Land and Overland - Omnibus (75 page)

This can't be right! We can't be falling into the sun!

Toller was striving to bring his thoughts under control when the sound of the engine died away and in the same moment he heard Zavotle calling his name from the upper part of the ship. Finding that he was again completely without weight, Toller dived through the air to the ladder and went up it hand over hand. He drew himself on to the top deck by means of a rail and faced the rest of the crew, all of whom, with the exception of Gotlon, were clinging to their sleeping nets.

"Something strange is happening," Zavotle said. "The ship grows warm."

"I have noticed." Toller looked at Gotlon, who was regarding him from the pilot's seat. "Are we on course?"

Gotlon nodded vigorously. "Sir, we are exactly on course and have been since the outset. I swear to you that Gola has not departed the crosshairs for as much as one second." Gola was a figure in Kolcorronian myth who appeared before lost mariners and led them to safe havens, and the name had been given to the guide star selected for the first part of the outward journey.

Toller addressed himself to Zavotle. "Couldn't we nevertheless be moving sideways? Falling towards the sun, but with the prow of the ship pointed at Gola?"

"Why should we fall? And even if we were falling it's too soon for extra warmth to manifest itself on that account."

"If you look aft you'll see that we are still in the same relationship with Overland and Land," Berise added. "We are on course."

"This is something for my flight log," Zavotle said, almost to himself. "We have to take it that space is warm. It isn't surprising, really, because in space there is eternal sunshine. But the sun also shines in the weightless zone—and there a terrible coldness reigns. It's yet another mystery, Toller."

"Mystery or no mystery," Toller replied, deciding to act in a positive manner to offset the uncertainty which had been engendered by the first brush with the unexpected, "it means we can divest ourselves of these cursed suits, and that's something for which to be thankful. We can at least enjoy a little comfort."

By the third day of the flight a shipboard routine had become well established, much to Toller's satisfaction. He was aware of the dangers of monotony and-boredom which could lie ahead, but those were predictable human problems and he felt capable of dealing with them. It was when nature itself became capricious, giving the lie to man's most cherished beliefs, that he began to feel like a babe wandering in a dangerous forest.

Since the initial, and now welcome, discovery that space was comfortably warm, the nearest thing to a revelation to come along had been the observation—first reported by Wraker—that there were no meteors in the interplanetary void. To Toller's surprise, liven Zavotle had seized on the observation, apparently in the belief that it possessed some significance, and had made it the subject of another long entry in his log.

The little man's illness seemed to be progressing according to his expectations. Although he uttered no complaints he was visibly thinner, and spent much of his time with both fists pressed into his stomach. He had also, which was quite out of character with the old Zavotle, become short-tempered and acidulous with the younger crew members, particularly Bartan Drumme. The others, while convinced that Bartan was subject to spells of insanity, were tolerant in the matter whereas Zavotle frequently made him a target for ridicule. Bartan accepted the abuse with equanimity, secure in his fortress of delusion, but on several occasions Berise had been stung into taking his part and her relationship with Zavotle had become strained.

Toller was loath to interfere, knowing that his old friend was being driven by a demon worse than his own, and he was trusting that Berise would not let the situation get out of hand. His own relationship with her—ever since their five days in the exclusive universe of the sinking skyship—was warm, comforting and totally dispassionate. They had found each other at a special time, a unique time during which their needs had been perfectly complementary, a time which would never come again, and now they were shaping their own separate courses into the future, without obligations or regrets. It had not even occurred to him to object when she had claimed a place with the expedition. He knew that she understood the dangers, that her reasons had to be at least as valid as his own.

Human interactions apart, Toller foresaw that food and drink—whether being ingested or eliminated—were likely to make the greatest demands on the crew's powers of endurance. There could be no fire for cooking, so the diet consisted of strictly apportioned cold servings of dried, and salted meat and fish, desiccated fruit, nuts and biscuits, washed down with water and one tot of brandy per day.

The fact that the main engine was being fired almost continuously, thus imparting some weight to everything, made the toilet procedures less onerous than in zero gravity conditions, but the experience remained one which called for reserves of stoicism. In the midships lavatory there was a complicated tubular exhaust with one-way valves—the only point at which the hull could be breached in space. Unavoidably, a small quantity of air was lost each time the device was operated, but the volume of gas generated by the firesalt was enough to compensate.

It had originally been envisaged that all six of the crew would take equal turns in the pilot's seat, but the plan was soon modified by practical considerations. Berise, Gotlon and Wraker were able to hold Gola on the crosshairs with ease, and Bartan was rapidly acquiring the same facility—but for Toller and Zavotle the task became even more irksome and tiring. Bowing to expediency, Toller rearranged the duty schedules to let the four young people keep the ship on its interception course with Farland, while he and Zavotle had more time to dispose of as they saw fit. Zavotle was able to occupy himself with astronomical studies and prolonged entries in his leather-bound log, but for Toller the extra hours were burdensome.

At times he thought about his wife and son, wondering what they were doing, and at others he gazed moodily through portholes at a frozen, unchanging panoply of stars, silver whirlpools and comets. In those periods the ship seemed to be permanently locked in place, and try as he might Toller was unable to accept that it was achieving the kind of speed necessary for the interplanetary crossing.

"Are you ready?" Bartan said to Berise. When she nodded he shut down the engine, floated himself out of the pilot's seat and held the straps for Berise while she took his place.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a cordial smile. He nodded politely, impersonally, made his way to the ladder and went down it, leaving Berise to share the top deck with Toller and Zavotle. Gotlon and Wraker were busy loading the fuel hoppers in the tail section.

"I think someone is developing a soft spot for young Bartan," Toller commented, addressing himself to nobody in particular.

Zavotle sniffed loudly. "If that is the case, then that someone is only wasting her time. Our Mister Drumme reserves all his affections for spirits of one kind or another—bottled or disembodied."

"I don't care what you say." Berise paused, hands resting lightly on the controls. "He must have loved his wife very much. If I died or disappeared soon after being married I'd like my husband to fly to another world in search of me. I think it's very romantic."

"You're nearly as mad as he is," Zavotle told her. "I hope we're not all going to be afflicted by some mental contagion, a pterthacosis of the mind. What do you say, Toller?"

"Bartan does his job—perhaps we should leave it at that?"

"Yes." Zavotle gazed through the porthole beside him for a few seconds, his expression becoming enigmatic. "Perhaps he does his job much better than I do mine."

Toller's interest was aroused not only by what the other man had said, but by something in his inflexion. "Is there something wrong?"

Zavotle nodded. "I selected a guide star which was supposed to put us on an interception course with Farland. Had I done the calculations properly, and chosen the guide star well, we should see it and Farland gradually drawing closer together ahead of us."

"Well?"

"We are only five days into the flight, but already it is apparent that Farland and Gola are moving apart. I have put off telling you because I was hoping—foolishly, I suppose—that the situation would change, or that I would be able to devise an explanation. Neither of those things has come to pass, so I must consider myself to have failed to discharge my duties."

"But it isn't all that serious, is it?" Toller said. "Surely, all we have to do is aim closer to Farland. We are not under any threat."

"Only the threat posed by incompetence." Zavotle produced a rueful smile. "You see, Toller,
nothing
is working out as I expected. Farland seems too bright, and also its image in the telescope is too large. I would swear it is twice as big as when we started out. Perhaps optical instruments work differently in the void. I don't know—I can't explain it."

"It could mean that we have completed half the journey," Berise said.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Zavotle replied tartly. "You speak of matters far beyond your understanding."

Berise's eyebrows drew together. "I understand that when something appears to double in size the distance to it has been halved. It seems quite simple to my mind."

"To the simple mind everything appears simple."

"Let's have no bickering," Toller said. "What we need…"

"But the idiotic woman is suggesting that we have travelled nine or ten million miles in only five days," Zavotle protested, kneading his stomach. "Two million miles in a day! That is a speed of more than eighty thousand miles an hour—which is impossible. The true speed…"

The true speed of your ship is now in excess of one hundred thousand miles an hour,
said the golden-haired woman who had shimmered into existence near the side of the compartment.

Toller stared at the woman, knowing without being told that she was Bartan Drumme's wife, and his inner model of the universe and all its ways flowed and was changed for ever. He felt cold and weak, but somehow unafraid. Berise and Zavotle had not moved, and although they were looking in different directions he knew they were seeing exactly what he was seeing. The woman was beautiful, and she was wearing a simple white dress, and she glowed like a candle in the dimness of the ship's interior. She spoke in anger shaded with concern.

At first I could not believe it when I sensed Bartan drawing nearer, and then I searched and found that it was true! You set out across space without even understanding the effects of continuous acceleration! How could you fail to realise that you were heading for certain death?

"Sondy!" Bartan had returned to the upper deck and was clinging to a handhold near the head of the ladder. "I am coming to bring you home."

You are a fool, Bartan. All of you are reckless fools. You, liven Zavotle, you who drew up the plans for the voyage—how did you expect to land on this world?

Zavotle spoke like a man in a trance. "We planned to slow our ship down by plunging it into Farland's atmosphere."

And that would have been the end of you! At the speed you would have attained on reaching Farland the friction with the atmosphere would have produced so much heat that your ship would have become a meteor. And even if by some miracle you had landed safely—had you simply assumed that the air would be breathable?

"Air? Air is air."

How little you know! And you, Toller Maraquine, you who style yourself leader of this ill-conceived expedition—do you accept full responsibility for the lives of those you command?

"I do," Toller said steadily. A part of his mind was telling him that he and the others ought to be cringing with fear or reeling with astonishment, anything but calmly answering questions put to them by an apparition, but it was in the nature of the mental communion that all normal human reactions were prorogued. He now understood Bartan's previous assertion that, by definition, anything which
happens
cannot be supernatural.

In that case,
Sondeweere continued,
if you retain any vestiges of a conscience, you will immediately abandon this wildest of ventures. I will give you the instructions and guidance necessary to effect a safe return to Overland.

"I cannot agree to that proposal," Toller said. "While it is true that I boast the title of commander of this extraordinary mission, its members have their individual and separate reasons for wanting to set foot on Farland. My authority is rooted in the common will to proceed, and were I to propose turning back my voice would become only one among many."

A slippery answer, Toller Maraquine.
The vision regarded him with blue-seething eyes.
Does it mean that you are prepared to lead your crew to their deaths?

"I see no need for that? If it is within your power to guide us safely to Overland you must be able to do the same with regard to Farland."

How little you understand! How little you know of the dangers that await you here!
The silent words were now tinged with impatience.
Many years ago you found Overland to be uninhabited, and now—blindly—you presume that Farland is the same. Has it not occurred to you that this world is peopled, that it has its own civilisation? Did you think I had an entire planet to myself?

"I had given the matter no thought," Toller said. "Until this minute I believed that Bartan was mad, and that you did not exist anywhere."

I see now that I should never have reached out to you, Bartan. It was a mistake I would not have made had my development been complete, but I must bear the responsibility for the jeopardy in which you and your companions have been placed. I beg you,
Bartan—do not add to my remorse. You must persuade your friends to return to Overland.

"I love you, Sondy—and nothing will keep me from your side."

But what you contemplate is sheer folly! You cannot hope to rescue me with a force of only six.