John's voice bringing me back to the problem in hand. 'I want a carrier at 174 megacycles. Then pulse it at 1 KC. pulse length 5 micro-seconds.'
`Carrier at 174 megacycles,' I said, moving a small dial.
Pulse 1 KC. length 5 micro-seconds.' I changed over to another circuit. A pulse came and settled down, allowing me to set the pulse length at 5 micro-seconds.
`All right,' I said to an engineer standing close by. `Just check everything for me.'
The man ran through the check list.
`Secondly,' Sir John said when the engineer signaled that everything was satisfactory, 'I want a separate transmission on 39.37 megacycles frequency modulated, amplitude 5 decibels below the first transmission.'
`Frequency modulation,' I blurted aloud. Sir John looked a bit irritated.
`We've still to key in the final numerical combination. This is done on the frequency modulation.'
I would have queried this type of operation, but there were more important things to do. 'Have you a key?' I asked one of the engineers.
`No, but we'll fix one up in a moment or two, sir,' said the poor engineer, who was obviously terrified of making a mistake.
`Check frequency,' I said, turning back to the dials in front of me.
`O.K.,' came the reply.
`Amplitude ratio?'
`O.K.'
`Key plugged in?'
`All ready, sir.'
`Right, Sir John. What's the code number?' I said, trying to emulate his steadiness. More than thirty years had elapsed since the crew in the rocket had left the earth, now we were on the threshold of seeing and hearing what they had seen and done.
`137131929,' said Sir John in triumph.
`What system?' I asked.
`Old fashioned Morse.'
`137131929 in old fashioned Morse,' I said to the engineer. He looked aghast for a moment and then went to work. I tried to look encouraging.
The engineer worked on. I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. My hands felt damp, as I listened to the sound of the digits being keyed in.
1 . . . 3 . . . 7 . . . 1 . . . 3 . . . 1 . . . 9 . . . 2 . . . 9.
Then silence. It was almost agony waiting. Everyone must have been thinking the same thought. What happens if the systems jammed or something was damaged after such a long flight? We waited.
Then, as we held our breath, there was a satisfying click and deep rumble. I went to the door of the truck and stood with Sir John watching. The large doors up on the ship slowly began to open. We had succeeded. I felt Sir John relax. The strain for him must have been quite enormous; for even I felt drained of physical energy.
Two of the ground staff climbed on board a lift and drove it over to the side of the ship. For a moment or two they remained at the bottom, and then they pressed the button and went up. They vanished inside. Soon one of them returned to the doors of the rocket and signaled.
The medics were the first to the lift, with Ganges, Sir John and myself a long way behind.
`Remember Tubby Fanshawe scoring a cracking good 50 -- school cricket, if you know what I mean. Now frozen solid. Damn' amazing!' said Ganges, waiting impatiently for the lift to return.
The lift came down slowly. As we went up I realized how small this ship really was. The main doors, which were very near the top of the craft, would only come about half-way up one of the machines standing close by.
Amazing, I thought to myself, as we passed in through the doors, no airlock, and there would be no gravitational field inside the ship as we had today. The passage from the opening led straight into the cabin, the only cabin, which was used for everything, and in one half of the cabin was the freezer. A sort of cylinder-shaped cubicle with a large deep-freeze-type door. I left everyone to get on with opening it up and had a quick look round the rest of the cabin. A long console seemed to house most of the equipment. A museum-piece computer punch card machine, hand stabilizing equipment for adjusting the flight of the ship. It was a remarkable feat, to go out to Ursa Major with a small ship like
`Carrier at 174 megacycles,' I said, moving a small dial.
Pulse 1 KC. length 5 micro-seconds.' I changed over to another circuit. A pulse came and settled down, allowing me to set the pulse length at 5 micro-seconds.
`All right,' I said to an engineer standing close by. `Just check everything for me.'
The man ran through the check list.
`Secondly,' Sir John said when the engineer signaled that everything was satisfactory, 'I want a separate transmission on 39.37 megacycles frequency modulated, amplitude 5 decibels below the first transmission.'
`Frequency modulation,' I blurted aloud. Sir John looked a bit irritated.
`We've still to key in the final numerical combination. This is done on the frequency modulation.'
I would have queried this type of operation, but there were more important things to do. 'Have you a key?' I asked one of the engineers.
`No, but we'll fix one up in a moment or two, sir,' said the poor engineer, who was obviously terrified of making a mistake.
`Check frequency,' I said, turning back to the dials in front of me.
`O.K.,' came the reply.
`Amplitude ratio?'
`O.K.'
`Key plugged in?'
`All ready, sir.'
`Right, Sir John. What's the code number?' I said, trying to emulate his steadiness. More than thirty years had elapsed since the crew in the rocket had left the earth, now we were on the threshold of seeing and hearing what they had seen and done.
`137131929,' said Sir John in triumph.
`What system?' I asked.
`Old fashioned Morse.'
`137131929 in old fashioned Morse,' I said to the engineer. He looked aghast for a moment and then went to work. I tried to look encouraging.
The engineer worked on. I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. My hands felt damp, as I listened to the sound of the digits being keyed in.
1 . . . 3 . . . 7 . . . 1 . . . 3 . . . 1 . . . 9 . . . 2 . . . 9.
Then silence. It was almost agony waiting. Everyone must have been thinking the same thought. What happens if the systems jammed or something was damaged after such a long flight? We waited.
Then, as we held our breath, there was a satisfying click and deep rumble. I went to the door of the truck and stood with Sir John watching. The large doors up on the ship slowly began to open. We had succeeded. I felt Sir John relax. The strain for him must have been quite enormous; for even I felt drained of physical energy.
Two of the ground staff climbed on board a lift and drove it over to the side of the ship. For a moment or two they remained at the bottom, and then they pressed the button and went up. They vanished inside. Soon one of them returned to the doors of the rocket and signaled.
The medics were the first to the lift, with Ganges, Sir John and myself a long way behind.
`Remember Tubby Fanshawe scoring a cracking good 50 -- school cricket, if you know what I mean. Now frozen solid. Damn' amazing!' said Ganges, waiting impatiently for the lift to return.
The lift came down slowly. As we went up I realized how small this ship really was. The main doors, which were very near the top of the craft, would only come about half-way up one of the machines standing close by.
Amazing, I thought to myself, as we passed in through the doors, no airlock, and there would be no gravitational field inside the ship as we had today. The passage from the opening led straight into the cabin, the only cabin, which was used for everything, and in one half of the cabin was the freezer. A sort of cylinder-shaped cubicle with a large deep-freeze-type door. I left everyone to get on with opening it up and had a quick look round the rest of the cabin. A long console seemed to house most of the equipment. A museum-piece computer punch card machine, hand stabilizing equipment for adjusting the flight of the ship. It was a remarkable feat, to go out to Ursa Major with a small ship like
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