Spaceship medic

Chapter 8

The others had turned away, but Don was looking at the crude transmitter, glaring at it, as though he could force it to work just by strength of will alone. There had to be a way - and this radio was the only hope they had left.

'Isn't there any way you can increase the power?' he asked.

Sparks shook his head. 'I've already got all the circuits on a forty per cent overload. They can take that for a while without burning out. You saw, I kept cutting the current every few minutes. Any more and they would pop as soon as I turned on the juice.'

'Are there any other ways you can beef up the circuits?'

'Negative on that, I'm afraid. Wiring up this thing was the easiest job. Me and Gold spent most of the time seeing what was the best circuit we could get out of the junk we could find. But the signal will improve as we get closer to Mars. They'll hear us eventually.'

'Eventually is a word that is not too good,' Ugalde said. He came up next to the radio and stood, rocking on his toes with his hands behind his back, as though he were addressing a class. 'Now while I admit with great chagrin that being a navigator is impossible for me at this moment, I am still yet able to calculate an orbit. Roughly mind you, but I have worked out as best I can from the figures of the last calculations made by the deceased navigator. Our course error grows greater with every passing moment, and the greater the error the harder it is to correct. If I may give an analogy. Imagine, if you will, a very long, wide slope, down which a ball is rolling. If the ball rolls straight down it will strike a stick standing at the foot of the slope. Now, if the ball is deflected by a slight push, it will roll at a slightly diverging angle from the true course. But a slight push will set it straight so it hits the stick after all. A slight push soon after the deflection. If the correction is not made at once, after a period of time the ball will be rolling many feet away from the proper course, and a really hard blow will be needed to correct it. The longer the wait, the more force that is needed. Of course you realize the ball is our ship, Mars the hypothetical stick. We have delayed a long time already. If we wait too much longer we may not be able to make the corrections that will bring us back to the proper way. Contact must be established with Mars - and at once.

Nothing could be said after this, and the air of gloom in the control-room was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Sparks looked around, from face to face, pulling back against the table.

'Don't look at me!' he called out loudly, defensively. 'I've done all I could with the parts we had. I built a radio and it works, you heard that. It's putting out all it can. There's nothing more I can do. It's a working radio, don't forget that, with a modulated signal, not a radar or a signal generator where you just blast out. This is all we've got..

Don took him by the shoulder, harder than he intended, his fingers digging deep. 'What was that you said about radar?' He let go quickly when he saw the man's shocked expression.

'It's nothing, sir. Nothing to do with us. If you just squirt out a signal you can get maybe twice the power we have going out now. But we have to modulate the signal to carry information. Otherwise Mars Central will be getting nothing but a blast of static from our direction. They'll know that were still here - but that's about all they will know.'

'No!' Don said. There's more.' He paced back and forth, driving his fist into the palm of his hand. 'Something can be done. I know, I read about it once, a book or something like that, about the early days of radio. Something about code...'

'Sure,' Sparks answered. 'Code. They used to use it maybe a couple of hundred years ago. We had it in history at radio school. Before they could modulate a signal to carry a message they used to just blast it out, then interrupt it in short or long bits in a regular kind of code. I guess they had a special signal for every letter. Then at the other end they would put it back into letters again. But we can't do that-'

'Why not?'

Sparks started to smile, then changed his mind when he saw the expression on Don's face. 'Well, you see... no one knows the code any more. So even if we knew it and could send it, no one could read it. It would be a great idea 'we could do it, but...'

'No buts. Well do it. Could you transmit the long and short signals if I gave you a message?'

'Well, I guess so. I could rig a make-or-break switch and keep opening and closing it. Or we could record it on tape, that might be easier, and have the taped signal actuate a relay. I guess, mechanically, it could be done.'

'Then do it. I'll bring you back the message as soon as I can. Get your equipment rigged. Kurikka, come with me.'

The Chief didn't speak until they were out in the corridor, then he let out the breath he had been holding.

'Would you mind, sir, telling me just what you have in mind.' He looked baffled and Don almost laughed.

It's easy. Were going to the library The information will be there. If not in the shelved books it will be in the library's memory.'

It really was easy after that. None of the books, they were mostly fiction for the passengers' entertainment, looked promising, so Don punched for the encyclopedia index. CA-CU had an entry marked codes and he tried three or four sub-entries before he found an article on the International Code. It contained a copy of the code itself.

There it is,' Don said, pointing at the columns of letters and dots and dashes. He pressed the print button. 'Now let's see if we can transcribe a message in this stuff.'

Back in the control-room, it was the mathematician, Dr Ugalde, who suggested the solution.

The computer, we must give it instructions. This is the kind of operation the stupid machine is built for. If you will permit I will programme the computer to transform a typed message into this code and it will then record the code on tape for the transmitter. The message will be transmitted and, I am sure, it will be quickly comprehended that it is a code. I suggest that, before the message, we transmit the numbers from one to ten, counting in dots to make the series, that is. This will indicate that there is intelligent content in the broadcast, not just a random collection of pulses. With that clue it will not take them long to figure out what is happening.'

'That sounds fine to me,' Don said. 'After the numbers send a simple message, just ask them if they can understand the code so that we can send more detailed messages. Tell them we can hear their voice transmissions, but will have to answer in code.' He turned to the others. 'Get this gear rigged as quickly as possible. I'm going to the sickbay to look after my patients. Call me as soon as you are ready to broadcast.'

It required his best bedside manner to give optimistic answers to the questions. Yes, the storm had passed and there would be no more coming. And, no, there was no truth in the rumour that they were running out of air. The air smelled just fine, didn't it? He changed the dressings on the wounds, released the frostbite case and told him to return once a day, then retreated to his quarters as quickly as possible. The phone rang as he entered and he once more had to assume the role of captain. The message was ready to be sent.

'Works in the green on the test,' Sparks said, throwing a switch when Don came in. A slow series of dits and dahs sounded from the speaker. 'We've got the tape working through this switching circuit. I'm getting an antenna output almost double what we had before.'

'Send it,' Don said, and dropped into the captain's chair before the control panels. Jonquet brought in coffee and passed the cups around.

Sparks re-ran the tape and made the necessary adjustments. The reel spun and the message crackled out into space. The receiver still repeated the recorded message they had been getting for days now. Twice Sparks re-ran the tape, and repeated the transmission, before finally switching off the apparatus.

'Just a matter of waiting now,' he said.

Dr Ugalde scribbled some quick calculations on a piece of paper. 'It is my estimate,' he said, 'considering our probable position in relation to Mars, that we could hear a return message in less than thirty seconds from now.'

They all looked at the clock, at the sweeping hand. It seemed to crawl, slower and slower, finally reaching thirty seconds and passing it. Going on for a minute more. A minute and a half. Ugalde crumpled his piece of paper.

'Perhaps my mathematics are wrong, an error...'

He broke off as the droning voice from the receiver suddenly ended. They all turned. They all turned, automatically, looking at the now silent speaker. There were seconds of silence before a new voice cut in.

'Hello Johannes Kepler... can you hear me? We are receiving a transmission on your frequency of a series of pulses. Are you transmitting this? If you are send five pulses. Repeat them because reception varies at this end...

'Do it!' Don ordered.

Sparks had rigged a manual pushbutton switch into the circuit. He used it now, sending out the dots, over and over, five, five, five, five...

Then they waited, once again, the long minutes while their message, travelling 186,000 miles a second, at the speed of light, reached out to Mars and was received. Until the answer was broadcast.

'We have received your message, Johannes Kepler] the voice said, and an impromptu cheer shook the room. '... means you have had difficulty with your radio. Someone here has just reported that your message is in code and the library is being consulted for a copy. If you believe we have a copy here and will be able to translate your message please send all details. Repeat your message at least five times, I repeat, send your message at least five times since we are having reception difficulties at this end. We are standing by to receive now, good luck.'

It took time, a lot of time, because the communication was so complex. Don typed a message into the computer, explaining what had happened, and this was recorded on tape as a series of dots and dashes. Another tape was prepared of up-to-date stellar observations which were recorded along with the earlier data.

The computer on Mars would process these and determine the course corrections that would be needed. Time passed, and with each second they moved further from their proper course.

They waited again and, instead of the course corrections, they received a request for the amount of reaction mass that remained in their tanks. This was sent back as quickly as possible and there were minutes of silence as they waited for the answer, for the corrections that would get them back into the proper orbit for Mars. The message finally came.

'Hello Big Joe,' the voice rasped and, although the man speaking tried to sound happy, there was an undertone of worry in his voice. 'We are not saying that this is the final answer, the figures are being re-run, and something will be done. But the truth is... well... you have been in an incorrect orbit for too long a time. It appears that, with the reaction mass you have remaining... there is not enough to make a course correction for Mars. Your ship is on an unchangeable orbit into outer space.'