“Because we’re bigger than the Doralans,” he explained. “Stronger. The two of us can carry it — one at the front, one at the back. It would take four Doralans — and that tunnel’s narrow in places.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “But as long as we stay on this world, we shall never run short of things not to like.”
CHAPTER 43
Falsen and Linda walked out of the ship into the warm drizzle, the gray, dismal morning. They had scorned the offer of waterproof Doralan cloaks; such garments would have been too small for them, would have hampered their movements. When they reached the foot of the ramp they paused, hearing the clatter of mini-innies overhead, looked up and back. Two of the noisy little machines flew out of a cargo port high on the towering hull; between them they carried a dull-gleaming cylinder. Peering out of the aperture was the operator, her hands on the control box as she steered the lifting devices towards the blimp at its mooring mast.
“The bomb,” said Linda glumly.
“One of them,” said Falsen.
“And we’re supposed to carry it through the tunnels into the cave. It takes two mini-innies to lift it — or hadn’t you noticed?”
“One could handle it easily,” said Falsen. “The Lady Mother is just being careful, that’s all.”
“I wish that your precious Lady Mother would be as careful with us!”
“As far as we are concerned there’s no danger.”
“How do you know, Nicholas? How do you know? Has it ever been put to the test? There weren’t any nuclear weapons when the legends were born.”
He would have replied but he heard somebody coming down the gangway. He turned, saw it was Prenta, her scowling face framed by the hood of her cloak. Behind her came three crewwomen.
She said to Falsen, “All right. Let us get the show on the road.”
With her followers she began to walk briskly toward the blimp. Falsen and Linda set off after her, pausing briefly when a second pair of mini-innies, burdened as the first had been, came out from the cargo port. These delivered their load to the waiting helicopters.
“Come on!” Prenta called back irritably from ahead.
After a trudge through the saturated, ankle-deep moss they came to the mooring mast. Pansir, who had come out to the blimp earlier than the others, was supervising the stowage of the bomb in the small cargo compartment abaft the control cab, snarling at Prenta when she attempted to take charge of this operation. She saw Falsen, flashed him a brief smile, said, “You and the Lady Linda may board, to get out of the rain.”
“Thank you,” said Falsen.
Linda clambered up the short ladder into the cab. He followed her. Before long Prenta joined them, found a place as far from them as possible. A crewwoman came up and in. Her face was vaguely familiar. One of those who had been in the cave system before, Falsen thought. A member of the stretcher party that Carlin had organized to bring out the bodies.
Pansir was the last to board, pulling up the ladder and closing the door after her. She opened a window so that she could shout down to the ground crew, ordering them to release the blimp from the mast. Before she could speak, an increasingly loud clangor assailed the ears of all those in the cab. It came from the spaceship. It was the big vessel’s inertial drive being started up.
The pilot’s face showed alarm.
Prenta’s voice, as she spoke in English for the benefit of the Terrans, was heavily condescending. “Do not worry, Lady Pansir. The Lady Mother is not about to maroon us on this world, even though that should be the fate of some of us here. We are, as you have been informed, going to explode two nuclear devices, one of them underwater, one underground. There could be severe tremors, possibly even an earthquake, with the risk of the spaceship’s being overturned. So, until things have … settled down, the drive will be in operation and the ship, to all intents and purposes, almost as weightless as your gasbag.”
“This, Lady Prenta, is more than an assemblage of gasbags.”
“As you will,” sneered Prenta.
Pansir shouted shrilly through the forward window. Audible above the metallic clangor from the ship was the sharp clink as a hammer struck the quick-release gear at the head of the mooring mast. The blimp drifted slowly sternward. Pansir shut the window, put one hand on the wheel, the other on the engine-control lever. The motor started, humming loudly. Wheel and rudder hard over, the airship turned. To port, the mooring mast slid by. On it, halfway down, a scarlet-uniformed figure waved.
Ahead the hills were dimly visible, a blackness almost obscured by drifting veils of faintly ruddy gray. Pansir held a steady course but used the heaters to increase the lift to maintain clearance from the gently rising ground. There was no further conversation in the cab. Falsen sat on the deck very close to Linda, gratefully conscious of the warmth of her body. He was feeling an increasing uneasiness. His instincts were telling him that there was something wrong, very wrong. It was not the nature of the blimp’s cargo that was worrying him, although many men would have been terrified at being obliged to ride in close proximity to such awesome destructive power.
He looked through a side window. To starboard he could see two of the little helicopters, on a divergent course. Between them they carried in a sling the twin to what was in the blimp’s cargo compartment. No, he thought, not a twin. That one was the slave, the one in the airship was the master. That way the explosions would be simultaneous, triggered by a single timing device. That way the party in the airship, who would have much more to do, could be sure of being well clear when the big bangs happened.
Pansir spoke over her shoulder.
She said, “When I come in for a landing, I shall valve gas. I can afford it, as a considerable weight will be discharged. I shall want two of you to jump out to handle the mooring lines and the quick-release grapnels. You must make sure that … ”
“Lady Pansir,” said Prenta, “as part of my training for this exploratory and survey expedition, I underwent a course in airship handling. Although I do not pretend to be a flying mail-van driver, I do know something about the techniques.”
“Just jump when I tell you to, Lady Prenta!” snapped Pansir.
The hills were very close now, and the airship was nosing downward at a shallow angle.
“Come and stand with me, Mr. Falsen,” ordered the airshipwoman. “You have been here before, as I have. Together we shall be able to recognize the place where I brought the big ship … .”
The blimp circled slowly over the slopes, boulder-strewn and with clumps of low, struggling bushes.
“Can we have the window open again?” asked Falsen.
“Of course,” said Pansir.
But there was no scent, as there had been the first time that he had been out here. There were no easily identifiable marks. But … his memories were growing stronger and stronger. This, surely, was the place. He pointed.
“Perhaps … ” said Pansir doubtfully. “Perhaps … yes, you could be right … .” She turned. “Lady Prenta, Spacewoman Durl, are you ready?”
“Of course,” snapped Prenta.
The ground was close now, the wide clearing among the outcroppings of rock almost level. Engines stopped, the blimp settled slowly. There was a very slight jar as the skids kissed the ground. She began to lift as Prenta and Durl jumped out, then steadied as they caught the dangling mooring lines, one on either side of the cab. The quick-release grapnels were driven into the ground.
“All fast!” called Prenta.
There was a door into the cargo compartment at the after end of the cab. Falsen went through it, stood looking at the almost featureless metal cylinder, checked the carrying slings at either end of it. He took hold of one, lifted. The thing was not overly heavy. He lowered it carefully and then opened a side door. Outside it and a little below him the two Doralans were waiting.
“Let us have it,” called Prenta.
Slowly, carefully, Falsen got an end of the on
e-and-a-half-meter-long cylinder out over the door sill. The Doralans took hold of the dangling sling, walked away with it, taking small, gingerly steps. Falsen, at his end, lifted again, eased the bomb out through the opening. His hands on both parts of the sling, yet to be adjusted for carrying in a confined space, he lowered away, millimeter by cautious millimeter. Prenta and the other woman were trying to be as careful, but the weight was too much for them. There was frantic fumbling and their end dropped to the wet ground with an audible thud. Durl let go of her part of the sling and actually started to run. Prenta cursed her shrilly and she stopped in mid-stride, crept timorously back.
Falsen returned to the control cab, where Pansir was speaking into the transceiver, reporting to the spaceship. When she was finished he asked, “Is it all right for the Lady Linda and I to disembark?”
“The Lady Prenta is in charge of operations now,” she told him. She looked at him worriedly. “Be careful, please. I do not like this business.”
“Expect us when you see us,” he told her. “And thanks for the ride.”
Scorning the ladder, he jumped down to the ground. Linda followed him. With a shock he realized that both Prenta and Durl had drawn pistols from the holsters at their belts. Then he saw that they were not holding weapons but large electric torches — although the butts of hand guns were visible as their cloaks opened at their waists as they moved. He should have brought a laser himself, he thought. Anything, anything might be waiting for them in the cave.
“Durl will lead the way,” said Prenta. “She has been here before. You and the Lady Linda will follow, with the bomb. I shall bring up the rear. The bomb will not be armed and its fuse will not be set until it has been placed in position.”
“And you will be doing the arming and the fuse-setting?” he asked.
“Of course. Now let us get going.”
Durl led the way.
Falsen was next, his hands behind him. firmly holding the now shortened sling. Linda was at the other end of the cylinder. Prenta brought up the rear.
They passed through the cave entrance, into the narrow, descending tunnel. The Doralans’ torches gave adequate illumination; even so, it was heavy going for the two Terrans, burdened as they were. Before they had gone many steps, Falsen’s arms were aching. He could hear Linda panting behind him, could smell her acrid sweat.
Down they went, and down, negotiating with difficulty the bends, the narrower passages, wincing as, now and again, the bomb casing clanged against rocky projections. Even though the thing was not armed, all four of them knew its terrible potentialities.
Still they descended. Falsen considered calling a halt before his arms fell off but doubted that he would be able to pick up the cylinder again should he do so. The sooner this job was over the better, he told himself. Something was going to happen, and he wanted to get out of the caves and well away before it did.
They emerged from the tunnel into the great cavern with its black mirrorlike subterranean lake. With a gusty sigh of relief Falsen set his end of the burden down on the fine, gray sand. Linda dropped hers as though regardless of the consequences, then emitted a little scream as she realized how careless she had been.
The man turned to face the Doralan officer, blinked irritably until she moved the beam of her torch away from his face.
He said, “This will have to do.”
“It will do,” said Prenta.
Falsen flexed his cramped fingers, rubbed his aching arms. He walked away from the bomb, sat down heavily. Linda joined him. He watched as Prenta gave her torch to Durl, who turned both lights full onto the sinister, gleaming cylinder. There was enough reflected illumination for Falsen to see Prenta throw open her cloak, put one of her hands to her belt. She was, he thought, carrying around quite an arsenal, tools as well as weapons. It was a powered screwdriver that she selected. She walked slowly to the bomb, squatted close by it. The screwdriver hummed as she removed the securing studs of the panel, dropped them onto the sand. Why, he wondered, did she not put them down on something to avoid the clogging of the threads by grit?
He asked as much.
“What does it matter?” said Prenta. “There will be no need to put the cover back. Once the bomb is armed and the fuse is set, that’s it. And I, for one, don’t want to waste any time putting the lid back on once the ticking has started!”
She returned the screwdriver to her belt, selected another screwdriver, a much smaller one. She pushed it into the opening, turned carefully. There was a series of clicks that she seemed to be counting. She looked at her wrist chronometer, the face of which was a blackness in which oddly shaped squiggles danced. Again she used the special tool, in a different place. There were more clicks.
She got slowly to her feet.
“There,” she said in a smugly satisfied voice. “There.”
She made as though to return the small screwdriver to her belt, and as she did so the spacewoman, Durl, swung the beams of both torches full on Falsen and Linda, shocking and dazzling them. Yet Falsen was not entirely blinded; he saw Prenta drop the tool and snatch from its holster a pistol with a bell-shaped muzzle. She fired without bothering to aim properly. There had been no need to take careful aim; the missile exploded before it hit them, bursting into a net of fine, springy wire that wrapped itself about them like an enormously strong cocoon.
Prenta laughed shrilly.
“I could have used my laser,” she said, “but I want you to know what’s happening until the very end … .” She returned the net-throwing pistol to its holster. “Talking of lasers,” she went on, “I’d better make sure that you can’t use yours. You just might be contortionists enough to reach them … .”
She approached them cautiously. She had in her hand the large screwdriver. She switched it on, set it to full power. The whirling blade, rotating at full speed, would function as a drill of sorts.
She inserted the shaft through an opening in the mesh. Falsen could feel the vibration at his hip as it made contact with his holstered pistol. He heard the sharp crack of shattering plastic, a sputtering of sparks. He smelled the acridity of ozone. He saw Prenta move away from him slightly as she dealt with Linda’s weapon.
“There,” she said again, still with insufferable smugness. “Two birds with one stone, as you Terrans say. You, the Jonahs, who have brought us nothing but misfortune since we found you and brought you aboard our ship. You, and whatever the beasts are that infest these caverns!”
Falsen found that he could speak in spite of the difficulty of moving his jaw.
“The Lady Mother … ” he began.
“The Lady Mother will believe what I and Durl tell her. We were attacked down here by simbors. The two of you, hampered by the bomb that you were carrying, were killed. I and Durl drove them off and escaped injury.”
“And … Pansir … ”
“The same story will do for her. Come, Durl. And happy waiting, Mr. Falsen and Lady Linda.”
Then she was gone, and Durl with her.
CHAPTER 44
The bomb was humming softly to itself.
During his last Survey Service training cruise Falsen had watched, from a safe distance, the test-firing of such a device. He had seen, through almost opaque glasses, the burgeoning fireball, bright as a thousand suns, heard the supernal thunder, felt the shock wave. He remembered the words of the instructor who had lectured the young officers on the capabilities of such weapons.
“If you’re ever involved in a shooting war,” the elderly commander had said, “you’ll find that there are quite a few situations in which presence of mind will save your skins. But when those things are being slung around, absence of body is the real lifesaver.”
And his body, thought Falsen, his strange body could save him yet, could get him out of here.
He hoped.
He willed the change.
Bound as he was, enmeshed by the binding net, he could not remove his hampering clothing. But this did not matter. He could move his
head. His muzzle pushed at the strands of wire. He got his mouth open, felt a metallic filament between his sharp, strong teeth. His enormously powerful jaws closed and he worried the strand, snarling wordlessly as he did so. His lips were cut and he could taste his own blood. Such minor wounds were nothing to worry about, would heal almost at once. Fortunately the alloy, whatever it was, from which the wire had been drawn contained no silver.
The strand parted.
With the first one gone the rest were relatively easy. He tore away at the mesh furiously, ignoring the pain from his bleeding mouth. Suddenly the net slackened about his body, their bodies. He changed again, although reversion to human form seemed to require a far greater effort of will than it had ever done before. He used his hands to pull the still clinging wire strands away from himself and from Linda.
The cavern was in pitch-darkness and he had no means of making light with him. He could not see, but he could smell. There was the mingled scent of Linda and himself, of Prenta and the spacewoman Durl. He followed it, running rather than walking, Linda close on his heels. He grazed his shoulder on one side of the tunnel entrance but kept on going, not daring to slacken speed. It was essential that he and Linda get outside the caves before the lift-off of the blimp. Perhaps Pansir would refuse to believe Prenta’s story about their having been killed by the indigenous predators, would be insisting on waiting for them. But this was unlikely. Nobody likes to hang around when a nuclear bomb is liable to go off at any tick of the clock.
They ran on, frequently scraping skin on the rough rock walls of the tunnel. He briefly considered abandoning his tattered clothing and continuing the journey on all fours. He decided against it. if — if! — the blimp was still there when they got outside, it would not do for the Doralan women to be made aware of his true nature. If there were only Prenta and her henchwoman to worry about, it would not matter so much; they would have to die anyhow. But Pansir was different. He hoped that she would be among the survivors of this ill-starred expedition.
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