Stand by for Mars! - Carey Rockwell (reading in the dark txt) 📗

“That’s a sandstorm,” Astro said finally. “It blows as long as a week and can pile up sand for two hundred feet. Sometimes the velocity reaches as much as a hundred and sixty miles an hour. Once, in the south, we got caught in one, and it was so bad we had to blast off. And it took all the power we had to do it!”

The three cadets stood transfixed as they gazed through the crystal port at the oncoming storm. The tremendous black cloud rolled toward the spaceship in huge folds that billowed upward and back in three-thousand-foot waves. The roar and wail of the wind grew louder, rising in pitch until it was a shrill scream.

“We’d better get down to the power deck,” said Tom, “and take some oxygen bottles along with us, just in case. Astro, bring the rest of the Martian water and you grab several of those containers of food, Roger. We might be holed in for a long time.”

“Why go down to the power deck?” asked Roger.

“There’s a huge hole in the upper part of the ship’s hull. That sand will come in here by the ton and there’s nothing to stop it,” Tom answered Roger, but kept his eyes on the churning black cloud. Already, the first gusts of wind were lashing at the stricken Lady Venus.

“You think it’ll last much longer?” asked Astro.

“I don’t know, old fellow,” replied Tom.

“You know, sometimes you can hear the wind even through the skin of the ship,” commented Roger.

For two days the cadets of the Polaris unit had been held prisoner in the power deck while the violence of the New Sahara sandstorm raged around them outside the ship. For a thousand square miles the desert was a black cloud of churning sand, sweeping across the surface of Mars like a giant shroud.

After many attempts to repair a small generator, Astro finally succeeded, only to discover that he had no means of running the unit. His plan was to relieve the rapidly weakening emergency batteries with a more steady source of power.

While Astro occupied himself repairing the generator, Tom and Roger had slept, but after the first day, when sleep would no longer come, they resorted to playing checkers with washers and nuts on a board scratched on the deck.

“Think it’s going to let up soon?” asked Roger.

“They’ve been known to last for a week or more,” said Astro.

“Wonder if Strong has discovered we’re missing?” mused Roger.

“Sure he has,” replied Tom. “He’s a real spaceman. Can smell out trouble like a telemetered alarm system.”

Astro got up and stretched. “I’ll bet we’re out of this five hours after the sand settles down.”

The big Venusian walked to the side of the power deck and pressed his ear against the hull, listening for the sound of the wind.

After a few seconds he turned back. “I can’t hear a thing, fellas. I have a feeling it’s about played itself out.”

“Of course,” reasoned Tom, “we have no real way of knowing when it’s stopped and when it hasn’t.”

“Want to open the hatch and take a look?” asked Astro.

Tom looked questioningly at Roger, who nodded his head in agreement.

Tom walked over to the hatch and began undogging the heavy door. As the last of the heavy metal bars were raised, sand began to trickle inside around the edges. Astro bent down and sifted a handful through his fingers. “It’s so fine, it’s like powder,” he said as it fell to the deck in a fine cloud.

“Come on,” said Tom, “give me a hand with this hatch. It’s probably jammed up against sand on the other side.”

Tom, Roger and Astro braced their shoulders against the door, but when they tried to push, they lost their footing and slipped down. Astro dragged over a section of lead baffle, jammed it between the rocket motors and placed his feet up against it. Tom and Roger got on either side of him and pressed their shoulders against the door.

“All right,” said Tom. “When I give the word, let’s all push together. Ready?”

“All set,” said Astro.

“Let’s go,” said Roger.

“OK⁠—then⁠—one⁠—two⁠—three⁠—push!”

Together, the three cadets strained against the heavy steel hatch. The muscles in Astro’s legs bulged into knots as he applied his great weight and strength against the door. Roger, his face twisted into a grimace from the effort, finally slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Roger,” asked Tom quickly, “are you all right?”

Roger nodded his head but stayed where he was, breathing deeply. Finally recovering his strength, he rose and stood up against the hatch with his two unit-mates.

“You and Roger just give a steady pressure, Tom,” said Astro. “Don’t try to push it all at once. Slow and steady does it! That way you get more out of your effort.”

“OK,” said Tom. Roger nodded. Again they braced themselves against the hatch.

“One⁠—two⁠—three⁠—push!” counted Tom.

Slowly, applying the pressure evenly, they heaved against the steel hatch. Tom’s head swam dizzily, as the blood raced through his veins.

“Keep going,” gasped Astro. “I think it’s giving a little!”

Tom and Roger pushed with the last ounce of strength in their bodies, and after a final desperate effort, slumped to the floor breathless. Astro continued to push, but a moment later, relaxed and slipped down beside Tom and Roger.

They sat on the deck for nearly five minutes gasping for air.

“Like⁠—” began Roger, “like father⁠—like son!” He blurted the words out bitterly.

“Like who?” asked Astro.

“Like my father,” said Roger in a hard voice. He got up and walked unsteadily over to the oxygen bottle and kicked it. “Empty!” he said with a harsh laugh. “Empty and we only have one more bottle. Empty as my head the day I got into this space-happy outfit!”

“You going to start that again!” growled Astro. “I thought you had grown out of your childish bellyaching about the Academy.” Astro eyed the blond cadet with a cold eye. “And now, just because you’re in a tough spot, you start whining