The red planet

by R. R. Winterbotham

"Dr. Spartan!" I called.

No answer came through my earphones. I called again. Apparently, Dr. Spartan wasn't listening, nor was anyone else. I felt the urge to walk to the nearest video camera and wave my arms so that Joel would see me in the control room. Instead, I decided to take Morrie's body to the locks—quickly, in case there was still some spark of life in the man.

The tool kit I'd brought topside wasn't magnetized and would be thrown into space by the rotation of the ship. I opened the bag, took the pliers and cut two short lengths from Morrie's life line. One I used to lash the tools to the motor housings, and the other I fastened from Morrie's belt to mine, leaving about eight feet of slack between us. Then I replaced the pliers, closed the tool kit and was ready to move.

Dragging Morrie and his magnetized boots back to the locks would be hard work, especially since I'd have to pull myself the same distance. So I lifted him off the deck and then, holding his weightless body over my shoulder, doubled my knees and jumped upward.

I sailed outward—or, if you choose, upward—for the ship, myself and Morrie, and the sun, formed a right angle, if you're interested in the geometry of our positions. The sun was toward the rear of the ship and about thirty degrees to the right, when you looked toward the tail of the craft. This geometry was presently going to become very important to my future existence.

It seemed as if I were sailing a great distance, although distance is difficult to judge in space when there's nothing to mark it. I had perhaps fifty feet of life line and it wasn't until I was certain I'd gone much further that I began to grow worried.

Then I looked down. The thin copper wire which had secured me to the ship was no longer fastened to the ring just outside the locks. It was being pulled upward and Morrie and I were swinging around each other like twin stars around a common center of gravity. The centrifugal force of our motion was swinging the wire with it.

I just couldn't explain it. There was a hasp at the end of the line which shouldn't have come unfastened. The line could hardly have broken. It was meant to stand a great deal of strain and there had been none. Not only were we weightless, but I hadn't to my knowledge, put any strain on the wire during the entire time.

My push outward—or upward—had been translated into a motion away from the ship and I would continue in that direction forever unless some force were applied to stop me. The only force I was subject to was the gravitational pull of the sun, which meant I'd revolve around the sun forever, never to return to the Jehad.

But there was another motion, too, and this was the velocity of the ship at the moment I had broken away from it. This carried me forward—which to me was in the general direction of the orbit of Mars. However, my relationship to the ship was not permanent. The ship was being constantly accelerated, second by second, by the thrust of the plasma motors. Even as I looked down, my heart freezing with horror at the thought of never being able to return to the Jehad, I could see the ship inching forward. The right triangle had become acute and presently I'd be behind the ship.