R.W. III - The Dark Design

  Frigate was the last to fall asleep, or, at least, he supposed he was. Martin might be faking slumber. Though he had not shown any fear, he still did not like being aloft.

  Frigate tossed and turned, too high strung to relax. Sleep always came hard before important events, just as it had the nights before he played football or ran in a track meet. Too often, the insomnia had resulted in fatigue the next day, and so he had not been up to his full potential. The very worry about not being good enough had ensured that he would not be.

  Besides, having flown airplanes in the U.S. Army Air Corps when young and balloons in his middle age, he knew the dangers they could encounter.

  He awoke from a light sleep to hear motors roaring, propellers spinning.

  He rolled out of bed and opened the door and looked out. Though he could see only fog, he knew that there could be only one source of the noise.

  It took a minute to rouse the others. Clad only in kilts and wearing long, thick towels over their backs, they dashed toward the hangar. Several times, they ran headlong into huts, and many times stumbled. Finally, as they came up the slope of the plains, their heads were above the fog.

  In the bright starlight, they saw what they had feared.

  Men and women stood around on the ground, sleepily cheering. These had hauled out the big blimp on ropes. Now, their work done, they were watching the ship rise slowly. Suddenly, water ballast was discharged, drenching many of them. More swiftly now, the cigar shape rose, its nose turned up-River. Lights in the cabin, set below the long, triangular keel that ran beneath the vessel, blazed. They could see Podebrad's profile through a port.

  Howling, cursing, they ran toward ate dirigible. But they knew they could do nothing to prevent its departure.

  Farrington grabbed a spear leaning against the side of the hangar and threw it. It fell far short and almost hit a woman. He threw himself on the ground and beat the grass with his fists.

  Mix jumped and yelled and shook his fists.

  Nur shook his head.

  Pogaas howled curses in his native language.

  Frigate wept. Because of him, the others had wasted nine months. If only he had not thought of the blimp, they would be 50,000 kilometers or so farther along on their voyage.

  The worst of it was that the Razzle Dazzle had been sold. Not for a song. For five hundred cigarettes and much booze and some personal favors.

  Later, they sat gloomily around near a grailstone, waiting for it to erupt and fill their grails. The New Bohemians around them were a noisy crowd, discussing and cursing their late chief. The ex-crew of the Razzle Dazzle and the airship were silent. Finally, Martin Farrington said, "Well, we can always steal my ship back."

  "That wouldn't be honest," Nur said.

  "What do you mean, not honest? I wasn't thinking of just taking it without paying for it. We'd leave them just what they paid for it."

  "They'd never agree to the deal," Tom said.

  "What could they do about it?"

  There was a flurry of activity, silencing them for a moment. A man had announced that the council had elected a new head of state. He was Podebrad's second-in-command, Karel Novak. There was some cheering, but most people felt too depressed to work up much emotion.

  "Why do you suppose he shafted us?" Martin said. "We were as good blimp men as anybody else, and he promised us."

  Frigate said, his voice near breaking, "The truth is, I wasn't as good a pilot as Hronov and Zeleny. Podebrad knew that if he rejected me, you'd all raise hell. So he just took off without us."

  "The dirty sneak!" Tom said. "Naw. That isn't it. Besides, you're good enough."

  "We'll never know,'' Martin said. "Say, do you think Podebrad could be an agent? And he somehow found out about us and so left us behind, our thumbs up our tocuses?"

  "I doubt it," Nor said. "He could be one. Perhaps he originally intended to build a fast steamboat to get up The River. Then we came along and put a bee in his bonnet: the blimp. But we're the ones who got stung."

  "If he was an agent, how'd he find out about us?"

  Frigate raised his head. "That's it! Maybe one of the women we sloughed off overheard you two talking. You did get pretty loud when you were talking in your cabin sometimes. Maybe Eloise or Nadja heard you talking in your sleep. For revenge, they told Podebrad all, and he decided he didn't want us along."

  "Neither one of them could keep their mouths shut about it," Tom said. "They'd have spilled the beans to us long ago."

  "We'll never know," Martin said, shaking his head.

  "Yeah?" Tom said. "Well, if I ever catch up with Podebrad, I'll break his neck."

  Farrington said, "First, I'll break his legs."

  "No, I want to build a six-story house,'' Frigate said. "With only one window in it, in the top story. Then we'll execute him by a method peculiarly Czech. Defenestration."

  "What?" Tom said.

  "Throw him out the window."

  Nur said, "Fantasy revenge is a good method of relieving anger. It's better, however, not to feel the need for revenge. What we must do is to act, not blow off steam."

  Frigate got swiftly to his feet. "I got an idea! Nur, will you take care of my grail for me? I'm going off to see Novak."

  "You and your ideas!" Farrington shouted. "They've got us in enough trouble! Come back here!"

  Frigate kept on walking.

  Chapter 57

  * * *

  Slowly, majestically, the Parseval moved above the chasm. Its nose was up, and its propellers were angled upward. The wind that ripped out of the hole dipped down when it hit the edge of the canyon top, and the dirigible had to keep from being gripped by the downdraft. Cyrano had to calculate the force exactly, keeping the airship at the same altitude, aimed at the center of the arch-shaped hole. A slight error could result in the great craft's being dashed down against the edge of the canyon and broken in two.

  Jill thought that, if she were the captain, she would not have risked this entrance. It would be better to circle the mountain, to search for another gateway. However, that meant using much more fuel. Battling such strong winds, the motors could burn up so much that there would not be enough left to return to Parolando. Perhaps the ship could not even get to the Mark Twain.

  Cyrano was sweating, but his eyes were bright and his expression eager. If he were scared, he did not look so. She had to admit to herself that he was, after all, the best one in this situation. His reflexes were the swiftest, and he would not freeze with panic. To him, this must be much like a duel with swords. The wind thrust; he parried; the wind riposted; he counter-riposted.

  Now they were in the thick clouds raging from the hole.

  Suddenly, they were through.

  Though still blinded by fog, they could read the radar-scopes. Before them was a sea, 1 kilometer below. Around it circled the mountain. And ahead, in the center of the sea, 48.5 kilometers away, a little over 30 miles, was an object which reared high above the water, though still dwarfed by the mountain.

  Cyrano, looking at the CRT on the panel, said, "Behold the tower!"

  The radarman, seated before his equipment on the port side, confirmed the sighting.

  Firebrass ordered that the ship be taken to 3050 meters altitude, somewhat over 10,000 feet. The propellers could not be swiveled horizontally to lift the ship faster because it had to fight the wind.

  However, as they rose, they found that the wind lessened. By the time the ship had reached the desired altitude, it could proceed straight ahead. Now its estimated ground speed was 80.50 km/ph, over 50 mph. As it neared the tower, it picked up more velocity.

  The sky was brighter than at dusk, lit by both the weak sun and the clustered stellar masses.

  Now the radars could sweep the entire sea and touch the top of the most distant wall. The nearly circular body of water was 97 kilometers across or somewhat over 60 miles in diameter. The opposite wall was the same height as the nearer one.

  "The tower!" Firebrass exploded. "It's 1
.7 kilometers tall! And 16 kilometers wide!"

  In old-style measurements, that would have been slightly over a mile high and almost 10 miles in diameter.

  There was an interruption. The chief engineer, Hakkonen, reported that the hull was collecting ice. It was not, however, on the windscreens of the control room, since they were made of an ice-resistant plastic.

  Firebrass said, "Take her down to 1530 meters, Cyrano. The air's warmer there."

  The River, entering the sea, still carried much heat even after its passage through the arctic regions. In this deep, cold cup the waters surrendered warmth, so much that the temperature at 1524 meters or 5000 feet was 2 degrees above Centigrade. But higher up, the moisture-heavy air was an ice trap.

  While the dirigible was lowered, the radar operator reported that the interior of the mountain was not as smooth as the exterior. There were innumerable holes and bulges, as if the makers of the mountain had not thought it necessary to finish off the inside.

  The narrow ledge described by Joe Miller had been detected by the radar. It led from the top of the mountain to the bottom. There was another narrow ledge leading along the base of the sea, ending at a hole about 3 meters wide and 2 meters high.

  No one commented on this. But Jill did wonder aloud why the big hole through which the dirigible had entered had been made.

  "Maybe it's for their aerial craft, if they have any," Firebrass said. "It could be used to keep from having to fly over the mountain."

  That seemed as good a reason as any.

  Piscator said, "Perhaps. However, the flash of light that startled Joe Miller so much could not have come from the sun's rays going through the hole. In the first place, the hole is darkened by that cloud stream. In the second place, even if the sun's rays had flashed through, they would not have illuminated the top of the tower. Joe did say that the fog was momentarily blown aside. But even so, the rays would not have reached the top of the tower. And if they had, he would have had to be in a straight line with the rays and the tower.

  "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 goodbye, 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 t
urned 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-grey 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 take-off would be in one minute.

  Szentes sounded strained.

  "There's a little problem, Ms. Gulbirra, which is why I called you before take-off. 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.