They watched the busy engineers and were ignored by them. Carlin made a major production of this.
They walked on toward the bows, out of earshot.
“What do you think of the Lady Carlin?” asked the Lady Mother abruptly.
“She is … very capable,” said Falsen.
“Yes, she is. Otherwise she would not be a member of this expedition. Yet … ”
“Yet?” echoed Falsen.
“Of late I have not quite trusted her. There are … undercurrents. Ponder has been talking to me — but can I believe what he says? After all, he is only a cat, and despite his command of language and his high opinion of himself has only a cat’s brain. And a cat’s jealousy and spitefulness. There are some of my officers whom he detests — and the Lady Carl in is one of them.”
“I have gained the impression,” said Falsen, “that he also hates Linda and myself.”
“That is understandable, Mr. Falsen. After all, to him you are aliens. His ancestry may be Terran, but he is Doralan by birth.”
Falsen inspected the huge towing lug. It was, in effect, an extension of the ship’s longitudinal-strength members. He was reasonably sure that it would hold; his only worry was whether or not he would be able to apply sufficient torque when the time came. Without earthmoving equipment it would not be possible to fill the trench under the repaired vane in a hurry; to swing the ship around on the tip of one of the other vanes was the only solution.
And after that, when the vessel was again space worthy?
It almost seemed that the Lady Mother had been reading his thoughts.
“I rather fear,” she said, “that after the ship has been raised there will be a demand by my officers that I return forthwith to Dorala. I shall not accede to it, of course. The survey of this planet must be completed and the nature of the dangerous carnivores determined. Also, I am required to avenge my people who have been killed by those animals.”
My own hands, thought Falsen, are clean. So far. But are Linda’s? Even so. there are other dangerous forces loose on this world.
He said, “But will not the slaughter of what must be a major life form have all sorts of unforeseen effects?”
“If we are to colonize this planet, Mr. Falsen, it must be done. After all on your world the only lions and tigers and wolves left are in zoological parks. Pests such as the anopheles mosquito have been exterminated. Yet the complicated life-support machinery of the planetary spaceship still functions.”
“It’s just that the idea of revenge taken on unthinking beasts seems somehow wrong to me.”
“Why should it, Mr. Falsen? While I was on Earth I saw films shot by anthropologists not very long ago, historically speaking. I saw the brutalities perpetrated by primitive fishermen upon captured sharks. We, at least, just kill. We do not torture first.”
They made their way down from the ridge of the impact crater to level ground, walked aft to where Pansir and her gang were working. Most of the skilled airshipwomen had been killed in the crash of the big dirigible, so the pilot was having to do almost everything herself, running around the long gray sausage shape, tugging, adjusting, while the cells, fed by a long pipe running from the ship, slowly inflated. After making sure that the restraining lines were in place, Pansir greeted them cheerfully enough.
She said, using English for Falsen’s benefit, “I shall soon be able to fly again, Gracious Lady.”
“You are doing well. Lady Pansir.”
They walked on.
“I wish that they were all like her, Mr. Falsen,” said the captain. “She is the only one of my officers who does not delude herself that she could run a spaceship better than any captain ever appointed to that rank. Of course, she knows that she is the only one among us who can handle an airship properly … .”
They came to Prenta who, with a couple of crewwomen, was fussing around the two little helicopters. She raised her hand in salute to the Lady Mother, looked sourly at Falsen.
She said, “I shall be happy, Gracious Lady, if the Jonah will keep away from equipment for which I am personally responsible.”
“Lady Prenta, must I order you again to stop making references to an absurd mythology, and one that is not even our own?”
“It is Terran mythology, Gracious Lady, and Mr. Falsen and Miss Veerhausen are Terrans.”
There are worse beings in our mythology than Jonahs, thought Falsen.
“I am warning you, Lady Prenta. I shall be obliged to put you down in my confidential report as subject to xenophobia. Come, Mr. Falsen. The Lady Prenta will be happier when she is no longer obliged to look at you.”
They strolled on towards the stern.
“You know, Mr. Falsen,” she said, “your languages are much richer in picturesque sayings than any of ours. While I was at your Antarctic Academy, one of the courses I took was on the history of transport. I found especially fascinating the long story of wind-driven ships; on Dorala there are no great seas, so we ourselves have never known the need for such vessels. There was the period of the clippers, which reached their peak just as steam was coming in. There were all the sayings that were used aboard them. One, for some reason, has stuck in my memory. ‘Growl you may, but go you must.’ So it is with my people; Alida knows that they have cause enough to growl! But once the ship has been raised, the atmosphere will be back to normal … .”
You hope, thought Falsen. Shall I warn her? Dare I warn her? If I put her on her guard against Carlin it will jeopardize my chances. Mine and Linda’s. Carlin’s vicious — and how much does she suspect?
Then — To hell with it, he thought. I’ll get the ship up for them, and then I’ll play it by ear.
CHAPTER 31
The dismal day wore on.
During the afternoon Falsen spent much of his time with Carlin and her people although they, she especially, made it clear that his presence was not welcome. But he would be the pilot of the makeshift tug, and he was determined that everything would be constructed, as far as possible, to his requirements.
The drive unit was reassembled on a triangular platform standing two and a half meters clear of the ground. Secured to the three legs was another triangular platform, this one made from the glasslike material used for viewports. It was tough and would easily bear his weight and would afford him a clear downward field of view. There was a circular hole in the exact center of this deck, through which would run both the umbilical from the ship, carrying power from the hydrogen fusion plant, and the much lighter cable attached to the control panel that Falsen would be using. Aerodynamic qualities could not be hoped for in such an improvised craft, would not, in fact, be necessary. Nonetheless it was highly desirable to avoid any imbalance.
“I’m an engineer!” Carlin snarled at him. “Not a watchmaker.”
“I’m riding this thing.”
“Just don’t get in my hair, Falsen.”
The inertial-drive unit stood, a cylindrical tower of interlocking wheels and spindles, its core an enormous solenoid. It was the first time that Falsen had seen such a machine in its gleaming nakedness, with its featureless casing not in place. It reminded him of something that he had seen not all that long ago, during his last leave on Earth. Where had it been? Yes, in the city of Old Los Angeles, those fantastic constructions called the Watts Towers, steeples built from all sorts of metallic, glass and ceramic odds and ends. They were not the original towers, of course. They had been rebuilt more than once and improved upon every time.
“When you’ve finished gawking, Falsen,” asked Carlin, “will it be all right with you if we get this baby dressed? I assure you that she’s in working order; there aren’t any parts left over.”
“You’re the engineer,” he said.
“And you’re the intrepid pilot,” she sneered.
The mini-innies buzzed around, carrying their sections of curved plating. The artificers guided them into place, bolted the plates securely to the heavy framework. Finally, three enormously strong lugs were fitted
to equidistantly spaced bearers.
“Is your lordship satisfied?” Carlin asked.
“There are still the power and the control cables to connect and my chair to fit.”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, as you people say.”
Falsen went out of the tent and looked up at the dismal, weeping sky. Its ruddiness was fading to gray, darkening. There wasn’t much of this day left. But there was no hurry. He might need all the hours of daylight for the raising operation, starting at dawn. All manner of snags could — almost certainly would — develop.
He walked around the fallen hull. The two helicopters, now ready for flight, were covered with a light plastic sheet. Fully inflated, the blimp rode at the stubby mooring mast that had been erected, the skids on the underside of its car just clear of the ground. At the foot of the metallic skeleton pyramid the Lady Mother was talking with Pansir.
The airship pilot saw Falsen approaching, turned to him to enlist his support.
“Mr. Falsen,” she said, “what do you think? I am not happy that my ship should be left out here during the hours of darkness, unattended.” She managed a tremulous smile. “After all, I have already lost one airship.”
Falsen sniffed the air judiciously.
He said, “There will be no wind tonight.”
The two women took his word for it, but Pansir was still not satisfied.
“Even so, I think that there should be a guard mounted. We know that there are large, vicious beasts on this planet, arid to leave so much valuable equipment outside the spaceship is just asking to have it damaged. Or destroyed.”
“Even the hungriest carnivore,” said the Lady Mother, “would not eat metal or plastic.”
“One of them,” insisted Pansir, “was responsible for the wreck of my big ship, as Mr. Falsen well knows.”
“It was after the people inside the ship,” Falsen told her.
“That is so,” said the Lady Mother. “It is my feeling that the posting of sentries outside the hull would attract the things from the lake, from the caves, wherever it is that they came from. In any sort of a fight, with people firing wildly, things could be damaged. Not only your airship, Lady Pansir, but the helicopters and, even more important, the inertial-drive unit. What is your opinion, Mr. Falsen?”
“I think that you are right, Gracious Lady. But if a bio-sensitive radar scanner could be rigged, hooked up to an alarm system, we might all sleep easier.”
“It is a long time,” said the Lady Mother, “since I slept easily.”
She was not complaining, was merely stating a fact. Looking at her tired, worn face Falsen felt a flood of sympathy.
“There is a curse on this world,” she went on. “The only good thing about it has been finding you here. But come, both of you. We will see how the Lady Carlin is getting on.”
Carlin had done as much as she could do before the day was over. Under its canopy stood the gleaming cylinder that housed the drive, squatting smugly on its stilted platform. A stout chair had been secured to the lower deck, just to one side of the hole through which the cables would pass. These, together with the control panel, would not be installed until the morning. The chief engineer and her people were now working on top of the spaceship’s hull, spot-welding a cover over the hole that had been cut to remove the drive components. The ship was being sealed for the night.
• • •
“Aren’t you going tomcatting this evening?” asked Linda.
“No. I want a good night’s sleep.”
“That will be a change. Aren’t you going to let the Lady Mother cry on your shoulder before she goes beddy-byes? Or what about Carlin? Won’t she be lonely?” She was watching his expression intently. “So it is Carlin, isn’t it?”
He said, “Can’t you see that I have to play along with these people? Once the ship has been raised and made spaceworthy, we shall be able to carry out our own plans.”
Her mood changed abruptly.
“Yes. You’re right. We must have a ship before we can get off this mudball to a decent world, one where we can live as we should … .”
“As we should?”
“Yes. We didn’t ask to be made the way that we are. We didn’t put in a written request to the Odd Gods of the Galaxy that some odd gene from way, way back be included in our makeup. Oh, we’re luckier than our ancestors. We aren’t slaves to the phases of the moon, as they were. We aren’t even dependent now on the temporal precession field of the Mannschenn Drive. When we want to, we do. But I’ve been wanting to for a long time now, Nicholas. All this meat, this live raw meat rubbing shoulders with us — we can look, but we mustn’t bite.”
“There will be no more killing,” he said. “We will seize the ship, but there will be no more killing.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding?” she asked scornfully.
“Let me get some sleep,” he said tiredly.
CHAPTER 32
Daylight grew slowly and a steady warm drizzle drifted down from the heavy overcast. But there was no wind. Falsen was almost sure that it would stay that way, was hoping that his instincts were not misleading him. He stood by the inertial-drive unit, watching as the power supply and control cables were connected. He heard the clatter as, on the other side of the spaceship, the helicopters lifted, flying to a safe distance from the scene of operations. Pansir, too, was up, putting her fat, clumsy blimp through its paces, turning in lazy circles, dipping and soaring. She was to act as an observer, watching from the air, giving prompt warning should anything unnoticed by Falsen, invisible to those stationed on the ground, go wrong.
Three mini-innies brought carefully measured and cut lengths of the enormously strong towing wire from the ship, each with a ferruled eye at both ends. Six pieces had been prepared. Two lengths were shackled to each of the lugs on the drive casing. The free ends dangled to the damp ground all around the lower platform onto which the pilot’s chair had been secured.
The Lady Mother said doubtfully, “I still think that the towing wires should be longer, Mr. Falsen … .”
“If they were, I should find it very hard to apply sufficient torque. And that I must do in the final stages.”
The mini-innies flew out from under the canopy and stationed themselves around the edge. Their metal claws took hold of the fabric. The noisy machines lifted, and the huge sheltering sheet came clear of its metal supports, was carried away and then dropped to the ground.
Falsen pulled his laser pistol from its holster, looked — not for the first time — at the gauge on its butt. According to this, the weapon was fully charged. Just to be certain, he pointed the weapon at the ground, pressed the firing stud briefly. There was an explosion of steam and the rim of the hole that had been bored glowed briefly. He reholstered the pistol and then stepped onto the triangular platform between the three supporting legs. He sat down in the chair — it had been remade to accommodate his Terran bulk — and made the seatbelt fast about his body. He reached down for the combination control box and radio-telephone transceiver, set it on his lap. He switched on. Green ready lights glowed all over the panel.
He turned to Carl in and said, “Make sure that the power cable is clear at all times, hanging straight down.”
“Just do your job, Falsen,” she said, “and I’ll do mine.”
“Good luck, Mr. Falsen,” said the Lady Mother. “And good luck to all of us.”
Falsen had a last look around. Everybody, except for the two engineers who would be tending the hydrogen-fusion power generator, was out of the ship. He did not envy them. He, at least, would know what was happening. All that they could do was to keep things working and hope. He saw Linda, standing well back, keeping herself apart from the Doralans. He waved to her. She half-heartedly lifted her hand in reply.
He spoke toward the microphone of the transceiver.
“Falsen to Lady Pansir. I am about to lift off.”
“I hear you, Mr. Falsen,” came the reply. “I am watching.”
/> His fingers went to the control panel. Over his head the inertial-drive unit grumbled, and he could feel the vibration of the framework supporting it. Something started to rattle. He hoped that it was nothing important. Around him, on the mossy ground, the film of moisture that had formed after the removal of the tent quivered, took on the appearance of widening concentric circles like the ripples on the surface of a pond marking the impact of a flung stone. He moved the control knob clockwise and the clangor of the drive became deafening. He was well clear of the ground now, looking down at the team of scarlet-cloaked crewwomen who, under Carlin’s energetic direction, were tending the umbilical cable that ran from the cargo hatch in the ship’s side to the makeshift tug. They were making sure that there was plenty of slack.
Carefully he put his clumsy craft through its paces — vertical thrust, lateral thrust and torque. When he was satisfied he flew slowly towards the stem of the spaceship, reducing altitude as he did so. Beneath him trudged Carl in and her crew, tugging the power cable, aided by the mini-innies.
Then he was over the control room and the ground party was scrambling down into the impact crater, accompanied by the mini-innies. One of these was carrying a huge shackle and bars and hammers. Falsen applied lateral thrust cautiously, edged forward until the eyed ends of the six towing wires were dangling around the lug at the very end of the stem. Securing them, he soon realized, was not going to be so easy as either he or Carlin had hoped. That part of the ship, a sharply tapered cone of metal and transparent plastic, rain-slippery, afforded very insecure footing. Three of the crew women slipped, fell heavily into the mud. There was an interlude of floundering confusion until Carlin got things under control. She had a mini-innie pick her up by the belt while another carried the heavy shackle. The operators of the machines seemed to know what they were doing.
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