Spinneret

by Timothy Zahn

  Major Craig Barner laid aside his copy of the printout. “Speaking only for myself and the Crosse contingent, I think we can recover,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t happen again, we should be able to replace our losses. I see that plasticized undercoating on the boats seemed an effective counter; perhaps we can coat all our vehicles with it. Certainly we can learn not to leave smaller items lying on the ground; I taught my brother to do that when he was five.”

  “And the next time it happens, maybe it’ll just pull harder—maybe hard enough to pull the metals out of us.” Major Dunlop looked around the room. “Any idea how fast you’d die if that happened?”

  “So you want to pull out?” Major Gregory asked. Meredith studied the other’s face carefully, wondering where he stood, Gregory never liked committing himself early to a course of action, but his town of Wright had suffered even more losses than Martello had.

  “Pull out, hell,” Dunlop snorted. “I think we ought to teach those responsible a painful lesson.”

  “‘Those responsible’?” Brown frowned. “Do I take it you’re blaming the Rooshrike?”

  “Who else? We weren’t even settled before they were down here snooping around and probably scattering micro-who-knows-whatsies all over the place.”

  “Why would the Rooshrike do something like that?” Barner asked. “They’re getting paid to let us stay here.”

  “Who knows how their minds work?” Dunlop shrugged. “Maybe this is their version of hologames.”

  Barner snorted. “That’s absurd—”

  “Rooshrike guilt or lack of it is not at issue,” Meredith said, interrupting what could have become a lively discussion. “Let’s leave the impotent sound and fury to the UN, all right? The only question here is whether or not we use the five days till the Aurora arrives to pack up the colony.” A beep from his terminal signaled incoming data. Turning to it, he scanned the report as it filled the screen. It was as bad as he’d expected. Tight-lipped, he pressed for hard copy and handed the single sheet to Barner. “Soil analysis report from Dr. Haversham,” he told the group quietly.

  Barner muttered something vulgar and passed the sheet on. “I never thought of that,” he admitted, looking at Meredith. “That changes things, doesn’t it?”

  Meredith nodded, waiting silently as the others read the report. Every bit of the metal enrichment they’d added so carefully to Astra’s fields had vanished.

  “So what happens now?” Brown asked after a minute.

  “Well, the crops are still alive, but unless we add more fertilizer right away they won’t last very long. We’ve got the fertilizer, so that’s not an immediate problem. But it’ll essentially wipe out our next year’s allotment, which means we’ll have to go hat in hand to Congress to ask for more.”

  There was another short silence. “It seems to me,” Gregory said at last, “that we ought to get some feedback from the troops and civilians before we make any final decision.”

  “I agree,” Barner nodded. “Why don’t we set up town meetings for tomorrow evening? That should give the short-lived emotional response time to pass. Get some idea as to their feelings, then meet together afterward to compare notes.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Meredith said. “Objections or other comments?”

  “Only that we might as well refertilize the crops, in that case,” Brown suggested. “If we decide to. leave we wouldn’t drag the stuff back to Earth, anyway.”

  Meredith nodded. “I’ll have the work orders logged on tonight. I guess that’s it, gentlemen; you’d better get back and see to your commands.”

  They filed out. Picking up the missing-item list again, Meredith began going through it more carefully, noting especially those entries the computer had marked as irreplaceable. But he’d barely started when Andrews, waiting in the outer office, interrupted with an unwelcome announcement. “Colonel, Cristobal Perez is here to see you. Council business, he says.”

  Meredith grimaced. “He always does. All right, I suppose you might as well send him in.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh—Miss Olivero and Dr. Peter Hafner are also here; they’ve been waiting about a half hour.”

  Hafner? Oh, yes—the scientist who’d helped ram through the Council setup. Probably all three were there to make the same complaints. “Send the whole batch of them in,” he sighed. “It’ll probably save time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He’d rather expected Perez to stomp in blazing with righteous indignation, and was disappointed only in degree. The Hispanic was mad, all right, but had toned down his expression and posture to something reasonably short of impolite. Carmen and Hafner, by contrast, seemed more thoughtful than anything else. Meredith considered greeting them first, just to annoy Perez; but the latter’s open hand slamming down on his desk effectively removed that option.

  “Colonel Meredith,” he said with cold formality, “you are holding without reason eight Hispanics from Ceres and Crosse. I demand they be released at once.”

  Meredith returned his gaze steadily. “The Hispanics you refer to went hysterical earlier today and are undergoing standard post-trauma treatment—along with a handful of Anglos, if that makes you feel less picked on.”

  “So those who attempt to alert the populace to your ineptness are drugged and locked away. Is that your idea of responsible command?”

  Meredith shook his head tiredly. “What the hell are you trying for, Perez? You can’t make a ploy like that go anywhere—everybody on Astra knows those people had to be calmed down. In half the cases, their neighbors called us.”

  “I am trying for nothing but justice and competent leadership,” Perez said. “This incident has demonstrated beyond a doubt the Army’s inability to defend the people and property of Astra against attack. We received no warning, no useful instruction—”

  “And I suppose you and your Council would have done better?”

  “If we were given the authority we deserve—”

  “I doubt if anyone could have done anything,” Hafner interrupted. “I’d guess that what happened here today has happened several times in the past hundred thousand years.”

  Meredith and Perez both looked at him, Perez as if seeing him for the first time. “What’s that supposed to mean?” the Hispanic demanded.

  “Just what it sounded like,” Hafner replied. “Something’s been leeching metals out of Astra’s crust since at least before the Kaf Mountains were formed. “

  Meredith shifted his attention to Carmen, cocked an eyebrow questioningly. “I thought you should hear Dr. Hafner’s theory as soon as possible,” she said. “It makes a lot of sense, and I was afraid it would be bounced by someone if he sent it through channels.”

  Meredith nodded and leaned back in his chair. Listening to all this would at the very least buy him some time to figure out what to do with Perez. “All right, Doctor, let’s hear it. For starters, how do the Kaf Mountains figure in?”

  “If you examine the rocks there, you find out two interesting things: the mountains were formed recently, geologically speaking; and they were formed after the metals were removed from the crust.”

  “Who said there ever were metals on Astra?” Perez interrupted. “You’re arguing your conclusion.”

  Hafner gave him an irritated look. “This isn’t a freshman logic class. I’m describing what turns out to be a self-consistent scenario.”

  “You’re welcome to leave if you’re not interested,” Meredith offered. The Hispanic sent him an angry glare; Meredith ignored it and looked back at the geologist. “Why couldn’t they have formed earlier?”

  “Because most of the rocks in Terran mountains involve reasonably high percentages of metals—aluminum, iron, and sodium in particular—and if you suddenly pulled all those atoms out you’d completely destroy the structural strength. I haven’t had a chance yet to study the satellite photos, but I’d bet we’ll find evidence of collapsed mountains ranges now that we know to look for them. The Kafs, on the other hand, are com
posed almost entirely of christobalite—silicon dioxide—and moissanite, a silicon-carbon mineral. In other words, they’re made of the strongest rocks available after the metal was gone.”

  “I see.” This was starting to make altogether too much sense, and Meredith didn’t like that at all. “You said it had happened several times … ?”

  Hafner nodded. “Some of the meteor craters have been formed more recently than that, and they almost certainly brought metals in with them. The fact that those metals were gone before the Rooshrike surveyed Astra means this happened at least one more time.”

  “You keep saying the metal is ‘gone,’” Perez said. “Gone where? The center of the planet? And more importantly, how? I don’t know much chemistry, but I do know yanking iron atoms out of a solid hammer ought to be impossible.”

  “Agreed,” Hafner shrugged. “So should getting those atoms to slide through the soil. I don’t know how it was done, either; but I might know where to look for the answers.”

  Meredith straightened up in his seat, belatedly touching his terminal’s audio record button. “The Rooshrike base?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure they aren’t involved in any of this. The source of the effect is on Astra … and I think it’s a localized source, as well.” He hesitated. “I suppose I should explain my reasoning on that one. Basically, I’m assuming this leeching effect singles out metals because of their electrical conductivity, which probably implies the mechanism is electromagnetic in origin. Anyway, it occurred to me that ions dissolved in water also act somewhat like conductors, and that whatever force draws the metal atoms might draw those ions, too.”

  Meredith had a sudden flash of insight. “The offshore mineral deposits. Right?”

  Hafner blinked in obvious surprise. “That’s exactly right, Colonel. When the ions reach shore and come out of solution, their conductivity disappears and they don’t go any farther into the ground.”

  Meredith tapped some computer keys, and seconds later had a map of the offshore deposits. “So the reason only this continent is bordered by the deposits is that the metal is being drawn and deposited here?”

  Perez snorted. “A great theory. With twenty-five million square kilometers to search for this alleged El Dorado, it would be years before you could be proved wrong. Except that we already know the metals aren’t here.”

  “Not necessarily,” Meredith countered. “All we really know is that they have to be deeper than the Rooshrike’s half-kilometer range. And as for finding them, that much metal should be a gigantic mascon. A properly positioned geosat could pinpoint it in days—” He broke off at Hafner’s look of strained patience. “Or do you have an easier way, Doctor?”

  “I think so.” Hafner leaned over the desk, touched the coastline on both sides of Splayfoot Bay. “The deposits are closest to the surface along here, which indicates to me that the El Dorado, as Mr. Perez calls it, is somewhere to the east and relatively close to us here. However”—he shifted his finger—“when Carmen and I flew over the Dead Sea last month, we found very similar deposits—but on the northwest shoreline.”

  There was only one logical conclusion, and Meredith reached it without trouble. “Mt. Olympus. The volcano.”

  Hafner nodded solemnly. “Mt. Olympus—except that it’s not a volcano. The rocks don’t show me characteristics of lava flow, and the overall shape doesn’t fit with the viscosity of the samples I took.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Colonel, I realize all this sounds pretty unbelievable, and I’m painfully aware there are a lot of questions I haven’t got even half-baked answers for yet. But what happened today can’t be explained by any science I know of—”

  “You want to take an expedition to Olympus for a closer look?” Meredith interjected mildly.

  “Yes, sir. And the sooner the better.”

  The colonel shifted his attention to Carmen. “I take it you’ve already checked out the logistics?”

  She reddened a bit. “Almost everything Dr. Hafner would need seems to be available, sir,” she said. “I haven’t logged any orders yet, of course, but all it would really involve would be pulling one of the flyers off survey work and three or four mountain-trained soldiers from routine duty.”

  “A pilot?”

  “I thought I’d do that myself. All the pilots are technically due for downtime, anyway.”

  “Um. Actually, Doctor, your theory sounds a lot more believable than anything else I’ve heard this afternoon. When do you want to leave?”

  “Just a minute, Colonel,” Perez cut in before Hafner could speak. “I don’t know whether you two cooked up this bafflegab smokescreen together or whether it was a solo effort, but it is not going to get you out of answering my charges of mismanagement. “

  Behind Perez, Hafner took a half step forward. “Unless you have a couple of advanced degrees I don’t know about, I’d suggest you keep blanket assessments to yourself,” he told the Hispanic shortly. “I know what I’m talking about, and I doubt very much that you do.”

  “And as to your ridiculous charges—” Meredith began.

  “Why don’t you come with us tomorrow, Cris?” Carmen interrupted suddenly.

  All three men looked at her. “To Olympus?” Perez frowned. His eyes flicked to each of the others, as if looking for a trap. “Why?”

  “Why not? It would give you the chance to see Peter test his theories. You could be sort of an unofficial observer for the Council.”

  “The Council doesn’t need any observers there—unofficial or not,” Meredith growled.

  Perez sent a tight smile in the colonel’s direction. “Your point is well taken, Miss Olivero,” he said, bowing his head briefly. “I accept. With the doctor’s permission, naturally.”

  Carmen shifted her eyes to Hafner. “Peter?”

  Hafner’s expression was that of a man facing a tax audit, but he shrugged fractionally. “As long as he stays out of the way,” he said. “We’re leaving before sunrise, though—I want to be ready to start climbing as soon as it’s light enough.”

  Perez’s smile this time had a trace of bitterness to it. “Those of us who work the fields are used to rising early.”

  “Um.” Hafner’s irritation seemed to soften a bit. “Well, be at Martello by four o’clock. Colonel, thank you for your time and permission on this. I hope we’ll have some answers for you when we get back.” He took Carmen’s arm and together they left the office.

  “You’re invited out, too,” Meredith told Perez.

  “Of course.” The Hispanic walked to the door, paused with his hand on the knob. “But this matter is not settled, Colonel. Miss Olivero’s efforts to sidetrack me have merely postponed the inevitable.” Turning, he wrenched open the door and strode through it.

  Deliver me from demagogues. With a sigh, Meredith let himself sag from the straight-backed military posture he’d adopted for Perez’s benefit. Once, he’d thought this command would be the sure way to that long-awaited general’s star; later, as the survey reports came in, his optimism had waned, replaced by grim determination. After today—

  After today, he’d be lucky to keep his eagles. Or his butt.

  But until the scapegoat-hunters in Congress got to him, he was still in charge; and neither hell, high water, Perez, nor Astra itself was going to change that.

  Picking up the missing-items printout again, he began making a list for the Aurora to take back to Earth.

  Chapter 9

  THE EARLY MORNING AIR was relatively cool, but nothing, Perez decided, compared to the chill in the flyer’s cockpit as the expedition burned through the sky toward Olympus. Carmen’s scientist friend—Hafner—clearly still considered Perez an unnecessary bit of luggage, and had rather pointedly taken the copilot’s seat, leaving Perez to rattle around in back with the three soldiers and Hafner’s assistant. Perez hadn’t argued; he’d simply folded out the emergency jumpseat behind Carmen’s station and settled in, ignoring Hafner’s order to find a safer seat. The view was lousy, and
as his presence seemed to put a damper on Hafner’s talkativeness he didn’t learn anything useful. But he’d long since learned that distinction was a vital ingredient of power, and for that reason alone he would willingly have put up with the jumpseat. Actually, he found the situation rather amusing as well.

  Still, it was probably a good thing the trip was short.

  The eastern sky was glowing but the sun not yet up when they landed south of Olympus’s cone. The climbing equipment, Perez noted with secret relief, was the kind suited to straightforward trips up easy slopes—apparently the more advanced rock-climbing skills weren’t going to be needed here. Whatever else Hafner might be, he was a decent organizer: ten minutes after landing, their route pointed out to them on map and terrain and the equipment distributed, they began to climb.

  And five minutes later, they had their first casualty.

  “How does it feel?” Hafner asked as he carefully removed Carmen’s left boot and felt the skin below.

  “About like a twisted ankle always feels,” she snorted, tight-lipped with pain and anger. “Damn. Of all the stupid times to fall over my own feet.”

  “Better now than later,” Hafner countered. “It’ll be easier to get you down to the flyer from here.”

  “I’ll be all right.” She struggled to her feet and eased some weight onto her left foot. She managed not to wince, but she didn’t leave the weight there long, either.

  “Uh-uh.” Hafner shook his head. “Nothing seems broken, but you’re not going to be walking on that foot for a while, let alone climbing mountains.” His eyes swept the group; settled briefly on Perez, then moved to one of the soldiers. “Sadowski, help Miss Olivero back to the flyer and stay with her.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man stepped forward and put his arm around her waist.

  Reluctantly, Carmen shifted her grip from Hafner’s arm to Sadowski’s shoulder. “All right. But keep your radios on, okay? I want to hear what you’re doing.”