Free Journey Into Space by Charles Chilton Page A

our feet before he got the order out.
    “Blimey!” It was Lemmy. “Emergency, and me upside down on the ceiling.”
    “The space suits!” Jet shouted up at him.
    “Don’t panic,” he replied. “I’m on my way.”
    I half ran, half floated across to my control panel. There I checked the air pressure and found, to my great relief, that it was constant. At least the ship’s inner shell had not been holed. I announced the fact to Jet.
    “The meteor bumper must have worked,” yelled Mitch above the noise of the klaxon.
    “That we’ll see. Put your suits on anyway,” said Jet, taking his from Lemmy who was now handing them round. “Put on your helmets, too, but don’t fasten them.”
    I stayed at my post by the air pressure indicator, ready to press the siren should the needle begin to waver.
    Jet turned off the shrieking buzzer. Then Mitch, from his place at the engineering panel, announced: “Fuel tanks and motor seem to be intact. No damage there, according to the board.”
    “Good. Right, Lemmy. Call up base. Report this to Control immediately.”
    “Yes, Jet.”
    Fifteen minutes later we were still at our posts but none of the indicators gave us any sign that the ship had suffered any serious damage. An hour later vigilance was relaxed, but it was essential to know what damage, however slight, the ship had sustained. There was only one way to find out and that was to go outside and look.
     “Outside?” asked Lemmy. “Into-- nothing? ”
    “Only one of us needs to--I’ll go,” said Jet.
    “No, let me,” said Mitch.
    I tried to put my spoke in. “Oh no, Mitch, this is my job. If anything should go wrong, should the suits break down or anything unforeseen happen, you are of far more importance to the crew than I.”
    “Do you mean that whoever goes out there has a chance of not coming back again?” Lemmy swallowed.
    “It’s possible, Lemmy. It will be the first time any man has ever been out there--in true space. His life will depend principally on the efficiency of the suit he’s wearing. And as I designed these suits,” I turned to Jet, “it follows that I should be the one to put them to the test.” “You tested them on Earth, Doc, didn’t you?”
    “Of course, as far as I could. But this will be different, Jet--the real thing.”
    The fact was that, with the exception of Lemmy, we were all itching to go outside. Jet decided to draw lots for it, Lemmy included. Jet won.
    Still wearing our suits, but without helmets, we prepared to let him out of the cabin, into the airlock and through the main door.
    Air was first let into the lock to fill up the vacuum. It rushed in with a loud hiss that could be heard through the cabin floor. Next the hatchway was opened and, when it had reached full aperture, Jet descended the ladder into the small, airtight compartment below. He looked up at the three of us glancing down at him and grinned. “All right, Doc,” he said. “Close the hatch.”
    I closed her and Jet was lost to view. Lemmy had already turned on the ship’s intercom radio that would keep us in touch with Jet while he was outside. Soon we heard the rattle of his throat mike as he switched it on.
    “Over to intercom,” said his voice, now coming from the loudspeaker. “Fastening helmet.”
    “Hearing you loud and clear,” said Lemmy.
    “Helmet fastened. Exhaust the lock.”
    There was a click of relays and a long, sustained hiss of air as the airlock slowly emptied.
    “Suit now inflating,” came Jet’s voice.
    “Air pressure zero,” I announced.
    “Then open the door and turn me loose.” It opened, the electric motors filling the cabin with a deep, musical hum. When it ceased we heard, quite distinctly, an exclamation of surprise.
    “What is it, Jet--something wrong?” asked Mitch.
    “It’s more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”
    “What is?”
    “The stars. Millions upon millions of them.” His voice now took on a matter-of-fact tone. “Am now leaving door and