Rocket to Limbo

by Alan E Nourse

  “Lorry nodded. “What about encampment?”

  “We’ll have a short day, so it will be best to find a good encampment place, and return back to the ship tomorrow. You can break in any newcomers to outpost camping techniques, and get them trained for an assault on the wreck later. Kennedy, keep an eye on the terrain — I’ll want your opinion on the best approach to that thing up there — whether you can drop men from the scooter and pick them up again, or whether you can bring the scooter in to land somewhere higher than this. Okay? Let’s go!”

  The Commander’s group began assembling. Salter and Leeds were huddled to one side with Bob Tenebreck of Lorry’s crew, talking rapidly and quietly, but the Commander was concerned with a final check of equipment and did not notice the hasty conference. Lars could not find Peter, at first; then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and they checked each other’s packs. But Peter was watching the conference closely, and when it broke up he moved in beside Leeds as Lambert came up to join Lars.

  They started across the frozen delta land, in pairs, with Commander Fox in the lead, carrying the light intercom equipment as they moved.

  “Cold!” Lars said between his teeth as Lambert joined him.

  “You feel it?”

  “Just inside.”

  “I know. When I took my first step off a ship onto a new planet, I thought I was dead for sure.” Lambert grinned. “You feel as if you’re leaving your last hope of protection behind you.”

  “But this place — ”

  “You’ll get over it. You’ll be calling this ‘home’ in no time.”

  Lars grunted and bent against the stiff gale coming down the valley. The clouds were breaking to the sun-side now, flooding the frozen tundra with an unspeakably gloomy orange-gray light. “That I’ve got to see,” he said. “Right now, the sooner we’re back snug in the Ganymede the better I’ll like it.”

  They were making their way across a hard, frozen stubble. Occasionally they broke through the icy crust, sinking ankle-deep into clinging brown mud. Ahead they could see the line of scrub trees clinging to the river’s edge, and beyond the green-black line of the jungle’s edge.

  “I wonder why there’s no vegetation here?” Lars puzzled.

  “This probably floods every spring,” Lambert said. ‘This is a poor excuse for summertime, but that’s what it is. This will probably melt during the day and turn into a real quagmire. And there can’t be much topsoil up there in those mountains to catch the runoff of snow, so it will fill the river during relatively warm summer days and cover these flats with mud.” He blinked as a flight of small black birds went by them at rocket-like speed. “Looked like ducks, for a minute.”

  “They were,” Lars said. “About the size of robins, though. And I bet they’d be tough to eat.”

  As they approached the river they found a surprising variety of animal life scuttling away at their approach. Most of the creatures were gray or black, with nature’s universal color protection, blending perfectly into the tarn. The sun rose higher, until the men cast shadows, but presently the sunlight flickered as deeper shadows crossed it.

  Fox signaled a halt, and all eight men blinked up at the sky. Two mammoth hawk-like creatures were gliding across the cloud-studded sky, circling, returning. Hardly a feather fluttered in their wings, which seemed to form a black cape about their bodies. Suddenly the wings collapsed, and the creatures hurtled downward in perfect timing. A startled animal scream burst out near the landing party, and they heard the birds’ wings crash open with a sound like muffled thunder as they rose again into the air. One of them gripped in its talons a tiny furry creature like a short-eared rabbit and tried to make off with its prey, but the others moved in to battle. In an instant the sky was full of feathers of the great hawks and they screamed and raked each other, the rabbit falling to the ground forgotten.

  They moved on toward the river, loading their sample bags with bits of the scrub vegetation and samples of soil and rock. Tiny insects scurried out of their way. “How can they live in this climate?” Commander Fox asked, dropping back to confer with Lambert.

  “Probably genetic adaptability,” Lambert replied. “We saw the same thing in the microscopic flora. We can assume that this planet was not always so cold and that the change came gradually. Possibly it is having an ice age, just as we know happened on Earth. I want to see those trees, though. I’ll bet they’re tough little plants!”

  “Shouldn’t be long now. The river’s right ahead.”

  They didn’t hurry. They paused for hourly checks with Lorry’s crew, matching their progress toward the other side of the delta. As they moved, the mountains ahead loomed bigger and more formidable. But nowhere was there any sign of life other than the simple forms they saw around them.

  At last they reached the river, a wild, gray turbulent stream three hundred yards wide, throwing up a roar of sound that all but drowned out their voices. They moved up the banks, looking for a more favorable crossing place, and Fox signaled to stop for some lunch. It was as Lars sank down to munch his share of the self-heating ration that he made the first discovery.

  • • •

  Later they debated loudly what it was doing there, how it had gotten there, what its presence signified, but at the moment it was the source of unreasonable excitement, for beyond doubt it was a link, an artifact of home, of Earth, or Earthmen.

  Lars thought it was a stone, at first, when he sat opposite it and blinked at it vacantly while he ate. His thoughts were far afield, and he must have stared at it for full five minutes before his mind gripped what his eyes were seeing: a gray speckled stone with the dim letters SS Planetfall spread across it.

  He let out a cry, dropping his rations into the mud. He stared harder, and saw it was a bag, a standard gray canvas food bag, lying half-buried in the mud near the river’s edge. The rest of the men gathered around, and they pulled it open, revealing half a dozen un-opened rations cans, three cans opened and empty, a tiny medical pack, a formless paper folder that could have been nothing but cigarets at some time in the past.

  “But how did it get here?” Jerry Klein, the little brown-eyed meteorologist wanted to know.

  “If this river floods, it might have come from anywhere upstream from here,” Lambert suggested excitedly. “Could they have come down from the wreck, do you think? Made camp here, or near here?”

  They scattered along the river bank, searching for other artifacts, but found nothing. “Lots more likely that it was washed down from the wreck itself,” Salter said gloomily. “Just one more reason to think that they’re all dead.”

  “With three opened cans? They wouldn’t have opened rations unless they were landed from the ship,” Lars countered.

  “All right, then they were attacked,” Salter growled. “I can’t see what difference it makes.”

  But it did make a difference, a very real difference. Here was evidence that could not be ignored that the Planetfall had made a landing on Wolf IV. But a safe landing? The food bag only made the question the more confusing.

  At any rate, they were on their feet again, anxious to be on. Once again Peter teamed with Leeds. They seemed to be talking a great deal. Only once could Lars catch Peter’s eye, as they moved on up the river bank, and when he did, he felt a shiver go up his spine. It was only a glance, but there was an almost eerie quality of appeal in it. It was as though Peter were trying, desperately, to tell him something without words or signs. Yet when Lars paused to come closer Peter shook his head angrily and motioned him curtly away.

  Lambert saw Lars’ puzzled frown. “What’s up?”

  Lars hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Lambert grunted skeptically, but moved ahead with him. At last they reached a place where the river was broader, but seemed less turbulent. Fox motioned them together. “I want to try to get across, if we can. It looks like some sort of trail along the far side. There might be a better view up the mountains from there. Think we can manage wi
th the rafts?”

  Lars stared at the waterway. “I think I could paddle across with a line. Then it would be easy to ferry across, and we could leave the rafts there to return with.”

  “Want to give it a try? We’ll have you secure with a line from this side.”

  It was not too difficult. They inflated the rafts with CO2 cartridges, and loaded Lars’ pack into another raft. Lars secured the coil of nylon cord to his waist, and pushed the rubber boat out into the stream. He paddled swiftly, not trying to fight the current but allowing it to help him. Slowly the far bank became more distinct, until he found a landing spot, and began moving upstream to the point opposite the party. Fifteen minutes later the line was taut to a gnarled scrub tree, and the party pulled themselves across in the rafts.

  Now they were in the jungle, if it could be called that. The trees were twisted and short, with iron-hard branches and little clumps of needle-like leaves. They stood like gnarled skeletons, their branches interlacing into an impenetrable thicket, but they did not break the wind which whistled through them. Across the river the ship was gone from sight, hidden by the trees and the inevitable mist that settled. But here they found a trail moving up into higher ground, toward the mountains. Fox led the way forward without a pause after cacheing the rafts securely among the trees.

  At the top of the rise the mountains were clearly in view, outlined in the now fading daylight. Fox studied them closely with his field glasses for a long time. Then he grunted and handed the glasses to Klein. “See what you can see.”

  The meteorologist studied the rising bastion. “Rough,” he said at last. “I thought I caught a glimpse of the ship, but then the clouds came down.”

  “It’s there. But getting to it is another thing.”

  “Let me have a look.” Lambert took the glasses. “From here, I doubt if we could get a crawler up there. But that ridge up ahead hides the view. Maybe from there we could see a way.”

  Jeff Salter took the glasses. “Why not move up there tomorrow?” he said. “We’d have better light.”

  “No place to encamp here,” Lambert said. “But we could see better, that’s true.”

  “We’ll go on a mile or so farther,” Fox decided at last. “At least we may find a better camping spot.”

  They moved out again. Here, in the forest and with gathering darkness they did not have the visibility they had on the delta. Everyone was jittery. Lars felt time and again for the bulge of his machine pistol against his leg as he watched the shadowy darkness creep in. But finally they found an open place, level, but with some protection afforded by an outcropping of rock. Here they set up the insulated shelter tents, huddling in against the rocks for safety from the wind. Fox checked with Lorry, and shook his head unhappily.

  “Lorry doesn’t see any approach from his side. A solid cliff runs along the bottom. He’s planning to go back to the ship at daylight.”

  “What about us?” Peter asked.

  “We’ll scout ahead to see if there’s a break in the ridge on our side. If there’s not, it’ll be up to Kennedy to drop someone up there, or else we’ll have to figure another approach. But we’ve got to get up there.”

  Several of the men went out for scrap wood to build a watch fire. They did not need the heat, and the food was self-heated, but no one argued against a fire. The thought of spending a night out on this desolate place without a cheering blaze to watch by was not pleasant. But getting a fire was another thing. The wood refused to burn. It took an hour of wittling and coaxing to start a small blaze, and then it flickered and smoked, anything but cheerful.

  They ate in silence. Everyone was weary from the trek. Lambert checked his pedometer and announced that they had made approximately eight miles. It had felt like fifty. Lars was quite satisfied to be assigned to late watch, allowing him some sleep first. Fox and Klein took the first watch; Peter and Leeds were assigned to the second. Peter was to waken Lars and Lambert to cover the third period, while Salter and Carstairs would cover the pre-dawn hours. They all checked their pistols. “Keep the fire going,” Lars admonished, and crawled into his tent, setting his heater-suit at sleeping temperature. Lambert stayed outside to talk with Fox and Klein for a while; Lars was still awake when he finally came to bed.

  “What’s the trouble, insomnia?”

  “No, just too much to think about.” Lars turned over restlessly. Certainly there had been no sign of an alien intelligence at work on this planet, so far, and yet the threat still hung heavily. It took a long while for Lars to relax, but at last he slept heavily. Outside the clouds closed in to obscure the stars in blackness.

  • • •

  Lars awoke suddenly, his whole body tense. Something was wrong. There had been no sound, yet he felt danger screaming in his ears. What? What had happened? He tried to see, peering across toward Lambert, snoring, and felt the hair rise along the ridge of his spine.

  The fire. He had gone to sleep with a yellow-red reflection flickering on the tent flaps.

  It was gone now. Instead there was only a dull red glow.

  He knew he had been sleeping a long time, too long! Peter had not awakened him for his watch. He fumbled for his wrist-light, flashed it on his chronometer, trying to shake himself awake. Six hours!

  He pulled himself to the opening of the tent, peered out. There was deathly silence. Not even the wind howled now. A pile of half-dead embers glowed redly where the fire had been.

  With a cry Lars burst from the tent, staring about for the men on watch, machine pistol on ready in his hand. There was no sign of the guard. The pack-sacks, neatly piled near the rock, were torn open, their contents scattered wildly.

  Others began burrowing out of their tents now — Lambert, his eyes wide with alarm; Klein, stumbling like a drunken man as he pitched toward the fire, staring in dismay; Fox, his face grim. “What happened? What’s wrong?” somebody shouted.

  They stood staring at the rifled packs, and blinking at each other, as realization flooded their faces.

  “Gone!” Lambert said bleakly.

  “They can’t be gone!” Lars protested. He ran to the other tents, flashed his light inside. Nobody there. “They can’t be. Peter wouldn’t have gone without — ” He stopped short, shaking his head.

  Peter was gone. So were Salter, Leeds and Carstairs. Lars remembered the hurried conference, Peter’s teaming with Leeds during the day, the quiet talking. Suddenly everything fell into a pattern.

  “They’re gone, all right,” Fox said heavily. “Run out on us like — ”

  “But where?”

  “Where do you suppose? Back to the ship, of course. Where’s that talker — if I can get Dorffman before — ”

  “You won’t use this talker,” Klein said quietly, pointing to a pile of junk tossed in the mud nearby. “They’ve taken care of that. They’ve got the food, too, or most of it. Look at that mess.”

  “They can’t get across the river,” Lars said suddenly. Then he remembered the rafts by the shore.

  “They not only have the rafts, they have the line to ferry across with.” Fox’s face was grim. “Klein, we’ve got to try to stop them. It looks like they have an hour’s start, at least.”

  “Why try?” Klein asked. “Won’t the men at the ship stop them when they see we’re not with them?”

  “I don’t think so. I think this has been planned for some time. I’m sorry, Lars, but it must have been. If Lorry has had a run-out too, there would be enough of them to take the ship. We’ve got to stop them. If we don’t there may not be any ship when we get back there.”

  He and Klein checked their guns. “Lambert, you and Lars stick here. See if there’s any chance of getting that talker working. The river will delay them, and we may be able to stop them there.” With that the two men started down the trail toward the river again.

  Lars piled the fire high, avoiding Dr. Lambert’s eyes as he worked to make order of the rifled packs. High above the clouds were gone, and stars shone like col
d, unwinking eyes. It was colder now, and Lars turned up his heater control.

  “Better spare that,” Lambert said quietly. “We may need it badly.”

  “You don’t think they’d — ”

  “I don’t know what to think. They’ve run for it, that’s all. They must have been planning for weeks to grab their first chance, and this was it.”

  “Peter Brigham hasn’t been in on anything like that,” Lars protested. “He couldn’t have been.”

  “I’m afraid the facts don’t bear you out,” said Lambert. “I’m sorry. But I don’t see any other explanation. He must have known what was up, and yet he gave no warning.”

  They sat about the fire, waiting as a half hour passed, then an hour. A gray dawn was creeping up the horizon as they peered anxiously in the direction of the ship. “You — you think they’ll blast if they get to the ship and take it?” Lars asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “But that would leave us — ”

  “Yes. It would leave us in trouble, bad trouble.” Lambert’s lips were a grim line. “Keep watching. We’ll see the blast from here.”

  They watched, expecting momentarily to see the bright orange-red jet trail suddenly rise into the sky. But there was no sign. At last they heard noises down the trail, and Fox and Klein sat wearily down by the fire. Defeat was written in heavy lines across their faces. “You saw it, I suppose,” Fox said lifelessly.

  “Saw it?” Lambert frowned.

  “The blast-off. You must have seen it from up here.”

  “We didn’t see any blast-off,” Lars said stolidly. “We’ve been watching.”

  Fox and Klein exchanged puzzled glances. “That’s odd,” said Fox. “We followed them, and dragged ourselves across the river on the line, they’d conveniently cut loose the rafts. We followed their trail clear across the delta to the place where the ship had been. They must have been successful, taken Dorffman and the others by surprise.”