Suddenly the tank went dead and at the same instant there was a flash of light so intense that it leaked through the shuttered ports and tormented the optic nerve. Don was still shaking his head from it when over the ship’s announcing system came the call: “Safe to un-shutter!”
A petty officer stationed at the compartment’s view port was already cranking the metal shield out of the way; Don crowded in and looked.
A second sun blazed white and swelled visibly as he watched. What on Earth would have been—so many terrible times had been—a climbing mushroom cloud was here in open space a perfect geometrical sphere, growing unbelievably. It swelled still larger, dropping from limelight white to silvery violet, became blotched with purple, red and flame. And still it grew, until it blanked out Earth beyond it.
At the time it was transformed into a radioactive cosmic cloud Circum-Terra had been passing over, or opposite, the North Atlantic; the swollen incandescent cloud was visible to most of the habitable portions of the globe, a burning symbol in the sky.
VII – Detour
Immediately after the destruction of Circum-Terra the ship’s warning signal howled and loudspeakers bellowed, ordering all hands to acceleration stations. The Nautilus blasted away, shaping her orbit for the weary trip to Venus. When she was up to speed and spin had been placed on her to permit sure footing the control room secured from blast stations. Don unstrapped and hurried to the radio room. Twice he had to argue to get past sentries.
He found the door open; everyone inside seemed busy and paid him no attention. He hesitated, then stepped inside. A long hand reached out and grabbed him by the scruff. “Hey! Where the deuce do you think you’re going?”
Don answered humbly, “I just want to send a message.”
“You do, eh? What do you think of that, Charlie?” His captor appealed to a soldier who was bending over a rig.
The second soldier pushed one earphone up. “Looks like a saba-toor. Probably an A-bomb in each pocket.”
An officer wandered out of an inner room. “What goes on here?”
“Sneaked in, sir. Says he wants to send a message.”
The officer looked Don up and down. “Sorry. No can do. Radio silence. No traffic outgoing.”
“But,” Don answered desperately, “I’ve just got to.” Quickly he explained his predicament. “I’ve got to let them know where I am, sir.”
The officer shook his head. “We couldn’t raise Mars even if we were not in radio silence.”
“No, sir, but you could beam Luna, for relay to Mars.”
“Yes, I suppose we could—but we won’t. See here, young fellow, I’m sorry about your troubles but there is no possibility, simply none at all, that the commanding officer will permit silence to he broken for any reason, even one much more important than yours. The safety of the ship comes first.”
Don thought about it. “I suppose so,” he agreed forlornly.
“However, I wouldn’t worry too much. Your parents will find out where you are.”
“Huh? I don’t see how. They think I’m headed for Mars.”
“No, they don’t—or won’t shortly. There is no secret now about what has happened; the whole system knows it. They can find out that you got as far as Circum-Terra; they can find out that the Glory Road did not fetch you back. By elimination, you must be on your way to Venus. I imagine that they are querying Interplanet about you right now.”
The officer turned away and said, “Wilkins, paint a sign for the door saying, ‘Radio Silence-No Messages Accepted.’ We don’t want every civilian in the ship barging in here trying to send greetings to Aunt Hattie.”
Don bunked in a third-class compartment with three dozen men and a few boys. Some passengers who had paid for better accommodations complained. Don himself had had first-class passage booked for the Valkyrie and Mars but he was glad that he had not been silly enough to object when he saw the disgruntled returning with their tails between their legs. First-class accommodations, up forward, were occupied by the High Guard.
His couch was comfortable enough and a space voyage, dull under any circumstances, is less dull in the noise and gossip of a bunkroom than it is in the quiet of a first-class stateroom. During the first week out the senior surgeon announced that any who wished could avail themselves of cold-sleep. Within a day or two the bunkroom was half deserted, the missing passengers having been drugged and chilled and stowed in sleep tanks aft, there to dream away the long weeks ahead.