by Andre Norton
2
PLANETFALL
Raf Kurbi, flitter pilot and techneer, lay on the padded shock cushionof his assigned bunk and stared with wide, disillusioned eyes at thestretch of stark, gray metal directly overhead. He tried to close hisears to the mutter of meaningless words coming from across the narrowcabin. Raf had known from the moment his name had been drawn as crewmember that the whole trip would be a gamble, a wild gamble with theodds all against them. _RS 10_--those very numbers on the nose of theship told part of the story. Ten exploring fingers thrust in turn outinto the blackness of space. _RS 3_'s fate was known--she hadblossomed into a pinpoint of flame within the orbit of Mars. And _RS7_ had clearly gone out of control while instruments on Terra couldstill pick up her broadcasts. Of the rest--well, none had returned.
But the ships were built, manned by lot from the trainees, and sentout, one every five years, with all that had been learned from theprevious job, each refinement the engineers could discoverincorporated into the latest to rise from the launching cradle.
_RS 10_--Raf closed his eyes with weary distaste. After months ofbeing trapped inside her ever-vibrating shell, he felt that he kneweach and every rivet, seam, and plate in her only too well. And therewas no reason yet to believe that the voyage would ever end. Theywould just go on and on through empty space until dead men manned adrifting hulk--
There--to picture that was a danger signal. Whenever his thoughtsreached that particular point, Raf tried to think of something else,to break the chain of dismal foreboding. How? By joining in Wonstead'smonologue of complaint and regret? Raf had heard the same words overand over so often that they no longer had any meaning--except as aseries of sounds he might miss if the man who shared this pocket weresuddenly stricken dumb.
"Should never have put in for training--" Wonstead's whine went up thescale.
That was unoriginal enough. They had all had that idea the minuteafter the sorter had plucked their names for crew inclusion. No matterwhat motive had led them into the stiff course of training--thefabulous pay, a real interest in the project, the exploring fever--Rafdid not believe that there was a single man whose heart had not sunkwhen he had been selected for flight. Even he, who had dreamed all hislife of the stars and the wonders which might lie just beyond the bigjump, had been honestly sick on the day he had shouldered his bagaboard and had first taken his place on this mat and waited, drymouthed and shivering, for blast-off.
One lost all sense of time out here. They ate sparingly, slept whenthey could, tried to while away the endless hours artificially dividedinto set periods. But still weeks might be months, or months weeks.They could have been years in space--or only days. All they knew wasthe unending monotony which dragged upon a man until he either lapsedinto a dreamy rejection of his surroundings, as had Hamp and Floy, orflew into murderous rages, such as kept Morris in solitary confinementat present. And no foreseeable end to the flight--
Raf breathed shallowly. The air was stale, he could almost taste it.It was difficult now to remember being in the open air under a sky,with fresh winds blowing about one. He tried to picture on that dullstrip of metal overhead a stretch of green grass, a tree, even theblue sky and floating white clouds. But the patch remained stubbornlygray, the murmur of Wonstead went on and on, a drone in his achingears, the throb of the ship's life beat through his own thin body.
What had it been like on those legendary early flights, when thesecret of the overdrive had not yet been discovered, when any whodared the path between star and star had surrendered to sleep, perhapsto wake again generations later, perhaps never to rouse again? He hadseen the few documents discovered four or five hundred years ago inthe raided headquarters of the scientific outlaws who had fled theregimented world government of Pax and dared space on the single hopeof surviving such a journey in cold sleep, the secret of which hadbeen lost. At least, Raf thought, they had escaped the actualdiscomfort of the voyage.
Had they found their new world or worlds? The end of their ventureshad been debated thousands of times since those documents had beenmade public, after the downfall of Pax and the coming into power ofthe Federation of Free Men.
In fact it was the publication of the papers which had given theadditional spur to the building of the _RS_ armada. What man had daredonce he could dare anew. And the pursuit of knowledge which had beenso long forbidden under Pax was heady excitement for the world.Research and discovery became feverish avenues of endeavor. Even theslim hope of a successful star voyage and the return to Terra withsuch rich spoils of information was enough to harness three quartersof the planet's energy for close to a hundred years. And if the _RS10_ was not successful, there would be _11_, _12_, more--flaming intothe sky and out into the void, unless some newer and more intriguingexperiment developed to center public imagination in anotherdirection.
Raf's eyes closed wearily. Soon the gong would sound and this periodof rest would be officially ended. But it was hardly worth rising. Hewas not in the least hungry for the concentrated food. He could repeatthe information tapes they carried dull word for dull word.
"Nothing to see--nothing but these blasted walls!" Again Wonstead'svoice arose in querulous protest.
Yes, while in overdrive there was nothing to see. The ports of theship would be sealed until they were in normal space once more. Thatis, if it worked and they were not caught up forever within this thicktrap where there was no time, light, or distance.
The gong sounded, but Raf made no move to rise. He heard Wonsteadmove, saw from the corner of his eye the other's bulk heave upobediently from the pad.
"Hey--mess gong!" He pointed out the obvious to Raf.
With a sigh the other levered himself up on his elbows. If he did notmove, Wonstead was capable of reporting him to the captain for strangebehavior, and they were all too alert to a divagation which might meantrouble. He had no desire to end in confinement with Morris.
"I'm coming," Raf said sullenly. But he remained sitting on the edgeof the pad until Wonstead left the cabin, and he followed as slowly ashe could.
So he was not with the others when a new sound tore through theconstant vibrating hum which filled the narrow corridors of the ship.Raf stiffened, the icy touch of fear tensing his muscles. Was that thered alarm of disaster?
His eyes went to the light at the end of the short passage. But noblink of warning red shown there. Not danger--then what--?
It took him a full moment to realize what he had heard, not the signalof doom, but the sound which was to herald the accomplishment of theirmission--the sound which unconsciously they had all given up any hopeof ever hearing. They had made it!
The pilot leaned weakly against the wall, and his eyes smarted, hishands were trembling. In that moment he knew that he had never really,honestly, believed that they would succeed. But they had! _RS 10_ hadreached the stars!
"Strap down for turnout--strap down for turnout--!" The disembodiedvoice screaming through the ship's speecher was that of CaptainHobart, but it was almost unrecognizable with emotion. Raf turned andstumbled back to his cabin, staggered to throw himself once more onhis pad as he fumbled with the straps he must buckle over him.
He heard rather than saw Wonstead blunder in to follow his example,and for the first time in months the other was dumb, not uttering aword as he stowed away for the breakthrough which should take themback into normal space and the star worlds. Raf tore a nail on afastening, muttered.
"Condition red--condition red--Strap down for breakthrough--" Hobartchanted at them from the walls. "One, two, three"--the count swung onnumeral by numeral; then--"ten--Stand by--"
Raf had forgotten what breakthrough was like. He had gone through itthe first time when still under take-off sedation. But this was worsethan he remembered, so much worse. He tried to scream out his protestagainst the torture which twisted mind and body, but he could notutter even a weak cry. This, this was unbearable--a man could go mador die--die--die....
He aroused with the flat sweetness of blood on his ton
gue, a splittingpain behind the eyes he tried to focus on the too familiar scrap ofwall. A voice boomed, receded, and boomed again, filling the air andat last making sense, in it a ring of wild triumph!
"Made it! This is it, men, we've made it; Sol-class sun--threeplanets. We'll set an orbit in--"
Raf licked his lips. It was still too much to swallow in one mentalgulp. So, they had made it--half of their venture was accomplished.They had broken out of their own solar system, made the big jump, andbefore them lay the unknown. Now it was within their reach.
"D'you hear that, kid?" demanded Wonstead, his voice no longer anaccusing whine, more steady than Raf ever remembered hearing it. "Wegot through! We'll hit dirt again! Dirt--" his words trailed away asif he were sinking into some blissful daydream.
There was a different feeling to the ship herself. The steady dronewhich had ached in their ears, their bones, as she bored her waythrough the alien hyper-space had changed to a purr as if she, too,were rejoicing at the success of their desperate try. For the firsttime in weary weeks Raf remembered his own duties which would beginwhen the _RS 10_ came in to a flame-cushioned landing on a new world.He was to assemble and ready the small exploration flyer, to man itscontrols and take it up and out. Frowning, he began to run over in hismind each step in the preparations he must make as soon as theyplaneted.
Information came down from control, where now the ports were open onnormal space and the engines were under control of the spacer's pilot.Their goal was to be the third planet, one which showed signs ofatmosphere, of water and earth ready and waiting.
Those who were not on flight duty crowded into the tiny central cabin,where they elbowed each other before the viewer. The ball of alienearth grew from a pinpoint to the size of an orange. They forgot timein the wonder which none had ever thought in his heart he would see onthe screen. Raf knew that in control every second of this was beingrecorded as they began to establish a braking orbit, which with luckwould bring them down on the surface of the new world.
"Cities--those must be cities!" Those in the cabin studied the platewith awe as the information filtered through the crew. Lablet, theirxenobiologist, sat with his fingers rigid on the lower bar of the visaplate, so intent that nothing could break his vigil, while the restspeculated wildly. Had they really seen cities?
Raf went down the corridor to the door of the sealed compartment thatheld the machine and the supplies for which he was responsible. Theselast hours of waiting were worse with their nagging suspense than allthe time which had gone before. If they could only set down!
He had, on training trips which now seemed very far in the past, trodthe rust-red desert country of Mars, waddled in a bulky protectivesuit across the peaked ranges of the dead Moon, known something of thelarger asteroids. But how would it feel to tread ground warmed by therays of another sun? Imagination with which his superiors did notcredit him began to stir. Traits inherited from a mixture of raceswere there to be summoned. Raf retreated once more into his cabin andsat on his bunk pad, staring down at his own capable mechanic's handswithout seeing them, picturing instead all the wonders which might liejust beyond the next few hours' imprisonment in this metallic shell hehad grown to hate with a dull but abiding hatred.
Although he knew that Hobart must be fully as eager as any of them toland, it seemed to Raf, and the other impatient crew members, thatthey were very long in entering the atmosphere of the chosen world. Itwas only when the order came to strap down for deceleration that theywere in a measure satisfied. Pull of gravity, ship beaming in at anangle which swept it from night to day or night again as it encircledthat unknown globe. They could not watch their objective any longer.The future depended entirely upon the skill of the three men incontrol--and last of all upon Hobart's judgment and skill.
The captain brought them down, riding the flaming counter-blasts fromthe ship's tail to set her on her fins in an expert point landing, sothat the _RS 10_ was a finger of light into the sky, amid wisps ofsmoke from brush ignited by her landing.
There was another wait which seemed endless to the restless menwithin, a wait until the air was analyzed, the countryside surveyed.But when the go-ahead signal was given and the ramp swung out, thosefirst at the hatch still hesitated for an instant or so, though theway before them was open.
Beyond the burnt ground about the ship was a rolling plain coveredwith tall grass which rippled under the wind. And the freshness ofthat wind cleansed their lungs of the taint of the ship.
Raf pulled off his helmet, held his head high in that breeze. It waslike bathing in air, washing away the smog of those long days ofimprisonment. He ran down the ramp, past the little group of those whohad preceded him, and fell on his knees in the grass, catching at itwith his hands, a little over-awed at the wonder of it all.
The wide sweep of sky above them was not entirely blue, he noted.There was the faintest suggestion of green, and across it moved cloudsof silver. But, save for the grass, they might be in a dead and emptyworld. Where were the cities? Or had those been born of imagination?
After a while, when the wonder of this landing had somewhat worn away,Hobart summoned them back to the prosaic business of setting up base.And Raf went to work at his own task. The sealed storeroom was opened,the supplies slung by crane down from the ship. The compact assembly,streamlined for this purpose, was all ready for the morrow.
They spent the night within the ship, much against their will. Afterthe taste of freedom they had been given, the cramped interior weighedupon them, closing like a prison. Raf lay on his pad unable to sleep.It seemed to him that he could hear, even through the heavy plates,the sigh of that refreshing wind, the call of the open world lyingready for them. Step by step in his mind, he went through the processfor which he would be responsible the next day. The uncrating of thesmall flyer, the assembling of frame and motor. And sometime in themidst of that survey he did fall asleep, so deeply that Wonstead hadto shake him awake in the morning.
He bolted his food and was out at his job before it was far past dawn.But eager as he was to get to work, he paused just to look at theearth scuffed up by his boots, to stare for a long moment at a stalkof tough grass and remember with a thrill which never lessened thatthis was not native earth or grass, that he stood where none of hisrace, or even of his kind, had stood before--on a new planet in a newsolar system.
Raf's expert training and instruction paid off. By evening he had theflitter assembled save for the motor which still reposed on theturning block. One party had gone questing out into the grass andreturned with the story of a stream hidden in a gash in the plain, andWonstead carried the limp body of a rabbit-sized furred creature hehad knocked over at the waterside.
"Acted tame." Wonstead was proud of his kill. "Stupid thing just stoodand watched me while I let fly with a stone."
Raf picked up the little body. Its fur was red-brown, plush-thick, andvery soft to the touch. The breast was creamy white and the forepawscuriously short with an uncanny resemblance to his own hands. Suddenlyhe wished that Wonstead had not killed it, though he supposed thatChou, their biologist, would be grateful. But the animal lookedparticularly defenseless. It would have been better not to mark theirfirst day on this new world with a killing--even if it were theknocking over of a stupid rabbit thing. The pilot was glad when Choubore it off and he no longer had to look at it.
It was after the evening meal that Raf was called into consultation bythe officers to receive his orders. When he reported that the flitter,barring unexpected accidents, would be air-borne by the followingafternoon, he was shown an enlarged picture from the records madeduring the descent of the _RS 10_.
There was a city, right enough--showing up well from the air. Hobartstabbed a finger down into the heart of it.
"This lies south from here. We'll cruise in that direction."
Raf would have liked to ask some questions of his own. The cityphotographed was a sizable one. Why then this deserted land here? Whyhadn't the inhabitants been out to investigate th
e puzzle of the spaceship's landing? He said slowly, "I've mounted one gun, sir. Do youwant the other installed? It will mean that the flitter can only carrythree instead of four--"
Hobart pulled his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. Heglanced at his lieutenant then to Lablet, sitting quietly to one side.It was the latter who spoke first.
"I'd say this shows definite traces of retrogression." He touched thephotograph. "The place may even be only a ruin."
"Very well. Leave off the other gun," Hobart ordered crisply. "And beready to fly at dawn day after tomorrow with full field kit. You'resure she'll have at least a thousand-mile cruising radius?"
Raf suppressed a shrug. How could you tell what any machine would dounder new conditions? The flitter had been put through every possibletest in his home world. Whether she would perform as perfectly herewas another matter.
"They thought she would, sir," he replied. "I'll take her up for ashakedown run tomorrow after the motor is installed."
Captain Hobart dismissed him with a nod, and Raf was glad to clatterdown ladders into the cool of the evening once more. Flying high in aformation of two lanes were some distant birds, at least he supposedthey were birds. But he did not call attention to them. Instead hewatched them out of sight, lingering alone with no desire to jointhose crew members who had built a campfire a little distance from theship. The flames were familiar and cheerful, a portion, somehow, oftheir native world transported to the new.
Raf could hear the murmur of voices. But he turned and went to theflitter. Taking his hand torch, he checked the work he had done duringthe day. To-morrow--tomorrow he could take her up into the blue-greensky, circle out over the sea of grass for a short testing flight. Thatmuch he wanted to do.
But the thought of the cruise south, of venturing toward thatsprawling splotch Hobart and Lablet identified as a city was somehowdistasteful, and he was reluctant to think about it.
