"Sure he cares, but I know scientists. There's something that kicks in when they've made a new discovery." He nodded back at their companion. "Some gene or something. Give them a new discovery to study and they'll walk till they drop of dehydration or starvation, a precious weed or bug clutched in their dying fingers. Not only that, they'll die happy."
"Sorry. To me that's a contradiction in terms. First thing I'd like to find is some water. You sure we can't drink what's left in our suits?"
Low shook his head. "Not yet. That's our last option. You're not really thirsty yet. Your mind's just trying to fool your body."
"Well, it's doing a damn good job of it." Robbins licked dry lips. "Won't it just evaporate if we don't drink it?"
"Suit supplies are sealed against evaporation. When you start staggering, we'll discuss making use of the last of our known supplies. Meanwhile, I wouldn't panic. The plant life hereabouts looks pretty lush. We're sure to find drinkable water nearby."
She stared back at him. "You really believe that?"
"I could lie, but actually, I do. Might as well, because we have to find water."
She acknowledged the truth of this, glanced skyward. "I wonder how far we are from Earth? A light-year? Two or three? A thousand?"
He considered. "Maybe at night there'll be some constellations we can recognize, but I wouldn't count on it. A thousand's more likely than two or three. Might be ten thousand. Does it matter?"
"I suppose not."
"Better keep your eyes open. If I have Brink pegged correctly, he'll be spending his time staring at the ground instead of looking for food and water." He glanced significantly at her left arm. "You didn't bring your camera."
"It's a lot heavier down here than it was in space. After we've found water, I'll come back for it." She pointed to her eyes, then the side of her head. "Until then I'll use these cameras and this recorder. They've worked well enough for me in the past."
He smiled condescendingly. "I hope they find what we're looking for. Four loose plates would be nice."
She nodded agreement. "How about a pair of ruby slippers?"
"Hey, right now I'd try anything." He took a deep breath. "At least it doesn't smell bad."
"You sure it isn't poisonous?"
He shrugged. "I checked your gauges. You had four minutes of air left in your suit when we cracked our helmets. It's not like we have any choice. If there are dangerous trace elements in the atmosphere, they'll save us the trouble of trying to find a way home. Meanwhile, you might as well relax and inhale."
She sniffed. "Cloves?"
"That'd be about right. We'll find a hundred different kinds of spice, and nothing to put it on. I've always felt that irony was one of Nature's specialties."
"Man, you are a congenital pessimist!"
"Goes with commanding shuttle missions. Watch that crevice." He lengthened his stride as he stepped over the crack in the surface.
CHAPTER 9
See? No exaggerated outpourings of misplaced emotion, no standing about aimlessly, no collapsing into fetal positions. They have already set themselves to problem solving."
"Simplistic and basal reactions, hardly indicative of advanced cognition." The other presence was dubious. "Common survival traits. Any ignorant animal would react similarly."
"What needs to be seen," declared a third of their number, "is how they proceed, if it is done with forethought and planning or simply haphazardly. If the latter, then they will rapidly descend into panic."
"I concur." The first presence was more hopeful than its companions, but it was also realistic. After all, precedence was hardly encouraging. "Let us at least monitor them without condemnation. Is there anything else to do?"
"A diversion." The others who had gathered and remained chorused simultaneously. "A diversion."
"One wing-beat." The disdainful disappeared in a swirl of departing disenchantment. They knew that time was not on their side.
By the following morning the three travelers had made several important discoveries, the most welcome of which was fresh water. Collected in hollows eroded from the rocks, it had the appearance, smell, and taste of pooled rainfall. No one mentioned the possible presence of inimical microorganisms. Thirst will conquer prudence every time.
In any event, no one became ill as a result of drinking deeply. Whether they were simply lucky, whether local protozoans had no liking for the human gut or because Brink thoughtfully filtered each cupfull through the cotton mesh of his undershirt they could not say. Irregardless, it was clear that from now on, water would not be a problem. The pools were many, and several were deep.
In addition, Robbins pointed out, industrial pollution was not a factor.
Low was more concerned about dissolved minerals than microscopic bugs. "If there are any toxic salts in the water, signs should appear by tonight."
A playful Robbins tried to splash him. "C'mon, Commander, lighten up! It tastes good and it looks good. Besides, there are better things to die of than thirst. Honestly, you worry about everything. The water, the rocks, the air, whether the ground's going to open up under your feet. How'd a pessimist like you get into the space program, anyway?"
He replied softly. "That's one reason I did. It's my nature to question everything. For example, while we've been drinking, I've been wondering if any of this vegetation might be edible."
Unlike the water, the trees, bushes and lichens didn't look very inviting. "I'm no bovine," Robbins pointed out. "Just got the one stomach to work with. Let's try to find something softer than twigs."
"Hey, I'm no vegetarian myself." Low was leaning over to inspect a fist-sized hole in the cliff face. If it was occupied, the owner was disinclined to receive visitors. Wariness suggested predation. Low hoped they wouldn't find any holes too much larger. Bear-sized, for example.
It was wonderful to learn that life existed beyond Earth. It would be less wonderful to discover that it, too, was home to participants in the game of predator and prey.
He kicked aside an orange-tinged log that would have been priceless on Earth. The collecting of specimens would have to wait until their immediate continued survival was assured. At least if the climate turned cold, there was no want of firewood.
Besides the native rock, they passed ruined walls of strange plastic-metal, collapsed arches of some unidentifiable ceramic material, and another ship that resembled theirs only superficially. It was clearly a vessel of some kind, though whether older or newer than the unasteroid they had no way of telling. Its gaping interior proved dark and uninviting. There was no sign of occupants, living or otherwise. Only a musty smell that might have had organic origins, or might simply indicate great age. Low wasn't encouraged.
Brink had given up his study of the geology and vegetation in favor of scrutinizing the profusion of ruins. Certainly any hope of finding a way home lay within alien walls and not with the indigenous flora and fauna.
"Since we are now embarked on what might better be described as an archaeological dig," he ventured unexpectedly, "perhaps it would be best if I were to take charge."
More amused than bemused, Low stopped and pondered a moment. "There's only three of us. What kind of charge did you have in mind? Just for the record, we're engaged in survival, not a scientific expedition. Want to bet which one of us has more experience in that area?"
"Under different circumstances I would take that bet, Commander. I have led several expeditions to the south-central Sahara, to Mongolia and to the South Pacific. The latter resulted in all parties suffering through a situation not unlike the one that confronts us now. However," he added with a conciliatory smile, "the number of moons that shone down on that unhappy group was only one."
"None of that has any bearing on our present situation. We're dealing with alien conditions, and an alien world. If nothing else, I'll wager that I've read more science fiction than you. That's as valid a preparation for dealing with our present situation as anything else."
"Excuse me a minute?" Turning, th
ey saw an impatient and obviously irritated Robbins gazing back at them. "If you men don't mind, I was wondering if I had a say in this, or if I'm just supposed to tag along the traditional ten paces behind, then plow the fields, shuck the corn and do the cooking?"
Low was taken aback. "I didn't mean to imply—"
Again she interrupted. "Of course not. It's been my experience that men don't. Which doesn't prevent them from doing so."
At a loss how to proceed, he assured her that her vote counted for as much as either his or Brink's. "Maybe you'd like to take charge?"
"I didn't say that. Though I'm not short on survival experience, I can't match stories with either of you. All I'm saying is that I know how to get by in a tight spot and I think that my input should count for something."
Both men exchanged a glance, then looked back at her. "So input," Low proposed crisply.
"I will. I think Commander Low should remain in charge. Technically we're still on a NASA mission. Even if it's been"—she hesitated—"somewhat extended and modified in scope. On the other hand, if we start prowling inside alien ruins in search of metal ignition plates or anything similar, then I think we should defer to you, Ludger."
The scientist nodded once. If the small personal defeat troubled him, he didn't show it.
Low was gracious in turn. "Look, Ludger, I don't think of anybody as being 'in charge' here. We're all in the same boat and we're too small a group to worry about formalities. If anyone comes up with any good ideas, they need to broach them. We'll analyze and decide together."
"Naturally. Well, if nothing else, I can at least name this place."
"Me, I'd just call it 'Island,'" Robbins quipped.
"I've no objection to that." Low's response caused her to eye him quizzically. Any hidden meanings in his acquiescence remained hidden.
"I am sorry, but I must disagree. So lofty a discovery deserves grander nomenclature. "I would prefer to call it Cocytus."
Robbins frowned. "Is that a Germanic name?"
The scientist smiled slightly. "Not exactly. In Dante's Inferno, Cocytus was the name of the Ninth Circle of Hell. Intimidating it may sound, but it was also the way back to the outer world."
"Charming. Oh well, if you insist. I suppose it carries a greater cache than 'Island.'" To her credit Robbins didn't sulk.
"Not a particularly hellish place," Low demurred. "You said you've been to the Sahara and the Gobi. Except for better communications, I'd rank both worse than this. Cocytus it is, then." He resumed his climb, and the others followed, Brink discoursing on the nature of the ruined walls and half-buried structures between which they were passing.
"See how they argue and debate." The presence that made the observation drifted high above the trio as they left the asteroid transport behind and made their way toward the center of the island. "High above" was only a relative spatial designation. "Elsewhere proximate" would have been a more accurate description.
"To what end?" declared another. "They amble about. Perhaps not aimlessly, but with no real end in mind. They have solved nothing, done nothing. They stare and do not see. They listen and do not hear."
"Their senses are circumscribed." The first refused to be discouraged.
"See how they walk? So narrow and thin. It would seem they would unbalance and fall over. They have only the slim upper limbs to balance with. No tail, no wings, no cape, nothing. Yet they stride along, clumsy but erect. Their sense of balance must be well tuned."
"But not their sense of position relative to the rest of reality. That is easy to see," insisted twelve forms nearby. While observing, they amused themselves by inventing a series of intricately evolved dynamic fractal patterns composed of long sequences of related thoughts.
"Why should they worry about it? They are reality based. If you will remember, that is enough." There followed many thought-exhalations that elsewhere and under different conditions could have been interpreted as sighs.
"Tactility." Five others temporarily existed as an integrated pentagram of contemplation. "Smell. What would not be traded for the scent of a decomposing flower, or the feel of wind on a face."
"Enough of that," swore eight nearby. "What use in teasing up old memories? It has been hundreds of years."
"No, thousands," insisted fifteen others. And they fell to arguing the specifics of memory.
The scent of a flower. The one who had first encountered the new arrivals drifted and watched. Smell. Touch. For any of those it would have traded immortality in an instant.
There is a difference between living forever and existing forever.
They could not impinge on reality except in the most peripheral, transitory fashion. They had rejected it, and it in turn had disavowed them. They could have no more effect on the three travelers than a falling leaf.
But sometimes, the watcher recalled, a falling leaf could set in motion great events—if circumstances were exactly right.
"What do you think of the name they have given to our world, and by implication, to us?" Six new arrivals found within the situation something new to discuss. It was eagerly taken up, as was anything new.
"Their thoughts are crude, but clear enough when verbally enunciated. They are images etched not in stone but in air." Seven joined three to make ten.
"Two of them seem conflicted. We sense desire, admiration, fear, and hate all beaten together. Very typical of immature species."
"Remember," remarked the first, who remained a solitary point of cognition amid all the melding, "once we, too, were subject to such surges of emotion. Sometimes I miss them."
"Everything is missed," avowed thirty or more, who came together out of concurrence.
Watching those who were watching the bipeds was the entire population of that world, who in deference to the new arrivals' whim would henceforth refer to themselves as Cocytans. It was a lark and, as something new, much appreciated. It would last as long as the bipeds themselves lasted, which, given their aimless meandering and obviously brief life span, would doubtless not be long.
"Help them," whispered five of the presences.
"Help them," concurred the rest of the populace.
There was a caucusing, whereupon it was given to the discoverer as one of the most determined among them to make the effort.
"It will be of no value," declared the pessimists. "It never is."
"We can but try," insisted the more positive among those present. "We have nothing if not time."
The narrow canyon up which they were advancing was lined with low scrub whose needles seemed to flex in their direction. Low considered pinching off a twig or two to test their consistency but thought better of it. From the looks of the twitching greenery, it might decide to pinch back. A narrow trickle of dirty water ran down the middle of the crevasse, encouraging but probably not potable. A large orange shape popped out of a hole high up on their left and inspected them briefly before vanishing back within. It hadn't lingered long enough for him to get a good look at it, but he was sure it had more than two eyes.
Robbins put a hand on his arm. "Wait a minute. I thought I saw something."
The pilot looked over at her. "First you hear something, then you feel something. Now you're seeing somethings."
"No, really." She moved up alongside him, staring.
"Aerial?"
"Terrestrial. No, I'm not sure."
"How many legs?"
"Look for yourself." She pointed sharply.
A wisp of color flashed in the air before them. Not a flame, but the ghost of one. It flickered, never more than a suggestion of shape, never more than an indistinct outline. As manifestations went, it was disappointingly insubstantial.
As they stared speculatively, it circled, forcing them to turn slowly to follow its progress. The outline it formed varied in size but never in density. Low had seen far thicker fog.
After circling them twice, it appeared to shoot up the canyon and off to their left, each time attenuating to nothingness. Returning,
it repeated the sequence. Was there a face buried in that color and mist? Robbins fancied she saw one, but it never lingered or held its shape long enough for her to be certain.
A daylight dream, it vanished completely after executing the second run up the canyon. Silent as a zephyr, it was a transitory phenomenon whose passage excited considerable discussion among the travelers.
No one said, "Did you see that?" because all of them had tracked its passage with their eyes.
"No heat," noted Brink. "At least, none that I could feel."
"No, it was a cold light. Didn't give off anything, near as I could tell." Low was equally baffled.
"So, what was it?" Robbins waited.
Brink was noncommittal but willing to speculate. "Swamp gas. Will-o'-the-wisp. I won't torment you with the German name. A local atmospheric phenomenon, apparently harmless."
"I thought it was suggesting that we should bear to the left," she insisted.
Low was patient with her. "Come on, Maggie. We can't start relying on lights in the sky for direction."
"Why not?" She eyed him challengingly. "Given our knowledge of this place, which is to say none, it seems to me as good an indicator as anything else."
Low looked at Brink, who shrugged as if to say, "She wants you to be in charge, remember?" The Commander considered the canyon ahead. Might as well go left as right anyway.
"All right. We'll take a hint from your light, Maggie. And if it leads to a vertical cliff, you can be the first one to jump off."
"Fine." She strode past him and took the lead. He followed silently. There were times when he'd acted on the result of a coin flip, so why not on the vagaries of an inexplicable light? If nothing else, its appearance had been worthwhile because it had energized the journalist and at least momentarily taken her mind off their unfortunate circumstances.
"Probably airborne particles reacting with the sunlight," Brink hypothesized, "or some piezoelectric reaction in the substance of the old walls. Although I suppose it could have been something else. A visual street sign, perhaps, lingering from ancient times."
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