The Red Planet by Charles Chilton Page B

came through quite clearly. Apparently everything in the ship was nearly back to normal although, of course, for some hours all their electronic equipment had been dead. Unfortunately, their radar and televiewer screen were, as yet, no better than ours.
    Shortly afterwards, however, our radar screen started coming back to normal. The flashes and wavy lines began to disappear. A shout from Mitch told us that the televiewer was also beginning to behave itself. He was already able to make out, albeit vaguely, the shapes of the ships that formed the Fleet.
    “Well,” said the Australian cheerfully, “that proves it. That thing is behind us. And we passed through it without a scratch.”
    “Yes,” said Jet, rather thoughtfully.
    “Do you think it was meteors?” asked Mitch.
    “I wouldn’t like to say for sure,” said Jet, “but I doubt it.”
    “So do I.” agreed Mitch. “No ordinary meteor swarm could have upset the equipment like that and the chances are that at least one of the ships would have been struck.”
    By now Lemmy had made contact with all freighters except Number Six, crews reporting that they were safe and that almost all their equipment was back to full working order. Lemmy reported the matter to Jet and added that none of the other ships could raise Number Six either.
    “Is your picture clear yet, Mitch?” asked Jet, turning to the engineer.
    “Coming up gradually. Clearing slowly.”
    “Well, let me know as soon as it is. Meanwhile you’d all better take your helmets off. I think it’s safe now.” To obey was a pleasure for, having been enclosed in our helmets for so long, things had begun to get very uncomfortable.
    The first normal voice I heard after emerging from my ‘fish-bowl’ was that of Mitch, who gave an excited cry and said: “There! The Fleet’s still in perfect formation. We must have stuck together the whole time. In fact, going through that swarm seems to have had no ill effects on us at all. It. . .” he broke off suddenly. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said, his voice rising in alarm.
    “What’s up? “ asked Jet.
    “Where’s Number Six?”
    “What?”
    Jet and I hurried over to the viewing screen. “It’s not there,” said Mitch as we approached.
    We both stared at the screen. “Good grief,” said Jet at last, “It’s gone.”
    Every ship was told to search the area all round us with their radar and televiewer apparatus and we settled down to do the same. For what seemed eternity I glued my eyes to the tiny radar screen, straining to see the slightest trace of a signal.
    And then, finally, Mitch said: “It’s no good, Jet; there’s no sign of her--either in front of us, either side of us, up or down.”
    “She must be lagging behind,” said Jet, more, I thought, in hope than with any real conviction. “Too far behind for the televiewer to pick up.”
    “Then I’d still be able to contact her by radio,” Lemmy pointed out. “But I’ve been calling her for two hours now.”
    “You don’t think the disappearance of Number Six has anything to do with Whitaker being aboard her, do you, Jet?” I asked.
    “It has been at the back of my mind,” he replied.
    “There would be nothing to stop his turning on the motor, leaving the formation behind and going on ahead,” suggested Mitch, “if he wanted to.”
    “But why should he want to?” I asked. “Where could he go?”
    “Lemmy, call up Control,” ordered Jet.
    The radio operator left us and moved over to the table. But in less than a minute he was back and saying: “There’s no point in my trying to call Control, mate. It’s a complete waste of time.”
    “What are you talking about?” asked Jet. “The radio’s working, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then get back to it at once and get Control.”
    “I’m sorry, Jet,” said Lemmy, “but I’m afraid you’re still talking through your helmet. That ionised gas or whatever it was we came through completely ruined any kind of