Art stopped suddenly. “Yes, I guess I would,” he admitted. “But how am I going to get a picture?”
“Maybe you won’t. Better use your slowest film, your strongest filter, your smallest stop, and your shortest exposure. Then pray.”
Seeing that the boy looked disappointed, he went on, “I wouldn’t worry too much about pictures of the sun. We can be sure that to the astronomers who will follow us after we’ve blazed the trail. But you ought to be able to get a swell picture of the earth. Waste a little film on the sun first, then we will try it. I’ll shade your lens from the sunlight with my hand.”
Art did so, then prepared to photograph the earth. “I can’t get a decent light reading on it, either,” he complained. “Too much interference from the sun.”
“Well, you know how much light it is getting — the works. Why not assume it’s about like desert sunlight, then shoot a few both above and below what that calls for?”
When Art had finished Cargraves said, “Mind the sunburn, boys.” He touched the plastic inner layer of the quartz port. “This stuff is supposed to filter out the worst of it — but take it easy.”
“Shucks, we’re tanned.” And so they were; New Mexico sun had left its mark.
“I know, but that’s the brightest sunshine you ever saw. Take it easy.”
“How much chance is there,” asked Morrie, “that this pure stuff is dangerous? I mean aside from bad sunburn.”
“You read the same papers I did. We’re getting more cosmic radiation, too. Maybe it’ll knock us down dead. Maybe it’ll cause your children to have long green tendrils. That’s one of the chances we take.”
“Well, Columbus took a chance.”
“And look how far he got!,” put in Art.
“Yeah, thrown in the hoosegow for his trouble.”
“Be that as it may,” said Cargraves, “I’m going to turn the ship again so that the sun doesn’t shine in so directly. This tub is getting too hot.” It was no trouble to keep the Galileo warm enough, but how to get rid of unwanted heat was another matter. Her polished sides reflected most of the heat that struck them, but sunshine pouring directly in the view port produced a most uncomfortable greenhouse effect. Refrigeration, in the ordinary sense, was no answer; the ship was a closed system and could lose heat only by radiation to outer space. At the moment she was absorbing radiant heat from the sun much faster than she was radiating it.
“I want to take some more pictures,” Art protested.
“I’ll keep the earth in sight,” Cargraves promised, and set the controls of the spinning wheel to suit his purpose. Then he floated back to the view port and joined the others, who were swimming in front of it like goldfish in a bowl.
Ross touched the transparent wall with a finger tip; the light contact pushed him back from the port. “Doc, what do you think would happen if a meteor hit this port?”
“I don’t like to think about it. However, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Ley has calculated that the chance of being hit by a meteor on a trip out to the moon and back is about one in a half a million. I figure I was in much graver danger every time I climbed into that alleged automobile you guys drive.
“That’s a good car.”
“I’ll admit it performs well.” He turned away with a motion much like that of a sprint swimmer turning on the side of a pool. “Art, when you are through snapping that Brownie, I’ve got something better for you to do. How about trying to raise earth?”
“Just one more of — Huh? What did you say?”
“How about heating up your tubes and seeing if there is anybody on the air-or lack-of-air, as the case may be?”
No attempt had been made to use the radios since blasting off. Not only did the jet interfere seriously, but also the antenna were completely retracted, even spike antenna, during the passage through the atmosphere. But now that the jet was silent an attempt at communication seemed in order.