Authors: Hal Clement
Heavy Planet (25 page)
“Hadn’t you better cut loose, then, Captain?”
“Not until we can see whether moving in toward the rock is good or bad. We’re standing by to cut if we have to. There doesn’t seem to be anything yet for us to hit.”
Barlennan kept a running comment going, as he had promised, while basket and bag headed downstream. The nearest motionless objects were now either too distant—features on the land away from the cliff—or too vague, like the fog, to allow a trustworthy estimate of speed. It was one of the Flyers who pointed out that the tracker was moving downstream surprisingly fast. He didn’t seem really sure that it was surprising; all earlier estimates of the river current had come from direction measurements of the communicator outputs, which were not very reliable with the line of sight to the moon practically horizontal. This was not the tracker’s first trip to the lower ground, but was its first ride on what had become a surface vehicle.
One of the watchers remarked audibly that he was surprised the vehicle wasn’t in white water; another, not bothering to correct the name of the liquid, suggested that the first speaker think gravity. Just what would “white” imply about the current’s speed on Mesklin?
The twelve-plus kilometers an hour was several times any earlier estimate, however unreliable that might have been. It implied a source of liquid unrelated to what had been seen of the upstream areas from earlier balloon flights. This was not merely methane which had found its way, after some delay, around the recent rockfall.
The people on the basket finally observed this, too. The drag toward the rocks had been maintained as wind kept its grip on the now rapidly flattening bag. The sharp rocks were suddenly passing uncomfortably close to a structure which had been designed for lightness. Contact could be awkward even if the pieces continued to float, as they no doubt would. Barlennan heard himself commenting on this as part of his running report, and interrupted the monologue with a sudden, sharp order.
“All of you! Cut it free!”
Simultaneously the bag caught on a sharp, solid rock corner, jerking the basket to a halt; anywhere near the equator the crew would have been hurled overboard. Karondrasee, in fact, did get jerked over the side.
For just a moment the cook could be seen borne away from the suddenly anchored car; then, as the others finished cutting the dozen cords which had held basket and bag together, the former resumed its downstream rush even more rapidly than before. It was now relatively motionless with respect to the swimmer, and he had no trouble wriggling back to what might or might not be safety. He needed no help getting aboard through one of the gunwale crenellations, and the fact that he brought a good deal of methane with him made no real difference. In spite of the total absence of spray, the footing on board was already extremely wet. During the brief halt, the river had spilled over the
upstream gunwale and nearly washed several more objects into the river.
upstream gunwale and nearly washed several more objects into the river.
The communicator was high enough above the deck to stay clear, but the inertial tracker was not. Neither were the three remaining natives. It was Hars, perhaps more concerned with all things connected with flying, who curled his long body about the sphere, gripping it with every leg which could be brought to the task. Sailor and instrument washed rapidly across the deck in the direction from which Karondrasee was swimming, but they did not go overboard.
Hars’ own display of personal strength surprised no one, but his fellows and the watching Flyers were all rather startled that the gunwale seized by one of his chelae did not tear loose from the rest of the basket. He uncoiled partly, still retaining his grip on the tracker, and spread the load on the gunwale with more pincers; by the time the cook was safely aboard, the sloshing of liquid across the deck had ceased and the tension had eased.
“It would have been easy enough to find,” Barlennan remarked. “I know it would have sunk, but the river’s pretty clear.”
“Is the bottom solid?” a Flyer voice—again, not Jeanette’s—asked pointedly.
“I don’t know, but it looks—” the captain paused, then went on, “Just a moment.” He vanished over the rail. His crew watched with interest but no great concern; the aliens were highly concerned but couldn’t watch. The long body reappeared and moved in front of the lens.
“It might have been serious at that. It’s the same slushy stuff, and it’s travelling—not as fast as the river, but if the tracker had sunk we’d never have found it. Good work, Hars.” The exhaled breaths were audible through the communicator, but carried no meaning to the natives.
Dondragmer could not see anything nor hear everything, but had been able to infer what was happening.
“Is anyone watching ahead, Captain? You must be travelling pretty fast. We’re getting ourselves and the radio back from the river; it seems from what you said it’s a lot wider and faster where you are now, and that it became so very suddenly. All of us are staying with the radio as we move it; I’m sure the Flyers know that faster-moving methane carries things more easily.”
“Sixth-power law,” a barely audible alien voice muttered. The words were not in Stennish, but the mate understood both them and their mathematical implications. Barlennan got the former only, but no order was needed to drive the mate to greater haste. The captain had heard the question about looking ahead, and without acknowledging the words was doing so.
Actually, looking aside was more worrisome; the basket was still closer than he liked to the edge of the rockfall.
Worse—
much
worse—it could be seen that much of the finer waste from the cliff was being washed away by the current, leaving widening spaces between the larger fragments.
much
worse—it could be seen that much of the finer waste from the cliff was being washed away by the current, leaving widening spaces between the larger fragments.
Well, the Flyers weren’t
always
wrong, of course.
always
wrong, of course.
He could not see what was happening to the loosened stuff. The surface was too turbulent to offer a clear view below it.
He remembered his earlier promise and began describing the new phenomenon to Dondragmer. Sherrer, his flexible body partly overside, rotated the basket to let the communicator eye look ahead. His chelae were poorly shaped for the work, but his paddling did have results.
“You seem to be approaching a bend to the right, in both fog and river,” Jeanette remarked. “I’d guess it’s that kink—that point—in what used to be the cliff, a couple of miles or so upstream from where Don is.”
Barlennan saw no reason to disagree, and the possibilities which a quick change in flow might offer were enough to focus his attention. “Dondragmer, is your part of the river widening at all rapidly? It should be if the Flyer’s right. How well are you moving the radio? Can you keep it moving and also let it look upstream?”
“We are moving. I’m not sure about change in width, since we’re away from the river itself now. We’re keeping the lens pointed more or less upstream, but I’m afraid they’re not getting a very steady view.”
“Don’t worry about that, Don. We can take pix when it’s steady and look at them. You’re right about keeping the viewer as safe as possible.”
“Thank you, Flyer Jeanette.”
It was indeed a turn to the right, the captain saw as they approached it. The current was visibly swifter; they were still close enough to the shattered, pulverized, and steaming rocks for this to be very obvious.
He suddenly realized that
everything
at the foot of the pile was much larger now; the fragments resembled the gigantic—to him—slabs and prisms which had earlier shown only on the higher and steeper part of the fall.
everything
at the foot of the pile was much larger now; the fragments resembled the gigantic—to him—slabs and prisms which had earlier shown only on the higher and steeper part of the fall.
It was hard to tell from this close, but the general slope seemed to be steeper, too, as though the whole fallen mass were still gently sinking.
Maybe it was. The fine stuff below was certainly vanishing.
There was a fan of standing ripples angling out across their course ahead; the mate would almost certainly have been curious about this, but Barlennan was just uneasy. The river was still liquid. He felt it again to make sure. He did not, however, wonder what made these little ridges in it—only what would happen to the basket and its passengers when they reached them.
Which they would do in seconds. Would they be hitting liquid, or something solid enough to support those humps which lay a little
above
the general river level, or something slippery which would bend the raft’s structure into its own shape?
above
the general river level, or something slippery which would bend the raft’s structure into its own shape?
It was liquid, both its high and its low parts, they found. Motionless waves were something new to Barlennan, and he reported as well as he could to his mate and the aliens. The basket was still intact, though everyone aboard had felt the deck under his feet follow the up-and-down displacement of the surface
as they passed the still ripples. The Flyers seemed unsurprised, but Barlennan was not asking for explanations just yet.
as they passed the still ripples. The Flyers seemed unsurprised, but Barlennan was not asking for explanations just yet.
The foursome ceased thinking about the ripples at once. The next event was prompt, less unfamiliar, and more frightening.
There was an eddy on the downstream side of the point, where the liquid swept around, They had all seen such things before, but never in gravity this high. If there had been time to think, they might have foreseen this one, though not in full detail. They had never, after all,
felt
one in gravity this high either.
felt
one in gravity this high either.
Barlennan tried to keep reporting.
“We’re around the corner. We can’t see you, though—”
“I haven’t seen you, either.”
“Not surprising. There’s a hollow in the methane, we’re quite a bit below the river level, and can’t see much but the rocks—when we’re looking that way.”
“Captain! What’s happening? The eye and the tracker both say you’re—you’re moving in a tight circle. How can?—”
It was often nice to have the Flyers tell him what was going on and advise him what to do about it. It was sometimes nice to have them unable to tell him what was going on, thus providing a little salting to the flavor of omniscience they claimed not to want. It was not nice when he didn’t know what to do about it himself. He described what was happening in as much detail as he could observe, and as he did so realized what was probably going to happen next.
The broad swirl of liquid cut in toward the edge of the rock slope and divided there, some swerving back upstream and some resuming its original journey down. At the point where the division occurred, the biggest rocks were visibly
settling
still. Not fast, but visibly. The finer stuff had washed out from between and among them, and the higher and larger items were crowding vertically closer to each other as the material originally separating them vanished.
settling
still. Not fast, but visibly. The finer stuff had washed out from between and among them, and the higher and larger items were crowding vertically closer to each other as the material originally separating them vanished.
The pieces were big. They were very big, and as the seconds brought the basket closer the face of the slope began to change. It grew still steeper, and the spaces between the huge boulders seemed to open like mouths, leading into the face of the bank—with throats leading
under
it.
under
it.
All four sailors were familiar with the hazard of
striking
rocks. They had even, occasionally, been swept between rocks.
striking
rocks. They had even, occasionally, been swept between rocks.
But they were Mesklinites, and if any of their colleagues had ever been carried
under
rocks no one had ever heard about it. The four paddled frantically but without much result, even after the captain got them all paddling in the same direction. The basket flung itself toward the bank, swerving only at the last moment, with some of the huge fragments close enough for even the Mesklinites to touch.
under
rocks no one had ever heard about it. The four paddled frantically but without much result, even after the captain got them all paddling in the same direction. The basket flung itself toward the bank, swerving only at the last moment, with some of the huge fragments close enough for even the Mesklinites to touch.
The swerve was upstream, back toward the point, which meant that they
would be going through it all again. And perhaps again, and again …
would be going through it all again. And perhaps again, and again …
The rocks were still quite hot, though the wind toward the rocky bank made things a little better. Methane striking the fragments didn’t actually splash, though it did rise a short distance above its regular level before boiling into invisibility and reappearing as fog. Spray was extremely rare this far from the equator.
They reached the upstream side of the eddy, swept out into the main current once more, but were not yet free. It was going to be
again
.
again
.
But only once. They were carried back toward the fallen cliff somewhat farther downstream this time. The settling was still going on, but less rapidly; could one hope it was actually stopping? that the mud was nearly all gone, and the big fragments resting directly on each other? Well, yes, one could hope. There were no sounds of falling and grinding, after all.
The lowest part of the rock pile was now definitely much steeper and formed of really huge fragments, with open spaces between sometimes wide enough for one of the old
Bree’s
rafts; and the current was not dividing at the very edge any more. Methane was flowing
into
the interstices, flowing almost as rapidly as in the farther-out parts of the eddy. There was no way to paddle the basket fast enough and far enough either up- or downstream to get it carried in either direction. It was going to travel
into
the wreckage of the cliff.
Bree’s
rafts; and the current was not dividing at the very edge any more. Methane was flowing
into
the interstices, flowing almost as rapidly as in the farther-out parts of the eddy. There was no way to paddle the basket fast enough and far enough either up- or downstream to get it carried in either direction. It was going to travel
into
the wreckage of the cliff.
Not even the Flyers could find words. They could see it coming; their lens at the moment was pointing in the basket’s direction of motion. None of them ever admitted whether the fate of the natives or the loss of the communicator and tracker concerned them more.
There were other communicators, of course, and Dondragmer might prove to be a better agent than his captain; but there was only the one tracker, and great things had been planned for it once it had been found to be still functional. If it could be carried over land and sea all the way back to the equator, while being followed from above by communicator waves so that gravity and inertial effects could be distinguished, what
couldn’t
be learned of Mesklin’s interior?
couldn’t
be learned of Mesklin’s interior?
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