Authors: Hal Clement
Heavy Planet (26 page)
No one had yet discussed this project with Barlennan, and in any case it would not have been the captain’s primary concern just now. He and his men were being washed underground, on what amounted to a patch of driftwood. It was much, much later before any of them realized how lucky it was that the sun was ahead of them, on the high side of the cliff, just then.
It grew relatively dark the moment they had rock nearly surrounding them, with only a modest illumination from the sunlit ground across the river. Their heads and eyes turned back toward the light, and stayed there as the view narrowed; and before they really saw and could respond to the unimaginable tonnage of material suddenly
above
them, the darkness was complete except for the faint glow of the tracker’s numbers.
above
them, the darkness was complete except for the faint glow of the tracker’s numbers.
The Flyers, Barlennan thought after a moment, should have commented on the darkness or the fact that the tracker was still indicating motion or
something,
but the communicator was silent. It remained so after several hopeful calls by the captain.
something,
but the communicator was silent. It remained so after several hopeful calls by the captain.
It had never occurred to him that whatever carried the messages to and from Toorey might be blocked by intervening rock. The concept of a completely surrounding bed of intervening anything had never crossed his mind.
For a moment he managed to concentrate on all he could see. The digits on the tracker screen agreed with his own sensations; they were speeding up, slowing down, jerking from side to side—the basket was in fact still being carried by a current, which was weaving its way around things. He should have been able to tell which way and how far, from the tracker readings; should, indeed, have been able to retrace their path if he had had any
control
of their motion. The general direction was indeed obvious; they were heading deeper under the former cliff. How far under was another matter; he didn’t remember the position reading when they had gone into the dark, and the succession of numbers which had followed that moment had been too complex to memorize.
control
of their motion. The general direction was indeed obvious; they were heading deeper under the former cliff. How far under was another matter; he didn’t remember the position reading when they had gone into the dark, and the succession of numbers which had followed that moment had been too complex to memorize.
It was never clear to any of them later how they were able to keep thinking—why the four of them didn’t succumb at once to total panic. The Flyers commented later how fortunate it was that all four had had balloon experience, but it was not clear to Barlennan why that should help them with the concept of heavy material
overhead
. He tended to credit his own retention of sanity to his profession. He was a captain, he was responsible, he was used to doing whatever he could that was called for at the moment, and leaving what he couldn’t control to luck. This may have corresponded to an almost human personal arrogance. Even so, every little while—he had no way of telling how often—the thought of what he was
under
threatened to crowd his attention away from everything else.
overhead
. He tended to credit his own retention of sanity to his profession. He was a captain, he was responsible, he was used to doing whatever he could that was called for at the moment, and leaving what he couldn’t control to luck. This may have corresponded to an almost human personal arrogance. Even so, every little while—he had no way of telling how often—the thought of what he was
under
threatened to crowd his attention away from everything else.
Anything to take that awareness away from him would have helped. He would even have welcomed a theoretical argument from the Flyers. Why all this open space under the cliff, or where the cliff had been? How much mud had there been to wash away, and how had it vanished this quickly so far from the actual river? Or had it? How far did the open space extend? Up and down, probably not very; they were still floating, and it was hard to imagine how the methane surface could have gotten either above the river outside or very far below it. That inspiration caused him to focus on the vertical readings of the tracker for a while; he found that their height was indeed almost constant.
But liquid flows downhill, and this was flowing, so there must be at least a small drop. There might be a big one farther ahead; this didn’t seem very good to think of either.
How deep was it? What were their chances of grounding—and staying there in the dark with too much of the world overhead? He thought of trying
to find out by swimming, but could imagine no way for a swimmer to find the basket again. He realized later what his failure to think of safety ropes must have implied about his state of mind.
to find out by swimming, but could imagine no way for a swimmer to find the basket again. He realized later what his failure to think of safety ropes must have implied about his state of mind.
They could call to each other, of course; he tried that.
Multiple echoes responded to his hoots and made sound direction meaningless. In a way this was comforting; Mesklin’s stratosphere started only a few hundred meters above the general surface at this latitude. The air, after cooling for a very short distance upward, began to rise in temperature with increasing altitude, so that sounds originating at one spot refracted downward again before going too far. Complex echo patterns from sounds of distant origin were standard, and these gave a slight—very slight—suggestion of clear air above. They actually fooled Karondrasee, who asked, “Captain! It’s got to be open above after all! Why is it so dark?”
The captain was quick enough to reply that he didn’t know, and almost as quickly inspired to ask, “See if you can think of an answer before the Flyers tell us.” That should provide something to distract all the others.
Hars, though, seemed somehow able to think coherently, at least for the moment.
“Captain, shouldn’t we do something to secure the instruments? We could run aground any time, though we do seem to be getting carried around things so far, and we don’t know how hard we’d strike. The radio isn’t any good to us right now, but the tracker might make a lot of difference. If it went overboard I don’t see how we’d ever get back out.”
“Right. I don’t see how we can manage that anyway until the current lets us go, but secure them just the same. The radio will be easy enough; it was made to be fastened to things. The tracker wasn’t, though. All of you try to think of a hitch or something to hold it fast.”
“Why did they make it ball-shaped?” Even Sherrer sounded more annoyed than afraid. “Didn’t they ever think of having to keep it from falling overboard?”
Barlennan could think of no useful answer. He had a fairly clear idea of where the rocket had traveled, but no real notion of ballistics. “Salvage all the cordage you can find,” was all he said. “Coil it up and stow it around your bodies. Hars, stay with the tracker and hold onto it as well as you can until we solve the tie-down problem. Think of this as a doldrum situation. We do what we can to make use of wind, or current, or an animal we can harpoon to tow us, and hope that one or another of them will happen. Only this time we have a whole new list of things we need to be ready for, and don’t know anything on the list.”
“Shouldn’t we perhaps moor to something, Captain?” asked Sherrer. “The tracker says we’re getting farther from the river all the time. The farther we travel, the farther we’ll have to go to get back.”
“If you can find a way to moor us, I’ll agree. Personally I can’t see what we’re passing.”
“Of course we can’t see, but we can reach out to feel. Surely some of the broken cliff must be rough enough for a grip!”
“For a grip, maybe. For a rope? Well, reach out and learn what you can.” The sailor presumably obeyed, but made no report for a long time.
Nothing particular happened during that time—whether a day or an hour none of them could tell. Cordage was found and secured. Hars contrived a spherical, close-meshed net of some of the finer lines, and enclosed the tracker in this. Without commenting to the captain, he secured it to his own body. Like the rest, he had a strong feeling that this device, if anything, was most likely to get them back to daylight.
Again, Barlennan began wishing for Flyer theories and arguments. He found himself even thinking along Flyer lines.
Why
was there liquid so far under what had been a layer of solid rock hundreds of feet thick? The fact that the rock was no longer solid did not explain where the liquid filling the new space could be coming from.
Why
was there any place away from the original river for it to flow
to
? (Item not to think of: liquid flows downhill; where were they being carried?)
Why
had the finer material been washed, or carried somehow, away from the really large fragments of rock, even in here, apparently turning the whole fallen area into a random stack of slabs and columns long enough and wide enough, as it had seemed from their last glimpses outside, to enclose more empty space than rock?
Where
had the fine stuff gone? (Well, downstream, obviously.) Where had the medium-sized stuff gone? (No obvious answer.)
Why
was there liquid so far under what had been a layer of solid rock hundreds of feet thick? The fact that the rock was no longer solid did not explain where the liquid filling the new space could be coming from.
Why
was there any place away from the original river for it to flow
to
? (Item not to think of: liquid flows downhill; where were they being carried?)
Why
had the finer material been washed, or carried somehow, away from the really large fragments of rock, even in here, apparently turning the whole fallen area into a random stack of slabs and columns long enough and wide enough, as it had seemed from their last glimpses outside, to enclose more empty space than rock?
Where
had the fine stuff gone? (Well, downstream, obviously.) Where had the medium-sized stuff gone? (No obvious answer.)
Why did they all seem to be sane in a situation which should have driven any normal person out of his mind? (Or were they? No, Captain, keep away from that thought, too.) They were, after all, experienced and competent members of a dangerous profession, and knew that quite often a dangerous situation offered a good chance of getting something worth while out of it. (And of course a better one of not living to enjoy the profit.)
That
last thought had been banished from all their minds years before, of course. They were still alive; therefore they were lucky.
That
last thought had been banished from all their minds years before, of course. They were still alive; therefore they were lucky.
Where
had the underpinnings of the plateau gone, actually? That was a real Flyer question. And the Flyers were in no position to answer it.
had the underpinnings of the plateau gone, actually? That was a real Flyer question. And the Flyers were in no position to answer it.
They would want to know the answer, though. And Barlennan and his people were the only ones likely ever to be able to provide one.
That
was a thought to bolster sanity. The Flyers always wanted information.
was a thought to bolster sanity. The Flyers always wanted information.
Sherrer was having more trouble. His sounds, when he made any at all, were less and less understandable words and more and more short howls of terror. When words could be made out, they were ones that only magnified the fear.
“The world is up there … it’s heavy … it can flatten us … what can keep it from falling? We’re …”
“Quiet!” snapped the captain. “Why should it fall? It hasn’t yet, and …” his voice trailed off. The stuff above, after all, hadn’t had that much time to finish the settling it seemed to have started. It could quite easily be getting ready to fall farther. And it was indeed heavy. There was no way of convincing themselves they were back near the equator, where a healthy person could lift rocks like that. No way, even if they couldn’t see. Stop catching Sherrer’s fears, Captain …
Even if they couldn’t see …
He jerked out another order; his own mind was recovering, it seemed. “Sherrer, bend a good line around yourself, at least twenty body lengths, and make sure its other end is secure to the basket—to some really strong part of the basket. Then go overboard carefully and try to find how deep it is, and whether there
is
anything we could moor to. Don’t leave too much slack; keep most of it coiled against you and stay close to us at first.”
is
anything we could moor to. Don’t leave too much slack; keep most of it coiled against you and stay close to us at first.”
“Yes, sir.” Barlennan listened anxiously; giving the fellow something to occupy his mind was one thing, putting him where he wouldn’t
expect
to see upward might be even better. The information would be useful, of course, but the action
might
keep the fellow from complete panic.
expect
to see upward might be even better. The information would be useful, of course, but the action
might
keep the fellow from complete panic.
The liquid was quiet; they were moving with it, not through it, and the sound as it slid around the rocks which must be there was hardly audible. The other three could hear as Sherrer measured his line, secured it at both ends, and slipped overboard. Without order, Hars gripped the inboard end of the cord with a holding nipper.
“He’s pulling away a bit, Captain; I don’t suppose he can see to keep near us. I’ll give him a tug or two to let him know.” Barlennan didn’t bother to answer. “There’s some slack, now. What pull there is is smooth; he can’t have met anything solid.”
Sherrer’s voice abruptly sounded, muffled by the methane-air interface but quite audible. The Mesklinite vocal apparatus, a modified part of their ancestors’ swimming siphons, worked impressively well in both media. “We’re going a little better than walking speed, Captain. I’m on the bottom. It seems to be that slush rather than rock most of the time, though I hit something solid every little while. Shall I try to slow the basket, if I can get a good grip on anything?” The sailor seemed perfectly calm now.
“Try, but not too hard; if you get pulled free by the basket, don’t fight it,” replied Barlennan.
“Yes, sir. The liquid’s getting shallower, I think.”
There was no more after that to be said; the sailor had been right about decreasing depth. Moments later, everyone still in the basket recognized the sensation as their craft ran aground on an oozy surface. Instantly the captain snapped further orders.
“You two—lines on yourselves and go overside. Get away from here in different directions. Use voice softly to keep yourselves apart—no echoes if you can help it. Find out everything there is around here, out as far as your lines will allow. If there
is
anything we can moor to, report at once and then start doing it.”
is
anything we can moor to, report at once and then start doing it.”
He was obeyed promptly, and submerged hoots and howls began to echo around the basket. There were, it turned out, plenty of rocks projecting from the ammonia-smelling ooze; some of them barely broke the surface of the methane, many extended upward farther than the sailors could reach. In less than half a day, as well as anyone could guess, they were moored solidly to five different bases, two of them too high to flip a noose over. At least they shouldn’t get any farther from the outside.
Getting back to it might be rather different.
All three of the sailors who had been overboard sounded easier in their minds. The captain wasn’t sure whether this could be attributed to lack of upward vision, or just to being occupied; but there was a way to test.
He groped his way to the now cold fire box—cold only in comparison to its working state; the surroundings still felt like the inside of the balloon bag in flight—and felt for the control baffles which had directed the lifting air. These were made of the same fabric as the bag itself, stretched on light wooden frames. Carefully he nipped out a section of the material and deliberately spread it over his head and eyes.
Other books
Housebound Dogs by Paula Kephart
Book Two of the Travelers by D.J. MacHale
Down Among the Gods by Kate Thompson
The Cartel by Don Winslow
La inteligencia emocional by Daniel Goleman
Capitol Reflections by Jonathan Javitt
Coming Clean by Inez Kelley
The Witling by Vernor Vinge
The Coroner's Lunch by Colin Cotterill
Drinks Before Dinner by E. L. Doctorow
