The Number of the Beast

XV

"We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it."

Hilda:

I was so flattered by Cap'n Zebbie's crediting me with "discovering" Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in "our" universe. Zebbie is a funny one-he wears rudeness like a Hallowe'en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.

I knew that "my" Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named "Shangri La" for a land as nonexistent as "Erewhon"; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans-the list is endless. Nature copies art.

Or as Deety put it: "Truth is more fantastic than reality."

During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance-and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just "above" and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests,

We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight-ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.

Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, "Copilot, if our approximations are correct,

at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?"

"To the accuracy of our data, Captain."

"Too close. I don't fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please-but bear in mind that puts us-should put us-two klicks over a hot, new crater....ossibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?"

"Captain, we can do that just before crashing-and it either works or it doesn't. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn't work-"

"We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn't built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She's beefed up-but she's still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle."

"Captain, I can try to subtract the planet's orbital speed. We've time to make the attempt."

"Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!"

Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness-was enjoying weightlessness, but didn't know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates-only worse.

TReport, damn it!"

Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats- she in mine, I in hers. "Strapping down, Captain!" she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)

"Speed it up!"

Deety reported, "Seat belts fastened," while still getting her chest belt buckled-by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.

"Copilot."

"Captain!"

"Along 'L' axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second-and for God's sake don't get the signs reversed."

"I won't!"

"Execute."

Seconds later Jacob reported, "That does it, Captain. I hope."

"Let's check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I'll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!"

Zeb added, "One point two. Record."

After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, "Seven seconds... eight seconds... nine seconds....ark!"

Our men conferred, then Jacob said, "Captain, we are still falling too fast."

"Of course," said Deety. "We've been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars-"

"Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?"

"Sure!"

"Do it."

"Uh....one! How does she look?"

"Uh....istance slowly closing. Hello, Gay."

"Howdy, Zeb."

"Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range."

"No reading."

"Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target."

"Program running. Who blacked your eye?"

"You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

"I'm sexy, too. Over."

"Continue program." Zeb sighed, then said, "Copilot, there's atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?"

"Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let's go!"

"Barsoom-here we come!"