Journey Into Space by Charles Chilton Page A

as it would on Earth.
    “Try walking up the wall,” suggested Jet good humouredly.
    “Huh?”
    “Yes, come on, Doc,” said Lemmy. “You go one way, I’ll go the other. I’ll meet you by the pilot’s hatchway in the roof.”
    Climbing up the wall was no more difficult than walking across the floor. I had picked a part free from control boards and ascended with ease. The cabin seemed to half turn over as I climbed. When I reached the ceiling it was to see Lemmy advancing towards me with a wide grin. “Doctor Matthews, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. Lemmy Barnet, the human fly.”
    We both grinned. We couldn’t help it. It was such a fantastic, enjoyable situation.
    Oddly enough, although Lemmy and I were standing on the ceiling, we had absolutely no sensation of being upside down. But the cabin looked haywire. The ceiling was our floor, the floor the roof, and it was Jet on his bunk and Mitch lying on his who appeared to be the wrong way up. It was hard to believe that they would not come crashing down on us at any moment.
    “Don’t hang about up there like that,” said Mitch suddenly. “I feel bad enough as it is. And what about that radio?”
    “Yes, come on, Lemmy,” laughed Jet. “Cut out the fan and games--we’ve got work to do.”
    Mitch’s stern comments brought us all back to our senses. We recrossed the ceiling and came ‘down’ the walls again to floor level.
    I carried out my routine check of the control board under my care and, while Jet carried out his inspection for him, I went over to talk to Mitch. “How are you feeling?”
    “Crook, Doc, very crook.”
    “Well, the radar’s still working anyway.” Lemmy, over by the main control table, was talking to no one in particular.
    Mitch was suffering from a bad attack of space sickness. He was the oldest member of the crew and it was no more than I expected. I told him to rest for a couple of hours, then he would feel more himself again. But Mitch had no intention of resting; in fact he became very argumentative. “How long is it going to take Lemmy to put that radio right?” he demanded.
    “Give him a chance,” Jet replied. “He’s hardly started work on it yet.”
    “And what if he doesn’t put it right?”
    “Why shouldn’t he? He knows every valve, screw and condenser in the ship. Whatever the fault is, he’ll find it.”
    “I wish I could think so. How do we know our height, speed or anything else unless we can contact base?”
    “If it comes to it we can take some fixes on the sun and the planets.”
    “Then I’d better get over to the astrodome and start.” He raised himself up in his bunk. Jet pushed him flat again.
    “Oh no, Mitch. You stay where you are until Doc says you’re in a fit condition to get up. Now take it easy. In a few minutes Lemmy will be through to Control and everything will be all right. Give him a pill, Doc.”
    As Jet turned away from Mitch to go over to where Lemmy was tinkering with the radio he gave me an enquiring raise of his eyebrows. Mitch had a little trouble swallowing his pills, but twenty minutes later he was asleep.
    ‘When he wakes again,’ I thought to myself, ‘he’ll find contact with base has been re-established and he’ll have a sweeter temper.’
    I couldn’t have been more wrong--about the contact, or Mitch.
     
     

Chapter 5 - ACTION STATIONS!
     
    Many hours had passed. Mitch and I were trying to get some rest while Jet worked with Lemmy. It wasn’t easy to sleep, but we lay on our bunks, so far as it is possible to lie down under gravity-less conditions, and did our best. But after only a few minutes, Mitch called over to the two men at the control table and said: “How’s it going?”
    Jet came over to us so that Lemmy wouldn’t hear his reply. “He’s still got half the radio equipment all over the table,” he said quietly.
    “Isn’t he ever going to find the trouble? Two days he’s been at it now--and not a peep out of the darned