23

When they finally heard from Earth, it was not good news. The cloud had slowed them down, and the result was that the rocket burn had launched them on an orbit that would never come close to Earth. Distressing as were these circumstances, I believe they gave the Martians less pain than the discovery that the intrepid crew of the Investigator, who had hitherto displayed a courage beyond all expectation, now felt serious apprehensions for their safety, and that these apprehensions so possessed their minds that they were not restrained from expressing them.¹

Barrow sent many assurances that they would work out a plan to bring them home, and that they would not be forgotten. He regretted that he could not provide them with an exact time frame for their rescue, but assured them it was still feasible. In the meantime, he ordered a drastic reduction to their rations.

The grievous disappointment the crew felt upon receiving these communications, despite the many promises they contained, arose no doubt from their knowledge of the natural fickleness of the Martians of this period, which made them such experts in abandoning even the most solemn oaths.²

The crew began a long, hungry waiting on their much reduced rations. The ration schedule stipulated by Barrow’s team of doctors and advisors on Earth was designed to keep the crew alive for the longest period possible. When Franklin announced the size of the rations, there was no great reaction. But at their first meal, it quickly became clear that no one had fully comprehended how little they would be eating, nor how hungry they would remain. For the crew it was like stepping from the height of summer to the middle of winter.³

‘I’m still hungry,’ said Back after they had finished their first scanty meal. This statement, of course, suggested the existence of a (probably unconscious) desire to eat human flesh.⁴

The rations were so small that they all agreed it was best to eat only one meal, rather than dividing it into a few morsels several times each day.⁵

On the first day, they felt hungry and had trouble getting to sleep at night. On the second day, the hunger was with them at all times, a twinge and pang in the belly that accompanied each of them whatever they did. On the third day, it reached its peak, like a twisting of iron hooks in the belly.

During these first days of hunger, the tiny meal they shared felt more like a taunt than sustenance, serving only to remind them that there was still a lot of food aboard the Investigator. Enough for a full meal, enough for days full of meals, even for months of satisfyingly full rations. Because nobody knew how long they might need to survive, they had to make peace with the knowledge of the nearby food.

Akaitcho proposed that they place a lock on the door to the remaining storage pod.

‘You think someone would steal food?’ said Hood.

‘I think we won’t have to worry about such a thing.’

‘Who’s going to keep the key?’ asked Ge Ge.

‘We could use two locks, and give the keys to separate people,’ said Richards.

‘Why not use eight. One for each of us? That way we all have to be here to open it.’

‘Where are we going to get eight locks?’ asked Franklin.

‘We can use the padlocks from our lockers in our rooms,’ said Greenstockings.

Although the sleeping chambers had no locks, Barrow—a great believer in private property—had ensured that each member of the crew had some space that was entirely their own. When the Investigator was constructed, he had caused small lockers, fitted with little padlocks, to be installed in each sleeping chamber. And so the crew decided that these locks should be used to secure the door to the storage pod, though it was a cumbersome system. They ceased storing any food in the galley and only retrieved what was needed for each meal before eating, when everyone was present to remove their locks from the door.