Mer-Cycle

  There was a jerk, and then the line did slacken. Pacifa had grabbed hold of the pulley wheel, relieving the rope of most of her weight, and Gaspar had braked hard to hold her there.

  Don unhooked quickly. “Off!” he shouted.

  Slowly the loop moved up. Slowly Pacifa came down. This was the dangerous part; if Gaspar slipped or if the bicycle chain broke—don’t even think it!—she would plummet. She had confidence in her handiwork and in her companions, and she had courage.

  “Next time we’ll have to use rocks for counterweights,” she said, smiling. “Then we can send someone down with every shift.”

  “We shall,” Eleph agreed.

  Pacifa gave a short laugh, but the notion made sense to Don. What did she see wrong with it?

  The rope slackened. “All right—get off,” Gaspar called from above. Pacifa unhooked.

  Then the rope jerked upward, halted, and jerked again. Gaspar was handing himself down, using both ropes. No—he was tying the other end, for the doubled strand would reach only half way.

  Down he came, handing it along the single rope without his bicycle. Don was amazed. Gaspar had nothing to breathe!

  Gaspar dropped the last few feet and jumped into Don’s field. He took a tremendous breath. He had been holding it! “Cold out there,” he exclaimed.

  “Must be nice having muscle and wind like that,” Eleph remarked, a bit wistfully.

  “Just conditioning,” Gaspar said. “A diver has to keep in shape. I’d have been in trouble if I’d had to depend on my worn-out legs! Got a counterweight?”

  “Here,” Pacifa said with a chuckle, indicating a rock.

  “But that’s phased out!” Don protested, suddenly realizing why she had found the matter humorous. “I mean, we are.”

  But Eleph was serious. “It still weighs the same,” he said. He brought out a tiny cylinder, opened it, and drew forth an almost invisible fine thread. He strung this around and within the open tire casing that had been removed from Gaspar’s bicycle. Then he folded the tire about the rock and tied it in place with the rope.

  The others watched silently. Don could make no sense of the procedure. The moment any pull was exerted on the rope, the whole phased tire would slide through the unphased rock without significant effect. Only if the rock also existed in the phase realm could it be used, and they had encountered no loose fragments there.

  “Will you two healthy specimens carry this over to the hoist, please?” Eleph asked.

  Don looked at Gaspar. Pacifa hummed a merry tune. Melanie looked studiously neutral.

  Gaspar shrugged. He walked to the rock, and Don followed. Gaspar took hold of the rope and yanked, one-handed.

  Then he looked down, surprised. “It resists!”

  Don tried it. The stone did resist. It was heavy. He poked his finger into it, and found only that whipped-cream semi-solidity. He hauled on the rope again, hard—and the stone budged.

  “Let me see that,” Pacifa said, no longer laughing. She repeated the experiment, while Gaspar took her place at the hoist-rope so that his bicycle would not crash down. Then: “Eleph, you sphinx—what have you done?”

  Melanie was smiling now, appreciating the interplay.

  “Merely another facet of the phasing,” Eleph said as if it were unimportant. “This thread they gave me has been passed only half way through the phasing tube, so represents a compromise between the two frameworks. It interacts with both, partially. It is a very dense, very strong alloy, I understand, so that it can withstand the double, load. See, it does not penetrate the surface of the rock.”

  “But our own interaction with the sea is only one part in a thousand,” Gaspar said. “If this is twice that, or one part in five hundred—”

  “It seems the phase does not operate in a linear manner,” Eleph explained. “We are standing on another world, not the Earth we know. This one is without an ocean and with very little oxygen in the atmosphere. This half-phase thread, if I may employ an inexact term, seems to occupy both worlds, and to act in each with equivalent effect.”

  “I see,” Gaspar said thoughtfully. “Not one five-hundredth, but one half. So we can use it to lift this rock.”

  “But the rock itself—” Don began, then reconsidered. The rock was real. His notion that what he could not directly touch was unreal—that was the fallacious concept.

  “That thread must drag against you when you’re carrying it,” Pacifa said shrewdly. “The friction of the water—”

  “Normally this is minimal, for the wire is very fine,” Eleph said. “I also carry it so that the narrow side of the coil is forward, decreasing the effect. However, I admit the effect can be awkward when I encounter a solid object.”

  Gaspar’s mouth dropped open. “That little octopus—you were knocked out of your saddle, when—”

  Don remembered. So Eleph had not been reacting foolishly when marine creatures approached. They really could strike him, via that little spool of thread.

  “Lord grant that I may walk a mile in the other fellow’s shoes before I …” Gaspar muttered, embarrassed.

  They carried the rock and tied it to the dangling hoist rope. They let go. The rock traveled upward at a moderate pace. “If it jams now, we’ve lost a bike,” Gaspar said.

  It didn’t jam. Gaspar’s bicycle, rigged this last time as a counterweight, came down. How the man had anchored it firmly enough for a man’s descent, while leaving it free to be lowered like this, Don could not imagine.

  Melanie’s brow wrinkled. “If the bike is down here, where’s the pulley?” she asked.

  Don stared up into the gloom. She was right: the bicycle had been the pulley.

  “I put a loop over the smoothest projection of the ledge I could find,” Gaspar said. “And hoped that the lighter weight of the bike wouldn’t cause it to chafe too much. Then I handed myself down. The rock-counterweight allowed us to lower the bike slowly, instead of bringing it crashing down. Thanks to Eleph.”

  “But Pacifa could have gone up again—”

  “Ha!” Pacifa exclaimed.

  Then Gaspar jerked hard, so that the rock was pulled up over the ledge. They stood back as it came crashing down. It was expendable; Pacifa wasn’t. Now he understood the last of it. They had done a nice job of maneuvering.

  Once this mission was over, Don wondered, would he ever be able to swim without feeling as if he were flying? To a swimmer, this entire hoist would have been unnecessary.

  But a swimmer would never have been able to traverse the mile-deep bottom, camping out among the living fish. He would know the difference immediately.

  Gaspar carried his bicycle across the canyon, not bothering to reassemble it until they knew their next move. Don followed, expecting to find a stream of water down here, until he reminded himself again that the whole atmosphere was water. The hazard of the cliff made it hard to credit, emotionally.

  “Here it is,” Pacifa said. “Vertical cliff again. How do we string the rope this time?”

  “I have been thinking about that,” Eleph said. “I hope we can borrow from a principle of flotation. Gaspar—how do divers lift substantial objects from the bottom?”

  “Shipboard winch, mostly. Or do you mean balloons?”

  “I understood they used canopies similar to parachutes.”

  “Oh. Yes, the archaeologists have a system.”

  Don perked up. This was new to him. Of course the entire field of underwater archaeology was new to him. That was one of the incongruities of this assignment. Even had this been near the island of Crete, he would not have been much help in any practical way.

  “They fill these little parachutes with waste air from their scuba rigs, and after a while the flotation is enough to lift almost anything,” Gaspar said. “Pretty neat system, but tricky, if the chute slips or tilts. A current could make havoc.”

  “Hey, that’s smart,” Don said appreciatively. “Using their bubbles to do the hard work. Trust an archaeologist to figure that out.”
>
  “But we don’t have bubbles,” Pacifa said. “Just an oxygenating field that doesn’t float. How can we use that?”

  “By interfering with the carbon dioxide rediffusion, and capturing the resultant accumulation.”

  Pacifa looked around. “Anybody understand that?”

  “Sure,” Gaspar said.

  “No,” Don and Melanie said simultaneously.

  “Oxygen filters in for us to breathe,” Gaspar said. “Otherwise we would suffocate. The molecules are the same, regardless which world we’re in. The problem is getting them across to us. But we have to get rid of the spent air, too. The carbon dioxide. So that moves out while the oxygen moves in, right, Eleph? Like scuba—”

  “Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus,” Eleph said. “The principle differs, but for the sake of analogy—”

  “Fair exchange, no loss,” Gaspar said. “Actually, the scuba isn’t exactly self-contained either, because the bubbles do go free. But if we can save our own lost air, we might fill balloons.”

  “Correct in essence,” Eleph said. “We are not actually inhaling air as we know it. We are inhaling oxygenated nitrogen. The field—”

  “Fill balloons,” Pacifa said. “That much I follow. But A Number One, we don’t have any balloons. B Number Two, how can we fill them when they’re phased out? The bubbles would pass right through, just as we pass through water and fish. C Number Three—”

  “Not if the balloons were filled with our air,” Gaspar said. “Normal air would pass through, but not matching-phase air.”

  “C Number Three,” Pacifa repeated, “we’ve got to use non-phased balloons, because only that kind can provide any lifting power in natural water. Obviously our own air won’t lift us very high in a gaseous medium—which is what natural water is to us. Mouth-blown balloons don’t float in air; only the helium or hydrogen-filled ones do that.”

  “Precisely, Madam. We have the enormous advantage of being in a liquid medium. Tremendous flotation is available, provided we are able to invoke it. Fortunately we came prepared.” He rummaged in his pack. “We do have balloons, half-phased in the manner of the thread. They will proffer similar resistance to water that a normal balloon might to air.”

  Eleph brought out the balloons and passed them around. Each member of the party began to blow. Soon each had a bobbling sphere a foot or more in diameter.

  “This is hard work,” Don said. “And it feels funny. As if I’m not really blowing.”

  “That’s the water filling the shell, in the other world,” Gaspar explained. “It’s passing right through your head to squirt into the non-phase aspect of the balloon, that is a vacuum there.”

  Don shook his head, not following the reasoning.

  “They aren’t floating,” Pacifa pointed out. “In fact, they’re shrinking.”

  “Naturally. The carbon dioxide is phasing through, while the nitrogen remains. You will observe a bubble of gas trapped in the water of the other world, within the balloon.”

  “Yes, I see it,” Don said, peering through the transparent material.

  “Now we shall have to squeeze out the water, that corresponds to our nitrogen. Save only the bubble, and keep the nozzle down, so the gas can’t escape.”

  They did so, intrigued. They were actually witnessing the operation of their breathing fields.

  “Now refill the balloon, so that more carbon dioxide can phase through.”

  Soon the trapped bubbles were larger.

  “But what about the oxygen phasing through the other way?” Don asked. “Wouldn’t it balance and cancel the effect?”

  “No,” Eleph said patiently. “Only the transfer of gas from here to there, within the balloons, is significant. For this limited purpose.”

  Don gave up trying to understand it all. It was hard enough just to keep blowing.

  It was a long job. Only a portion of the exhaled breath was carbon dioxide, and only that portion they actually breathed into the balloons could be used. Eleph had calculated that each person should be able to fill a balloon to serviceable dimension in two hours, provided that all his carbon dioxide was utilized. This proved to be impossible. The phasing through normally occurred throughout the volume of the breathing spheres, and the rate was adequate for the need. The much smaller volume of the balloon allowed only a portion of the field to operate. Thus it was several hours before the balloons swelled into real instruments of flotation, though each person worked on three simultaneously.

  In one way this was good, because they all got needed rest for their legs. But their food supply was diminishing. This balloon device had to work, now, or they would not make it to the depot.

  But finally the upward tug became strong, and they knew that success was incipient.

  “Keep the lift under control,” Gaspar warned. “We don’t want to float right to the top. When you’re rising too fast—and you’ll tend to accelerate, because the balloons will expand as pressure decreases—let a little gas out of one. When you reach the brink, get hold and ease yourself over onto ground.” He showed the way by making the first ascent.

  It worked. Don was amazed at the hauling power of three medium balloons. He watched Gaspar go up, and then Melanie. He felt guilty for looking up under her skirt, but did so anyway. He had massaged those legs; they were nice ones. But somehow this illicit peek was more evocative than the direct handling had been.

  When his turn came he puffed a last burst into his third one and waited while it diffused into full strength. His front wheel came up, then his rear, and he was waterborne.

  It seemed precarious, and he decided that he preferred the rope and pulley method. What if a swordfish took a poke at his balloons? They were vulnerable now. Or a shark, taking an experimental bite.

  But he had more immediate concerns. His rate of climb, slow at first, was now swift. The balloons were ballooning alarmingly. One atmosphere less pressure for every thirty-three or thirty-four feet, and now he was above the rim, but too far out.

  Fortunately his problems had a common solution. Don angled the snout of one balloon and let out a jet. This did not provide the propulsion he had hoped for; the bubbles rose toward the flexing surface of the sea, now so near. But at last his ascent slowed, and he had to cut off the valve lest he commence a descent that would speed up the same way.

  The last bubble passed through his hand as he tied off the balloon. Then he breast-stroked his way across to the ledge, tediously. He didn’t have much leverage, because it was like paddling in air, but he didn’t need much. He landed and deflated his balloons, hating to see that hard-won gas escape. But its job was done.

  Eleph, the last to start up, had arrived before Don, having managed his ascent better. The crevasse had been navigated.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this before we climbed down?” Pacifa demanded of Eleph. “We could have floated down, or even straight across. Much less effort.”

  “Horizontal travel is hazardous, because of the time consumed,” Eleph said. “A few seconds are reasonably safe, but a few minutes multiply the opportunity for inquisitive sea creatures to come. Descent is not recommended, because of its accelerative nature.”

  “Hard bump at the bottom,” Gaspar agreed. “Can’t let out gas to stop it, going down.”

  Whatever the merits of the case, it had provided them with a needed change of pace. It was now too late to complete the trip to the depot this day, but they proceeded with renewed vigor and optimism.

  CHAPTER 8

  CITY

  Proxy 5–12–5–16–8: Attention.

  Acknowledging.

  Status?

  The crevasse has been navigated in good order. Melding is proceeding. The next three challenges may complete it.

  These are natural or unnatural challenges?

  Both. They are works of man, but of unusual nature. I routed the travel to include them. It is not safe to interfere any further with their supplies; they have no remaining food, and will march ont
o land and give up the mission if further denied.

  This seems like unity of purpose.

  Yes. That is why I am optimistic. They could have turned back, but did not. This group is integrating, and I think will become what we need.

  We hope so. Two more worlds have been lost since we last communed.

  This one we shall save, I think.

  As they lay in the joint tent at night, Melanie remained uncommunicative, so Don entertained himself by sketching Minoan symbols on his note pad, analyzing them for new meanings. The writing had been largely deciphered, but some obscure aspects remained, and these were his special challenge. It occurred to him that it was a similar case with Melanie; much of her was coming clear, especially when she spoke so freely about her memories and impressions, but some of her was opaque. He had kissed her, perhaps surprising himself more than her, and she was taking time to consider her reaction. The thing was, he had done it while she was bald. His first shock at her state had faded, and increasingly he was becoming aware of her other traits. There was a lot about her that he liked, both physical and mental. Maybe she thought he was teasing her, but he wasn’t; he was coming to terms with her. He knew that if he could truly accept her bald, it would be all right if she wore her wig again. But he was not yet sure of his deepest feeling about that. So he focused on symbols, as if their interpretation was also the key to Melanie.

  “May I inquire what you are doing?” It was Eleph, also slow this night to sleep. Extreme fatigue did that; the body had to unwind somewhat before it could relax enough for sleep. His tone was carefully courteous, and Don was flattered to realize that this was the first friendly overture the man had made to any of the rest of them. So Don explained.

  “I do not mean to be offensive,” Eleph said, and it was evident that he was not used to being inoffensive. It was not because he tried to be offensive, but that he was unschooled in nonmilitary courtesy. “But I had understood that Cretan writing has never been deciphered.”

  “So how can I read it?” Don asked rhetorically. “That’s a good question, and as with most good questions, the answer is not simple.”