Star Light, page 26
part #3 of Mesklin Series
"What's that?"
"If the human beings were convinced that we could not possibly carry out the rescue, it's just possible, especially with two Hoffmans to do the arguing, that they'd decide to do something about it themselves."
"But what could they do? The ship they call the 'barge' will only land here at the Settlement by its automatic controls, as I understand Rescue Plan One. They certainly can't fly it around on this world from out at the orbiting station; if it took them a whole minute to correct any mistake, they'd crash it right away. They certainly can't fly it down personally. It's set up to rescue us, with our air and temperature control, and besides Dhrawn's gravity would paint a human being over the deck."
"Don't underestimate those aliens, Ben. They may not be exactly ingenious, but there's been time for their ancestors to think up a lot of ready-made ideas we don't know about yet. I wouldn't do it if I felt there was a real chance of our getting there ourselves, but this way we're not putting the helmsmen in any worse danger than they are already; I think that we'll let the human beings get the idea of making the rescue themselves. It would be much better than giving up the plan."
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"What it boils down to," said Beetchermarlf to Takoorch, "is that we somehow have to find time between plugging leaks and cleaning poison out of the air units to convince people that the Kwembly is worth salvaging.
"The best way would be to get her going ourselves, though I doubt very much that we can do it. It's the cruiser that's going to set the policy. Your life and mine don't mean very much to the humans, except maybe to Benj, who isn't running things up there. If the ship stays alive, if we can keep these tanks going to supply us with food and air, and incidentally keep from being poisoned by oxygen ourselves, and make real, reportable progress in repairing and freeing the cruiser, then maybe they'll be convinced that a rescue trip is worth while. Even if they don't, we'll have to do all those things for our own sakes anyway; but if we can have the humans tell Barlennan that we have the Kwembly out and running, and will get her back to Dondragmer by ourselves, it should make quite a few people happy, especially the commander."
"Do you think we can do it?" asked Takoorch.
"You and I are the first ones to convince," replied the younger helmsman. "The rest of the world will be easier after that."
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"What it boils down to," said Benj to his father, "is that we won't risk the barge for two lives, even though that's what it's here for."
"Not quite right on either count," Ib Hoffman answered. "It's a piece of emergency equipment, but it was planned for use if the whole project collapsed and we had to evacuate the Settlement. This was always a possibility; there was a lot that just couldn't be properly tested in advance. For example, the trick of matching outside pressure in the cruisers and air-suits by using extra argon was perfectly reasonable, but we could not be sure there would be no side effects on the Mesklinites themselves; argon is inert by the usual standards, but so is xenon, which is an effective anaesthetic for human beings. Living systems are just too complicated for extrapolation ever to be safe, though the Mesklinites seem a lot simpler physiologically than we are. That may be one reason they can stand such a broad temperature range.
"But the point is, the barge is preset to home in on a beam transmitter near the Settlement; it won't land itself anywhere else on Dhrawn. It can be handled by remote control, of course, but not at this range.
"We could, I suppose, alter its on-board computer program to make it set itself down in other places, at least, on any reasonably flat surface; but would you want to set it down anywhere near your friend either by a built-in, unchangeable program or by long-delayed remote control? Remember the barge uses proton jets, has a mass of twenty-seven thousand pounds, and must put up quite a splash soft-landing in forty gravities, especially since its jets are splayed to reduce cratering." Benj frowned thoughtfully.
"But why can't we get closer to Dhrawn, and cut down the remote-control lag?" he asked, after some moments' thought. Ib looked at his son in surprise.
"You know why, or should. Dhrawn has a mass of 3,471 Earths, and a rotation period of just over fifteen hundred hours. A synchronous orbit to hold us above a constant longitude at the equator is therefore just over six million miles out. If you use an orbit a hundred miles above the surface you'd be traveling at better than ninety miles a second, and go around Dhrawn in something like forty minutes. You'd remain in sight of one spot on the surface for two or three minutes out of the forty. Since the planet has about eighty-seven times Earth's surface area, how many control stations do you think would be needed to manage one landing or lift-off?"
Benj made a gesture of impatience.
"I know all that, but there is already a swarm of stations down there, the shadow satellites. Even I know that they all have relay equipment, since they're all reporting constantly to the computers up here and at any given moment nearly half of them must be behind Dhrawn. Why can't a controller riding one of these, or a ship at about the same height, tie into their relays and handle landing and lift-off from there? Delay shouldn't be more than a second or so even from the opposite side of the world."
"Because," Ib started to answer, and then fell silent. He remained so for a full two minutes. Benj did not interrupt his thinking; the boy usually had a good idea of when he was ahead.
"There would have to be several minutes of interruption of neutrino data while the relays were being preempted," Ib said finally.
"Out of the how many years that they've been integrating that material?" Benj was not usually sarcastic with either of his parents, but his feelings were once more growing warm. His father nodded silently, conceding the point, and continued to think.
It must have been five minutes later, though Benj would have sworn to a greater number, that the senior Hoffman got suddenly to his feet.
"Come on, son. You're perfectly right. It will work for an initial space-to-surface landing, and for a surface-to-orbit lift-off, and that's enough. For surface-to-surface flight even one second is too much control delay, but we can do without that."
"Sure!" enthused Benj. "Lift off into orbit, get your breath, change the orbit to suit your landing spot and go back down."
"That would work, but don't mention it. For one thing, if we made a habit of it there would be a significant interruption of neutrino data transmission. Besides, I've wanted an excuse for this almost ever since I joined this project. Now I have one, and I'm going to use it."
"An excuse for what?"
"For doing exactly what I think Barlennan has been trying to maneuver us into doing all along: put Mesklinite pilots on the barge. I suppose he wants his own interstellar ship, some time, so that he can start leading the same life among the stars that he used to do on Mesklin's oceans, but he'll have to make do with one quantum jump at a time."
"Is that what you think he's been up to? Why should he care about having his own space pilots so much? And come to think of it, why wasn't that a good idea in the first place, if the Mesklinites don't learn how?"
"It was, and there's no reason to doubt that they can."
"Then why wasn't it done that way all along?"
"I'd rather not lecture on that subject just now. I like to feel as much pride in my species as circumstances allow, and the explanation doesn't reflect much credit either on man's rationality or his emotional control."
"I can guess, then," replied Benj. "But in that case, what makes you think we can change it now?"
"Because now, at the trifling cost of descending to the same general level of emotional reasoning, we have a handle on some of man's less generous drives. I'm going down to the planetology lab and filibuster. I'm going to ask those chemists why they don't know what trapped the Kwembly, and when they say it's because they don't have any samples of the mud, I'm going to ask them why they don't. I'm going to ask them why they've been making do with seismic and neutrino-shadow data when they might as well be analyzing mineral samples carted up here from every j spot where a Mesklinite cruiser has stopped for ten minutes. If you prefer not to descend to that level, and would rather work with mankind's no-bier emotions, you be thinking of all the heart-rending remarks you could make about the horror and cruelty of leaving your friend Beetchermarlf to suffocate slowly on an alien world parsecs from his home. We could use that if we have to take this argument to a higher authority, like the general public. I don't think we'll really need to, but right now I'm in no mood to restrict myself to clean fighting and logical argument. he "If Alan Aucoin growls about the cost of operating the barge (I think has too much sense), I'm going to jump on him with both feet. Energy has been practically free ever since we've had fusion devices; what costs is personal skill. He'll have to use Mesklinite crews anyway, so that investment is already made; and by letting the barge drift out here unused he's wasting its cost. I know there's a small hole in that logic, but if you point it out in Dr. Aucoin's hearing I'll paddle you for the first time since you were seven, and I don't think the last decade has done too much to my arm. You let Aucoin do his own thinking."
"You needn't get annoyed with me, Dad."
"I'm not. In fact, I'm not as much annoyed as I am scared."
"Scared? Of what?"
"Of what may happen to Barlennan and his people on what your mother calls 'that horrible planet.'
"But why? Why now, more than before?"
"Because I'm coming gradually to realize that Barlennan is an intelligent, forceful, thoughtful, ambitious, and reasonably well-educated being, just as my only son was six years ago; and I remember your homemade diving outfit much too well. Come on. We have an astronautics school to get organized, and a student body to collect."
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EPILOGUE: LESSONS
At two hundred miles, the barge was just visible as a star-like object reflecting Lalande 2l185's feeble light. Benj had watched the vessel as it pulled up to that distance and moved into what its pilot considered a decent station-keeping orbit, but neither he nor the pilot had discussed technical details. It was so handy to be able to hold a conversation without waiting a full minute for the other fellow's answer that Benj and Beetchermarlf had simply chattered.
These conversations were becoming less and less frequent. Benj was really back at work now and, he suspected, making up for lost time. Beetchermarlf was often too far away on practice flights to talk at all, and even more frequently too occupied to converse with anyone but his instructor.
"Time to turn it over, Beetch," the boy ended the present exchange as he heard Tebbets' whistling from down the shaft. "The taskmaster is on the way.
"I'm ready when he is," came the reply. "Does he want to use your language or mine this time?"
"He'll let you know; he didn't tell me. Here he is," replied Benj.
The bearded astronomer, however, spoke first to Benj after looking quickly around. The two were drifting weightless in the direct-observation section at the center of the station's connecting bar, and Tebbets had taken for granted that the barge and his student would be drifting alongside. All his quick glance caught was the dull ember of a sun in one direction and the dimly lit disc of Dhrawn, little larger than Luna seen from Earth, in the other.
"Where is he, Benj? I thought I heard you talking to him, so I assumed he was close. I hope he isn't late. He should be solving intercept orbits, even with nomographs instead of high-speed computers, better than that by now."
"He's here, sir." The boy pointed. "Just over two hundred miles away, in a 17.8-minute orbit around the station."
Tebbets blinked. "That's ridiculous. I don't think this heap of hardware would whip anything around in that time at a distance of two hundred feet, let alone that many miles. He'd have to use power, accelerating straight toward us—"
"He is, sir. About two hundred G's acceleration. The time is the rotation period of Mesklin, and the acceleration is the gravity value at his home port. He says he hasn't been so comfortable since he signed up with Barlennan, and wishes there were some way to turn up the sunlight."
The astronomer smiled slowly.
"Yes. I see. That does make sense. I should have thought of it myself. I have some more practice exercises for him here, but that's about as good as any of them. I should do more of that sort of thing. Well, let's get at it. Can you stay to check my language? I think I have the Stennish words for everything in today's work, and space is empty enough so that his mistakes and mine should both be relatively harmless, but there's no need to take chances.
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"It's too bad the Kwembly couldn't be salvaged after all," remarked Aucoin, "but Dondragmer's crew is doing a very good and effective study of the area while they're waiting for relief. I think it was a very good idea to send the Kalliff after them with a skeleton crew and let them work while they waited, instead of taking them back to the Settlement in the barge. That would have been pretty dangerous anyway, until there are practiced Mesklinite pilots. The single landing near the Kwembly to get the two helmsmen, and a direct return to space while they were trained, was probably the safest way to do it.
"But now we have this trouble with the Smof At this rate we'll be out of cruisers before we're halfway around Low Alpha. Does anyone know the Smof's commander the way Easy knows Dondragmer? You don't, I suppose, Easy? Can anyone give a guess at his ability to get himself out of trouble? Or are we going to have to risk sending the barge down before those two Mesklinites are fully trained?"
"Tebbets thinks Beetchermarlf could handle a surface landing now, as long as it wasn't complicated by mechanical emergencies," pointed out an engineer. "Personally I wouldn't hesitate to let him go.
"You may be right. The trouble is, though, that we certainly can't land the barge on an ice pack, and not even the barge can lift one of those land-cruisers, even if there were a way of fastening them together without an actual landing. Beetchermarlf and Takoorch may as well continue their training for the moment. What I want as soon as possible, Planetology, is the best direction and distance for the Smof's crew to trek if they do have to abandon the cruiser, that is, the closest spot where the barge could land to pick them up. If it's close to their present location, don't tell them, of course; I want them to do their best to save the cruiser, and there's no point in tempting them with an easy escape." Ib Hoffman stirred slightly, but refrained from comment. Aucoin, from one point of view, was probably justified. The administrator went on, "Also, is there definite word on the phenomenon that trapped the Kwembly? You've had specimens of the mud, or whatever it is, that Beetchermarlf brought up, for weeks now.
"Yes," replied a chemist. "It's a fascinating example of surface action. It's sensitive to the nature and particle size of the minerals present, the proportions of water and ammonia in the lubricating fluid, the temperature, and the pressure. The Kwembly's weight, of course, was the main cause of trouble; the Mesklinites could walk around on it, in fact, they did, safely enough. Once triggered by a pressure peak, the strength went out of the stuff in a wave—"All right, the rest can serve for a paper," Aucoin nodded. "Is there any way to identify such a surface without putting a ship onto it?"
"Hmm. I'd say yes. Radiation temperature should be information enough, or at least, it would warn that further tests should be made. For that matter, I wouldn't worry about its ever getting the barge; the jets would boil the water and ammonia out of such a surface safely before touchdown."
Aucoin nodded, and passed on to other matters. Cruiser reports, publication reports, supply reports, planning prospectuses.
He was still a little embarrassed. He had known his own failing, but like most people had excused it, and felt sure it wasn't noticeable. But the Hoffmans had noticed it, maybe others had. He'd have to be careful, if he wanted to keep a responsible and respected job. Alter all, he repeated firmly to himself, Mesklinites were People, even if they looked like bugs.
Ib Hoffman's attention wandered, important though he knew the work to be. His mind kept going back to the Kwembly, and the Smof and to a well-designed, well-built piece of diving gear which had almost killed an eleven-year-old boy. The reports, punctuated by Aucoin's sometimes acid comments, droned on; slowly Ib made up his mind.
"We're getting ahead," remarked Barlennan. "There was good excuse for taking the vision sets out of the Kwembly, since she was being abandoned, so we've been able to work on her with no restrictions. We could use Reffel's helicopter, since the humans think it's lost, too. Jemblakee and Deeslenver seem to feel that the cruiser can be back in running state in another day." He glanced at the feeble sun, almost exactly overhead.
"The human chemists were certainly helpful about that mud she was in. It was funny how the one who talked to Dee about the stuff kept insisting that he was only guessing, while he made suggestion after suggestion. It's too bad we couldn't tell him how successful most of his ideas were.
"Self-doubt seems to be a human trait, if it's safe to make such a sweeping remark," replied Guzmeen. "When did this news get in?"
"The Deedee came in an hour ago, and is gone again. There's too much for that machine to do. It was bad enough when we lost the Elsh, and with Kabremm and his Gwelf overdue things are piling up. I hope we find him. Maybe the Kalliff will turn up something; he was supposed to be scouting a route to get her to Don's camp, so maybe one of Kenanken's scouts will spot him. He's less than a day overdue, so there's still a chance ..."
