that the last vestige save for that enclosed in the specimen bottles had been completely exterminated. Nevertheless, Captain Waterson was taking no chances; when his men were called in, an outside party of four remained on watch, ready to pounce upon the first speck of red they might spy.
He and Bentley adjourned to his cabin, and toasted the occasion.
“Well, thank God they did send two ships — most intelligent thing I've ever known them do,” he said. “Even after Foggatt's report I didn't realize what a hell-brewed stuff it is until it got us. But for you, Dick—” He shrugged and turned his thumbs down.
“Well, hang it, that's what I was here for, wasn't it? But I'm afraid it makes it pretty certain what happened to the Joan III.”
Waterson nodded, and looked out of the windows towards the red globe which was Pomona.
“It does, Dick. That'll be the report. If they want to find her now, they've got to find some means of clearing away that muck. God, if that stuff did get at them — horrible! Why, it'd smother and blind you within five minutes.”
“And that's all we've got to tell 'em,” Bentley said.
“Yes, that's it — but we've got samples of the stuff. I suppose that's the really important thing. It may save others from going the way Foggatt did — and we nearly did.”
Some few hours later the two ships turned sunward and began again their wearisome, cautious progress. Clear of the Belt they put on speed, risking the outfliers, and their ways diverged. The Anabelle set course for her home port on Mars. The Circe to return to Earth by way the Clarke Lunar Station.
CHAPTER IV
What happened while Captain Waterson and his crew relaxed and slept in the resthouse at Clarke Station during the period when the Circe was refuelled, checked and inspected preparatory to her home drop to Earth remains a mystery at present, and one to be cleared up at the official inquiry before the Space Control Commissioners.
It is difficult to believe that any member of the ship's company, after their recent experience, would be either careless or negligent where the red substance was concerned. The specimen bottles are said to have been locked into a steel cupboard in the Captain's cabin. If they were, and it is believed that evidence on this point is unimpeachable, then it would seem that one of two things must have happened; either some person moved by curiosity or the hope of a valuable find broke into that cupboard and opened one or more bottles: or some of the containers were faulty or damaged and the contents leaked — it would be able to pass beyond the door since an airtight fit for lockers and cupboards are not normally safe equipment in space. Possibly we shall never be certain which was the cause.
Whatever took place, the lamentable fact is that no report of the leakage was made until several hours later. That much is clear for the first party to notice a pool of ‘red jelly’ found its edges already some yards from the ship. They were interested, but not alarmed, taking it at first for a pool of some kind of lubricant, and had even walked several steps into it before paying it serious attention. It then occurred to the leader that the extent was greater than he had supposed, and thinking it likely that it might be some kind of fuel and possibly dangerous, he ordered his men back and went to report. Thus both he and his men spread it farther on their boots.
The Station Official on duty who accompanied him to make examination was better informed, and realized what it was, but in his inexperience lacked the caution to avoid all contact with it. By the time the news of the outbreak reached Captain Waterson it was spreading in all directions from trails left by men who had stepped in it and others who had crossed them; half a dozen offices were already infected, and a number of workers daubed scarlet from head to foot were spreading it farther every minute.
Confusion followed. Efforts were made to remove all un-contaminated ships, and force had to be used to prevent the Captains taking off in craft which had been contaminated. There is nothing to be gained by minimizing the fact that for a time a regrettable state of panic reigned. But it is to the credit of certain officials that no infected ship did, in fact, succeed in leaving during that time.
Little could be done. The only torches modified to work in airless conditions were aboard the Circe. Had they been available they were too few and too small to have appreciable effect upon the area now affected. Fuel was plentifull but since it will not burn without an atmosphere, it was impossible to ring the area with fire.
So far it has been impossible to check the spread of the substance. Fire projectors of various kinds are being adapted as quickly as possible and will be rushed to the scene via the Whitley Lunar Station as soon as they are available. Every precaution is being taken against the starting of new outbreaks.
The state is one of the gravest emergency calling for the enlistment of all scientific effort. Not only is our whole system of space navigation based upon use of the Moon as a way-station so that without it we must become earthbound again until new and more powerful fleets have been constructed, but there is the menace of the red substance itself.
There is no need for panic, but it is necessary for every one to realize the full gravity of the situation. Whatever the cost, this substance must be prevented from spreading; above no grain of it must be allowed to reach Earth.
Volunteers are already fighting and dying on the Moon in order that that shall not happen. All our resources must back them without stint. Hope is expressed that certain radio-active materials may prove effective against the menace. Everything must be tried at all costs.
If anybody doubts the necessity of the sacrifices he may have to make, let him look through even a low-powered telescope at the Moon. A little east of Plato in the semicircle of the Sinus Indium, where Clarke Lunar Station used to stand, he will see a bright scarlet patch already flowing out across the Marc Imbrium. Let him imagine that it was not the Clarke Station, but his own town that stood there, and let him make his sacrifices to prevent imagination becoming reality.