The Dark Design

by Philip José Farmer

  “He couldn’t have been since the ledge on which he stood doesn’t exist far enough to put him in the line of sight.”

  “Maybe that flash of light actually came from the aircraft he saw a minute later,” Firebrass said. “It was coming down and perhaps its engines had to release some energy, in some fashion, to check its rate of descent. Joe thought it was the sun’s rays.”

  Cyrano said, “It’s possible. Or perhaps the light was a signal from the tower. However, if the tower is big enough to be seen by Joe, and he must have been standing high on that ledge to see 48.5 kilometers away, how could he see a much smaller object, the aerial machine?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t so small,” Firebrass said.

  They were silent for a moment. Jill tried to estimate the size of an aircraft that could be seen at that distance. She did not know what it should be, but she thought that it must be at least a kilometer wide.

  “I do not like to think of it,” Cyrano said.

  Firebrass ordered him to send the ship in a circle around the sea. The radar indicated that the sides of the circular tower were smooth and unbroken, except for openings about 243 meters or slightly less than 800 feet below the top.

  There was a difference in the height of the exterior top of the tower and the interior. Inside walls 243 meters tall was the smooth surface of a landing field almost 16 kilometers across.

  “Those openings at the bottom of the wall are slightly lower than the center,” Firebrass said. “That must be so the moisture can drain out through the holes.”

  What interested them most, however, was the only protuberance on the “landing field.” This was located at one end, south—all directions from the tower’s center were south—and it was a hemisphere with a diameter of 16 meters and a height of 8 meters.

  “If that isn’t an entrance, I’ll eat my loincloth,” Firebrass said. He shook his head. “Sam’s going to be disappointed when he hears about this. There is no way that anybody can get into this tower except by air.”

  “We’re not in yet,” Piscator murmured.

  “Yeah? I know. But we’re sure as hell going to try. Listen, everybody. Sam ordered that we should make only a scouting trip. I think that trying to get into that tower comes under the definition of scouting.”

  Firebrass was almost always ebullient, but now his whole body seemed to quiver and his face was lit up as if all his nerves had suddenly become light transmitters. Even his voice shook with excitement.

  “There may be defensive weapons, manned or automatic, down there. The only way to find out is to probe. But I don’t want to endanger the ship any more than we have to.

  “Jill, I’m going down with a small party in a chopper. You’ll be in charge, which means you’ll be captain, even if only for a short time. Whatever else happens, you’ve achieved that ambition.

  “You keep the ship at about a thousand meters above the tower’s top and a thousand meters away from it. If anything should happen to us, you take the ship back to Sam. That’s an order.

  “If I see anything suspicious, I’ll holler. You take off then and let me worry about getting back. Got that?”

  Jill said, “Yes, sir.”

  “If that dome has an entrance, it may take an electronic or mechanical Open Sesame to get in. Maybe not. They wouldn’t think there’d be any chance of us ever getting to it. I don’t think there’s anybody home. Maybe there is, and they’re just waiting to see what we do before they take action. Let’s hope not.”

  Cyrano said, “I’d like to go with you, my captain.”

  “You stay here. You’re our best pilot. I’ll take you, Anna, and Haldorsson, he can fly a chopper, too, Metzing, Arduino, Chong, and Singh. That is, if they’ll volunteer.”

  Obrenova phoned the others at their posts and then reported that they were more than willing.

  Firebrass informed the crew of the radar findings over the general address system. He also told them that a party would be landing shortly.

  He had no sooner finished than he got a call from Thorn. Firebrass listened for a minute, then said, “No, Barry, I have enough volunteers.”

  Turning away from the phone, he said, “Thorn was very eager to be with me. He sounded unhappy when I turned him down. I didn’t know he was so fired up about this.”

  Jill phoned the hangar section and told Szentes, its chief petty officer, to prepare the No. 1 helicopter for flight.

  Firebrass shook hands with everyone in the control room except Jill. He gave her a long hug. She was not sure that she liked that. It seemed unofficerly, and it was also too much like a farewell embrace. Did he have some doubts about being able to return? Or was she just projecting her own anxiety upon him?

  Whatever the truth, she was having conflicting emotions. She resented his treating her differently from the others, yet she felt warmed because he was especially fond of her. It was a wonder that she did not have ulcers, she suffered so much and so frequently from opposing feelings. But then she had never heard of anybody having ulcers on this world. Mental and nervous tensions seemed to manifest themselves in psychic forms. Her hallucinations, for instance.

  A moment later, she was no longer the exception. Cyrano had asked Piscator to take his post for a minute. Then he had risen and warmly embraced the captain while tears ran down his cheeks.

  “My dear friend, you must not look so sad! There may be danger there, but do not fear! I, Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, will be at your side!”

  Firebrass released himself, patted the Frenchman on the shoulder, and laughed, “Hey, I didn’t mean to make everybody think something will go wrong! I wasn’t saying good-bye, just so long! What the hell! Can’t I… ? Oh, well! No, Cyrano, you get back to your post.”

  He smiled, his teeth very white in his dark face, and he waved at them. “So long!”

  Anna Obrenova, looking very pensive, followed him. Metzing, looking very grim and Teutonic, walked out behind her.

  Jill immediately gave orders that the ship be taken to the position Firebrass had commanded. The Parseval began to circle downward. When it had plunged into the fog, its searchlights were turned on. Though powerful, these could penetrate only 150 meters or somewhat less than 500 feet. The dirigible took its position, hovering in one place, its nose pointed into the wind, its speed exactly matching the force of the wind. Four tunnels of light were carved into the fog, but these showed nothing but dark-gray clouds. The tower was ahead and below, invisible, yet seeming to radiate a massive ominousness, extending feelers that gripped the ship.

  No one spoke. Cyrano lit up a cigar. Piscator stood behind the radar operator and watched the sweeps on the scopes. The radio operator was intent on his dials, running the set through the frequency spectrum. Jill wondered just what he hoped to pick up.

  After what seemed an hour but was only fifteen minutes, Szentes called the captain pro tempore. The belly hatch was open, the chopper was warmed up, and takeoff would be in one minute.

  Szentes sounded strained.

  “There’s a little problem, Ms. Gulbirra, which is why I called you before takeoff. Thorn appeared, and he tried to argue the captain into taking him along. The captain told him to get back to his post.”

  “Did he do that?”

  “Yes, sir. The captain told me to call you to make sure. Mr. Thorn won’t have had time to get to the tail section yet, though, sir.”

  “Very well, Szentes. I’ll take care of it.”

  She switched off, and she swore softly. Here she was, commander for only fifteen minutes, and she was confronted with a disciplinary problem. What had gotten into Thorn?

  There was only one thing to do. If she ignored Thorn’s behavior, she would lose control of the ship, the respect of the crew.

  She phoned the auxiliary control room in the lower tail structure. Salomo Coppename, a Surinamese, the aft second mate, answered.

  “Arrest Mr. Thorn. Have him conducted to his cabin by a guard detail, and make sure a guard is posted outside his cabin.�
��

  Coppename must have wondered what was going on, but he did not question her.

  “And call me as soon as he shows.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A red light on the control panel ceased blinking. The belly hatch had just been closed. The radar had picked up the No. 1 helicopter, heading downward for the top of the tower.

  A voice suddenly came over the radio.

  “Firebrass here.”

  “We read you loud and clear,” the radio operator said.

  “Fine. You’re coming in L and C, too. I’m going to land about a hundred meters from the dome. Our radar’s working A-OK and so we shouldn’t have any problems. I expect that the wall will block off most of the wind when we land.

  “Jill? You there?”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “What did you do about Thorn?”

  Jill told him, and Firebrass said, “That’s what I would’ve done. I’ll ask him why he was so hot to go with us when I get back. If… if I don’t get back, for any reason, you question him. But keep him under guard until this tower business is finished.”

  Jill ordered Aukuso to tie in the radio with the general address system. There was no reason that everybody should not listen in.

  “I’m coming down now. The wind is weaker now. Jill, I…”

  Cyrano said, “The belly hatch is opening!”

  He pointed at a blinking red light on the panel.

  “Mon Dieu!”

  He pointed out through the windscreen.

  That was not necessary. Everybody in the control room was looking at the fiery ball suddenly born in the dark grayness.

  Jill moaned.

  Aukuso said loudly, “Captain! Come in, Captain!”

  There was no answer.

  The intercom was ringing.

  Moving slowly, as if the air were cotton candy, Jill pushed the switch to ON.

  Szentes said, “Sir, Thorn just stole the other chopper! But I think I got the son of a bitch! I emptied my pistol at him!”

  Cyrano said, “He’s on the scope!”

  “Szentes, what happened?”

  She fought to get out of the thick element in which she was drowning. She had to shed this numbness, to recover quickness of analysis and decision.

  “Officer Thorn left the hangar bay as the captain ordered. But he came back as soon as the chopper left, and he had a pistol with him. He made us get into the supply compartment, and he shot off the intercom unit. Then he locked us in. He forgot that arms are stored there, too. Or maybe he thought he’d be gone before we could get out.

  “Anyway, we shot off the lock, and we rushed out. By then he was in the chopper and lifting it off the landing platform. I shot at him just as the chopper was going down out of the bay. The others shot, too.

  “Sir, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll notify the crew just as soon as I know myself,” Jill said.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a funny thing. Thorn was weeping all the time he forced us into the supply room, even when he said he’d shoot us if we tried to stop him.”

  “Out,” Jill said, and switched the intercom off.

  The infrared equipment operator said, “The fire’s still burning, sir.”

  The radar operator, pale under his dark pigmentation, said, “That fire is the helicopter, sir. It’s on the landing deck of the tower.”

  She looked into the fog. She could see nothing except the swirling clouds.

  “I’ve got the other chopper,” the radarman said. “It’s headed down. Toward the base of the tower.”

  A moment later, he added, “The chopper is on the surface of the sea.”

  “Aukuso, call Thorn.”

  The gluey feeling was receding now. She still felt confused, but now she was becoming capable of finding some order in the chaos.

  After a minute, Aukuso said, “He doesn’t answer.”

  According to the radar, the amphibious helicopter was now floating on the sea 30 meters from the tower.

  “Keep trying, Aukuso.”

  Firebrass was probably dead. She was the captain now, her ambition achieved.

  “God! I didn’t want it this way!”

  Dully, she called Coppename and told him to come to the control room to take over the duties of the first mate. Alexandros would be the aft first officer.

  “Cyrano, we’ll have to take care of Thorn later. As of now, we have to find out what happened to Firebrass… and the others.”

  She paused, and said, “We have to land on top of the tower.”

  “Certainly, why not?” Cyrano said.

  He was pale, and his jaw set. But he seemed in perfect control of himself.

  The Parseval moved through the clouds, its radar probing ahead and below. There was a powerful updraft around the tower, but it lost its force as soon as the dirigible was over the top.

  The belly searchlights lanced downward, sweeping over the dull gray metal of the vast surface. The people in the control room could see the flames, but they could not distinguish the helicopter itself.

  Slowly, the airship slid past the fire. Now its propellers were swiveled horizontally to pull the colossus down.

  As gently as possible, its pilot brought it down. Under ideal conditions, there would have been no wind at all. However, the thousands of drainage holes along the base of the wall permitted a breeze of 8km/h. This, on the Beaufort scale, was a light breeze. Wind felt on the face. Leaves, if present, rustling. An ordinary wind vane moved by the wind.

  A layman would consider it negligible. But the great surface of the buoyant ship was easily pushed by this breeze if no propulsive force countered it. It would be taken up hard against a wall unless something were done to stop it.

  Unfortunately, there was no mooring mast. Also, the vessel could not be brought into direct contact with the landing field. Unlike the Graf Zeppelin and Hindenburg, the Parseval had no underslung control gondola with a wheel on its bottom to keep the lower tail structure from rubbing against the ground when landing. Since the control room of the Parseval was in the nose, the ship could not land without damaging the tail fin.

  However, there were ropes stored aboard. These had been taken along in case a landing had to be made on a plain alongside The River. They were to be thrown down to the people on the ground, and these, hopefully, would volunteer as a ground crew.

  Jill gave a few orders. Cyrano turned the craft broadside to the wind. For several kilometers, he allowed the wind, which was decreasing, to push the ship toward the wall. By then it was obvious that the wind was blowing the other way now, its source the nearest apertures.

  When radar indicated that the nose was a half-kilometer from the wall, he reversed the propellers at slow speed. The airship halted, and the belly hatch opened.

  Ropes were lowered, and, by fours, fifty men climbed down them. As each group touched the ground, the ship lost its weight and became more buoyant. Reluctantly, Jill ordered that hydrogen be released from the cells. This was the only way to balance the lift, and she hated to expend the gas. Ballast could be released later to regain the buoyancy.

  Other ropes were thrown down from the nose and the tail. The men on the ground seized these and hung on, bringing their weight to bear.

  Cyrano now let the airship sail toward the wall, the propellers unmoving. Before the nose touched the wall, the propellers started up again, and the airship stopped.

  Two men ran to the wall and tested the wind at the apertures. Via walkie-talkie, they verified that the wind coming in through these would be strong enough to keep the ship from swinging broadside into the wall.

  Other men were let down on ropes, and more hydrogen was valved. These added their weight to the crew holding the aft ropes.

  Others hastened to help the men at the nose. After towing the Parseval slowly until its nose almost touched the wall, they passed the ropes through the three holes, using extended hooks to catch the ropes outside and then draw the
m in. These were tied, and the tail was swung around until the dirigible was parallel to the wall. Then the tail ropes were tied down.

  The vessel was now floating about 20 meters away from the wall.

  Jill did not expect any change in the wind. If there was, it could be exceedingly damaging. One rub of the ship against the wall could strip off the transmission gears and the propellers on the port side.

  A ladder was let down from the belly hatch. Jill and Piscator hastened from the control room, walked swiftly down the passageway, and then went down the ladder. Doctor Graves was waiting for them, his black bag in his hand.

  The helicopter had crashed about 30 meters from the dome. With its flames a beacon, they pressed through the fog toward it. Jill’s heart beat hard as they neared the wreckage. It seemed impossible that vigorous, flamboyant Firebrass could be dead.

  He lay a few meters from the flaming mass where the impact had thrown him. The others were still in the machine, the blackened body of one sitting up in its seat.

  Graves handed his lamp to Piscator and bent down over the figure. Smoke mingled with the fog and brought the sickening stench of burning gasoline and flesh to them. Jill felt as if she were going to vomit.

  “Hold the light steady!” Graves said sharply.

  Jill did so, forcing herself to look at the corpse. His clothes had been blown off him; his skin was seared from top to bottom. Despite the burning, his features were still recognizable. He must not have been in the flames long. Perhaps he had been ejected by the explosion before the machine crashed. The fall would account for the removal of the top of his head.

  Jill could not see why the doctor had to examine the body. She was about to tell him so when he stood up. His hand, its palm open, was held out to her.

  “Look at this.”

  She brought the lamp close to his hand. The object in it was a sphere the size of a matchhead.

  “It was on his forebrain. I don’t know what the hell it is.”