their own amusement, had got her into working condition again. Indeed, they believed she was at least as good as new and were always trying to 'borrow' enough rocket fuel to make a short trip. They were very hurt because no one would let them have any.
Commander Doyle, of course, knew all about this and quite approved of it—after all, it was good training. Sometimes he came over to the Morning Star to see how things were getting on, but it was generally understood that the ship was private property. You had to have an invitation before you were allowed aboard. Not until I'd been around for some days, and had become more or less accepted as one of the gang, did I have a chance of making the trip over to the Morning Star .
It was the longest journey I had made outside the Station, for the 'Graveyard' was about five miles away, moving in the same orbit as the Station but a little ahead of it. I don't quite know how to describe the curious vehicle in which we made the trip. It had been constructed out of junk salvaged from other ships, and was really nothing more than a pressurized cylinder, large enough to hold a dozen people. A low-powered rocket unit had been bolted to one end, there were a few auxiliary jets for steering, a simple airlock, a radio to keep in touch with the Station—and that was all. This peculiar vessel could make the hop across to the Morning Star in about ten minutes, being capable of achieving a top speed of about thirty miles an hour. She had been christened The Skylark of Space —a name apparently taken from a famous old science-fiction story.
The Skylark was usually kept parked at the outer rim of the Station where she wouldn't get in anybody's way. When she was needed, a couple of the apprentices would go out in space-suits, loosen her mooring lines, and tow her to the nearest air-lock. Then she would be coupled up and you could go aboard through the connecting tube—just as if you were entering a real space-liner.
My first trip in the Skylark was a very different experience from the climb up from Earth. She looked so ramshackle that I expected her to fall to pieces at any moment, though in fact she had a perfectly adequate margin of safety. With ten of us aboard, her little cabin was distinctly crowded, and when the rocket motor started up the gentle acceleration made us all drift slowly towards the rear of the ship. The thrust was so feeble that it only made me weigh about a pound—quite a contrast to the take-off from Earth, where I could have sworn I weighed a ton! After a minute or so of this leisurely progress we shut off the drive and drifted freely for another ten minutes, by which time a further brief burst of power brought us neatly to rest at our destination.
There was plenty of room inside the Morning Star : after all, she had been the home of five men for almost two years. Their names were still there, scratched on the paintwork in the control cabin, and the sight of those signatures took my imagination back almost a hundred years, to the great pioneering days of space-flight, when even the Moon was a new world and no one had yet reached any of the planets.
Despite the ship's age, everything inside the control room still seemed bright and new. The instrument board, as far as I could tell, might have belonged to a ship of my own time. Tim Benton stroked the panel gently. 'As good as new!' he said, with obvious pride in his voice. 'I'd guarantee to take you to Venus any day!'
I got to know the Morning Star controls pretty well. It was quite safe to play with them, of course, since the fuel tanks were empty and all that happened when one pressed the 'Main Drive—Fire!' button was that a red light lit up. Still, it was exciting to sit in the pilot's seat and to daydream with my hands on the controls…
A little workshop had been fitted up just aft of the main fuel tanks, and a lot of model-making went on here—as well as a good deal of serious engineering. Several of the
Commander Doyle, of course, knew all about this and quite approved of it—after all, it was good training. Sometimes he came over to the Morning Star to see how things were getting on, but it was generally understood that the ship was private property. You had to have an invitation before you were allowed aboard. Not until I'd been around for some days, and had become more or less accepted as one of the gang, did I have a chance of making the trip over to the Morning Star .
It was the longest journey I had made outside the Station, for the 'Graveyard' was about five miles away, moving in the same orbit as the Station but a little ahead of it. I don't quite know how to describe the curious vehicle in which we made the trip. It had been constructed out of junk salvaged from other ships, and was really nothing more than a pressurized cylinder, large enough to hold a dozen people. A low-powered rocket unit had been bolted to one end, there were a few auxiliary jets for steering, a simple airlock, a radio to keep in touch with the Station—and that was all. This peculiar vessel could make the hop across to the Morning Star in about ten minutes, being capable of achieving a top speed of about thirty miles an hour. She had been christened The Skylark of Space —a name apparently taken from a famous old science-fiction story.
The Skylark was usually kept parked at the outer rim of the Station where she wouldn't get in anybody's way. When she was needed, a couple of the apprentices would go out in space-suits, loosen her mooring lines, and tow her to the nearest air-lock. Then she would be coupled up and you could go aboard through the connecting tube—just as if you were entering a real space-liner.
My first trip in the Skylark was a very different experience from the climb up from Earth. She looked so ramshackle that I expected her to fall to pieces at any moment, though in fact she had a perfectly adequate margin of safety. With ten of us aboard, her little cabin was distinctly crowded, and when the rocket motor started up the gentle acceleration made us all drift slowly towards the rear of the ship. The thrust was so feeble that it only made me weigh about a pound—quite a contrast to the take-off from Earth, where I could have sworn I weighed a ton! After a minute or so of this leisurely progress we shut off the drive and drifted freely for another ten minutes, by which time a further brief burst of power brought us neatly to rest at our destination.
There was plenty of room inside the Morning Star : after all, she had been the home of five men for almost two years. Their names were still there, scratched on the paintwork in the control cabin, and the sight of those signatures took my imagination back almost a hundred years, to the great pioneering days of space-flight, when even the Moon was a new world and no one had yet reached any of the planets.
Despite the ship's age, everything inside the control room still seemed bright and new. The instrument board, as far as I could tell, might have belonged to a ship of my own time. Tim Benton stroked the panel gently. 'As good as new!' he said, with obvious pride in his voice. 'I'd guarantee to take you to Venus any day!'
I got to know the Morning Star controls pretty well. It was quite safe to play with them, of course, since the fuel tanks were empty and all that happened when one pressed the 'Main Drive—Fire!' button was that a red light lit up. Still, it was exciting to sit in the pilot's seat and to daydream with my hands on the controls…
A little workshop had been fitted up just aft of the main fuel tanks, and a lot of model-making went on here—as well as a good deal of serious engineering. Several of the
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