Complete Short Fiction, page 204
“Easy!” Boyd turned from his microphone and called across to her new station. “We seem to have convinced Don. He’s sending a vision set with his six-man search party. He wants to check his own estimate of the distance to where Reffel vanished, and assumes that we can pinpoint where his transmitter was. I know we could have at the time, but I’m not sure that would have been recorded. Do you want to take over here while I check up with the mappers, or would you rather go yourself?”
“I want to watch here a little longer. Benj can go up, if he can stand leaving the screens for a minute.” She looked only half-questioningly at the boy, and he nodded and disappeared at once. He was gone rather longer than expected, and returned with a somewhat crestfallen appearance.
“They said they’d gladly give me the map made from the first part of Reffel’s flight, before I had told him to go on out to where he could barely see the Kwembly. All they could say about where he disappeared was that it must be off that map, which covers the width of the valley for about a mile westward of the cruiser.”
Mersereau grunted in annoyance. “I’d forgotten about that.” He turned back to his microphone to relay this not very helpful information to Dondragmer.
The captain was neither particularly surprised nor greatly disturbed. He had already discussed his own estimate of the distance and direction involved with Stakendee, who was leading the search party.
“I suppose the human beings were right about having you take the set along,” the captain had remarked. “It will be a nuisance to carry and I don’t much like risking its loss, but having it will cut down the risk of losing you. I’m still concerned about a repetition of the flood that brought us here, and the people up above can’t give us any definite prediction—though they seem to agree that there should indeed be a flood season coming. With the set, they’ll be able to warn you if they get any definite information, and you’ll be able to tell me, through them, if you do find anything.”
“I’m not sure in my own mind what’s best to do if a flood does come,” said Stakendee. “Of course if we’re close to the Kwembly we’ll do our best to get back aboard, and I suppose if we’re really distant we’d make for the north side of the valley, which seems to be nearer. In a borderline case, though, I’m not sure which would be best; surviving the flood would do us little good if the ship got washed a year’s walk farther downstream.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” replied the captain, “and I still don’t have an answer. If we’re washed away again there’s the very large chance the ship will be ruined. I can’t decide whether we should take time to get life-support equipment out and set up on the valley side even before we go on with trying to melt her out. Your own point is a good one, and maybe I should have it there for your sake as well as ours. Well, I’ll solve it. Get on your way. The sooner this is done, the less we’ll have to worry about floods.”
Stakendee gestured agreement, and five minutes later Dondragmer saw him and his group emerge from the main lock. The communicator gave the party a grotesque appearance; the block of plastic, four inches high and wide and twelve in length, was being carried litter fashion by two of the searchers. The three-foot poles were only two inches apart, supported on yokes at the mid-point of the eighteen-inch-long bodies of the bearers. The poles and yokes had been fashioned from ship’s stores; the Mesklinite equivalent of lumber, of which literally tons filled some of the store compartments, formed another of the incongruities which the nuclear-powered cruiser offered in such profusion.
The search party rounded the bow of the Kwembly, which was facing northwest, and proceeded straight west. Dondragmer watched its lights for a few minutes as they wound around and over the boulders, but had to turn to other matters long before they were out of sight.
Elongated figures were swarming over the hull working the radiator bar loose. Dondragmer had not liked to give the order for such destructive activity; but he had weighed as best he could the relative risks of doing it or of leaving it undone, and after reaching a decision he was not sufficiently human to keep on worrying whether or not it had been a good one. Just as most human beings thought of Drommians as typically paranoid, most Mesklinites who knew them at all thought of human beings as typically vacillating. Dondragmer, the decision made and the order given, simply watched to make sure that a minimum of damage was done to the hull. From the bridge he was unable to see over its curve to the point, far astern, where the conductors came through; he would have to go outside a little later to oversee that part of the work. Maybe it would be even better to take a vision set outside and let the human engineers supervise it. Of course, with the communication delay it would be difficult for them to stop a serious error in time.
For the moment, though, the job could be left in Praffen’s nippers. The problem the captain had mentioned to Stakendee needed more thought. The life-support equipment was easy to dismount, and he could spare the men to transport it without cutting into the ice-removal project too badly; but, if a flood came while it was ashore and carried the Kwembly a long distance, things might become awkward. The system was a closed-cycle one using Mesklinite plants, depending on the fusion converters for its prime energy. By its nature, it had just about the right amount of vegetation to take care of the crew—had there been much more, there would not have been enough Mesklinites to take care of the plants. It might be possible to carry part of it away and leave the rest, and expand each half to take care of the whole crew whenever circumstances forced the decision between ship and shore; it would be easy enough to make more tanks, but growing either culture up to a population sufficient to supply hydrogen for the whole crew might be a little tense on time.
In a way it was too bad that all the communication went through the human station. One of the major and primary tasks of the Esket crew was to modify the old system, or to produce a new one, with much more flexibility in the number of people it could take care of; and for all Dondragmer knew, this end might have been accomplished months ago.
His musings were interrupted by the communicator.
“Captain! Benj Hoffman here. Would it be too much trouble to set up one of the viewers so that we could watch your men work on the melting project? Maybe the one on the bridge would do if you just slid it out to starboard and faced it aft.”
“That will be easy enough,” replied the captain. “I was thinking perhaps it would be well for some of you people to watch the work.”
Since the set weighed less than five hundred pounds in Dhrawn’s gravity, it was only its rather awkward dimensions which gave him trouble; he faced about the same problem as a man trying to move an empty refrigerator carton. By pushing it along the deck, rather than trying to pick it up, he worked it into a good position in a few seconds. In due course, the boy’s acknowledgment came back.
“Thanks, Captain; that’s good. I can see the ground along the starboard side, and what I suppose is the main lock, and some of your people working along the sides. It’s a little hard to judge distances, but I know how big the Kwembly is and about how far back the main lock is, and, of course, I know how big your people are, so I’d guess your lights let me see the ice for fifty or sixty yards on past the lock.”
Dondragmer was surprised. “I can see fully three times that far—no, wait; you’re using your twelve-based numbers so it’s not that much—but I do see farther. Eyes must be better than the pickup cells in your set. I hope, though, that you are not just watching what goes on here. Are the other screens for the Kwembly sets all where you can see them? Or are there other people watching them? I want to be kept in as close touch as I possibly can with the search party that has just left on foot. After what happened to Reffel, I’m uneasy about both them and their set.”
Dondragmer was debating with his own conscience as he sent this message. On the one hand, he was pretty certain that Reffel had shuttered his set deliberately, though it was even less clear to him than to Barlennan why this should have been necessary. On the other was his disapproval of the secrecy of the whole Esket maneuver. He would not, of course, deliberately ruin Barlennan’s plans by any act of his own; but he would not be too disappointed if everything came out in the open. There certainly was a reasonable chance that Reffel was in real trouble; if, as seemed likely, whatever had happened to him had occurred only a few miles away, he had had time to get back and explain even on foot.
In other words, Dondragmer had a good excuse, but disliked the thought that he even needed one. After all, there was Kervenser, too.
“All four screens are right in front of me,” Benj’s assurance came back. “Just now I’m alone at this station, though there are other people in the room. Mother is about ten feet away, at the Esket‘s screens—did anyone tell you that something had moved on one of those?—and Mr. Mersereau has just gone off for another argument with Dr. Aucoin.” (Barlennan would have given a great deal to hear that sentence.) “There are about ten other observers in the room watching the other sets, but I don’t know any of them very well. Reffel’s screen is still blank, five people are working in whatever room in the Kwembly your other set is in but I can’t tell just what they’re doing, and your foot party is just walking along. I can see only a few feet from them, and only in one direction, of course. The lights they’re carrying aren’t nearly as strong as the ones around the Kwembly. If anything does come after them, or some trouble develops, I may not even get as much warning as they do; and, of course, there’ll be the delay before I could tell them anyway.”
“Will you remind them of that?” asked Dondragmer. “The leader is named Stakendee. He doesn’t have enough of the human language to do any good. He may very well be depending too heavily on you and your equipment for warning; I’m afraid I took for granted, without saying much of anything about it, that your set would help him that way when we were planning the search. Please tell him that it is strictly an indirect communicator between him and me.”
The boy’s response was considerably longer in coming than light-lag alone would explain; presumably he was carrying out the request without bothering to acknowledge its receipt. The captain decided not to make a point of the matter; Hoffman was very young. There was plenty else to keep Dondragmer busy, and he occupied himself with this, filing the unfinished conversation until Benj’s voice once more reached the bridge.
“I’ve been in touch with Stak and told him what you asked. He promised to take care, but he’s not very far from the Kwembly yet—still among the stones, and they give out a little way upstream, you remember. He’s still on the map, I think, though I can’t really tell one square yard of that rock garden from another. It’s either smooth ice, or ice with cobblestones sticking up through it, or occasionally cobblestones with no ice between them. I don’t see how they’re going to search it very effectively. Even if you climb on the highest rock in the neighborhood, there are a lot of others you can’t see behind. The helicopters aren’t very big, and you Mesklinites are a lot smaller.”
“We realized that when we sent out the party,” Dondragmer answered. “A really effective search will be nearly impossible among the stones if the missing people are dead or even helpless. However, as you said, the stones give way to bare rock a short distance from here; and in any case, it is possible that Kerv or Reffel could answer calls, or call for help themselves. Certainly one can be heard much farther than he can be seen, at night. Also, whatever is responsible for their disappearance may be bigger or easier to spot.” The captain had a pretty good idea how Benj would answer the last sentence. He was right.
“Finding whatever that is by having another group disappear wouldn’t put us much farther ahead.”
“It would if we actually learned what had happened. Keep in close touch with Stakendee’s party, please, Benj. My own time is going to be taken up with other matters, and you’ll learn whatever happens half a minute before I could anyway. I don’t know that those seconds will make much real difference, but at least you’re closer to Stak in time than I am.
“Also, I have to go outside now.
We’re getting to a ticklish point in taking this metal bar off the hull. I’d bring one of the sets outside to keep in closer touch with you, but I wouldn’t be able to hear you very well through a suit. The volume of these communicators of yours isn’t very impressive. I’ll give you a call when I’m back in touch; there’s no one handy to leave on watch here. In the meantime please keep a running log, in any way you find convenient, on what happens to Stakendee.”
The captain waited just long enough to receive Benj’s acknowledgment—which did arrive this time—before making his way down to the lock and donning his airsuit. Preferring an inside climb to an outside one, he took the ramps back to the bridge and made use of the small lock which gave onto the top of the hull—a U-shaped pipe of liquid ammonia just about large enough for a Mesklinite body. Dondragmer unsealed and lifted the inner lid and entered the three-gallon pool of liquid, the cover closing by its own weight above him. He followed the curve down and up again and emerged through a similar lid outside the bridge.
With the smooth plastic of the hull curving down on all sides, except aft, he felt a little tense, of course; but he had long ago learned to control himself even in high places. His nippers flashed from one holdfast to another as he made his way aft to the point where the few remaining refrigerator attachments were still intact. Two of these were the ones which extended entirely through the hull as electrical contacts, and were, therefore, the ones which caused Dondragmer the most concern. The others, as he had hoped, were prying out of the cruiser’s skin like nails; but these last ones would have to be severed, and severed so that they could be reconnected later on. Welding and soldering were arts which Dondragmer knew only in theory, but whatever substitute was to be used would certainly need a stub projecting from the hull as a starting point. The captain wanted to make particularly sure that the cutting was done far enough out to leave one.
The cutting itself, as he had already been told, would be no trouble with Mesklinite saws. He selected carefully the points where the cuts were to be made, and saw two of his sailors started on this task; he warned the rest to get out of the way when the bar was free. This meant not only down to the surface but well away from the hull; the idea was to lower the metal on the lock side, once it was detached, but Dondragmer was a cautious being where weights were concerned and knew that the bar might just possibly not wait to be lowered. Even a Mesklinite would regret being underneath when it descended from the top of the hull, feeble as Dhrawn’s gravity seemed to them.
All this had taken the best part of an hour. The captain was wondering about the progress of the foot party, but there was another part of the melting project to check first. He reentered the ship and sought the laboratory, where Borndender was readying a power unit to fit the makeshift resistor. Actually there was little to be done; polarized sockets, one at one end of the block and one at the other, would provide direct current if the bar could be gotten into the holes, and any changes needed to make a fit possible would have to be made on the bar rather than the power box. It took only a moment to make this clear to the captain, who looked for himself, decided the scientist was obviously right, and made his way hastily back to the bridge. Only when he got there and tried to call Benj did he realize that he had never removed his airsuit; talking to Borndender through it was one thing, but the radio was quite another. He stripped it off far enough to get his speaking-siphon into the open and spoke again.
“I’m back, Benj. Has anything happened to Stakendee?” He finished removing the suit while waiting for the answer, smoothed it, and stowed it close to the center hatchway. It didn’t belong there, but there wouldn’t be time to get it down to the rack by the main lock and return before Benj’s words.
“Nothing really important, as far as I can tell, Captain,” came the boy’s voice. “They’ve walked a long way, though I can’t tell just how far—maybe three miles since you went, but that’s a guess. There has been no sign of either flier, and the only thing they, or I, have seen which might possibly have affected either of them has been an occasional patch of cloud a few hundred feet up—at least, that’s what Stak guesses; I can’t see well enough myself—drifting back toward the Kwembly. I suppose if you accidentally flew into a big cloud you might get disoriented and if it was low enough crash before you could straighten out; there aren’t any blind flying instruments on those things, are there? But it’s hard to believe they’d do such a thing—of course, if they were keeping their eyes on the ground instead of their flying—but none of the clouds we’ve seen so far is anywhere near big enough to give them time to lose their way, Stak says.”
Dondragmer was inclined to share this doubt about clouds being responsible—would have doubted it even had he not had reason for another opinion. An upward glance showed that no clouds had yet reached the Kwembly, the stars twinkled everywhere. Since Benj had said they were coming toward the cruiser, the ones Stakendee had seen must be at the edge of the pattern, and they must have been much farther to the west when the fliers were up. This might mean nothing as far as Kervenser was concerned—he could have been a long, long way from the Kwembly—but suggested that Reffel at least had not encountered them. He brought his attention back to Benj, who had not paused for a reply.
“Stak says the stream bed is going uphill noticeably, but he didn’t tell me how he knew—just that they’d gone up several feet since leaving the Kwembly.” Pressure change, Dondragmer assumed; it was always more noticeable in the suits. Just climbing around on the hull made a difference in suit tightness which could be felt. Besides, the stream which had carried the cruiser here had been flowing fairly fast; even allowing for Dhrawn’s gravity, its fall must be fairly great. “The only other real change is the nature of the bottom. They’re well away from the cobbles. It’s mostly bare rock, with patches of ice in the hollows.”
