Hal Clement - Cycle of Fire

“You say that a good many of your people make the same trip in gliders that you were making when you crashed,” remarked Kruger. “Mightn’t it be a good idea, when we get to the point on the coast that’s back under your regular route, to light a smudge fire to attract their attention? We might be saved an awful lot of walking.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see how attracting their attention would help us, even if you could make a big enough fire to be seen.”

“Wouldn’t they come down and rescue us?”

“Well — yes, I suppose so. I’m afraid I don’t want to reach the Ramparts quite that quickly, though.”

In this case, it is possible that the matter might have been cleared up if Kruger had pursued the conversation a little farther, but he had heard Dar speak of the Ramparts earlier and had gathered an impression that when he spoke of the ice region in that way it carried a religious significance which the little pilot was reluctant to discuss. Presumably these trips, then, were scheduled in a fashion which called for Dar’s presence only at certain times. Even mishaps such as those the pilot had suffered had their place in the program. This was a far-fetched idea, of course, but it fitted with many of the things Dar Lang Ahn had said and Kruger did not want to offend his little companion. Therefore the subject of the conversation was changed, and Dar assumed that he had explained what would happen, if by some mischance one of his friends were to examine the neighborhood of a fire closely and find Dar Lang Ahn beside it.

“What will you do after getting to the ice?” was Kruger’s next question. If that was getting into a dangerous subject he assumed Dar could simply skip any matters he didn’t want to discuss.

“There are a few years to go,” the other replied calmly. “Twenty-two, if I remember the date correctly. If there is a glider available I suppose I will continue my regular work. If not, then whatever the Teachers say.”

Kruger had come to interpret the word “year” as a cycle of the red sun; therefore the time Dar had mentioned was about thirteen months. Before he could ask another question the native put one of his own.

“What will you do? Will you actually come all the way to the ice and face the Teachers? I rather thought that you might be planning to stay at the coast when we get there.”

“I think it will be more comfortable for me to go on with you as long as you’ll let me. They’re your people, of course; if you don’t want me to see them, that’s up to you.”

“I very much want you but wasn’t sure how you’d face the idea.”

“Why should it bother me? I am in worse need of help than you are, and perhaps your Teachers will be willing to give me the assistance I would like. I suppose your group is busy, if you expect to go right back to work, but I can wait. Perhaps after the time you mention is up they’ll be free to give me a hand. I’ll be willing to do what I can for you folks in the meantime.”

Dar did not answer this at once; by the time Kruger knew him well enough to have realized what a shock his words must have caused he had forgotten the details of the conversation. In all likelihood he never did realize Dar’s feelings at that moment. The answer was as noncommittal a one as the little pilot could manage at the time.

“I’m sure something can be worked out.”

The basic misunderstanding was more firmly entrenched than ever, at least on one side.

Nevertheless a personal friendship was growing between the two. At any rate Kruger will swear to this; he knows how he felt about Dar, and has some pretty good evidence on how the alien felt about him. One piece of that evidence came during the journey, at the time they reached the coast — which they finally did, with several of the twenty-two “years” Dar had mentioned used up on the way.

The jungle had thinned somewhat, and patches of lava and volcanic ash were exposed in greater numbers. Evidently the local volcanoes had been active fairly recently as geological phenomena go. There was a great deal more climbing than there had been for some hundreds of miles. None of the elevations was more than a few hundred feet high, but they were frequently fairly steep, the angle of repose for loose volcanic ash is of the order of thirty degrees. Remembering what Dar had said earlier, Kruger suspected that they would come in sight of the sea before very long, but it took him by surprise just the same.

They had reached the brow of one of the hills, apparently just like all the others, when they came to a clearing larger than most which gave them their first real view ahead for many miles. There was plenty to see.

Two fairly large volcanic cones, nearly a thousand feet in height, lay on either side of their course to the north. Between these sparkled a field of intense blue that could only be the body df water they had sought so long. Even this, however, did not claim much of the attention of either traveler. Instead, they both spent several minutes staring at the area between them and the sea-a region nestling in the cleft between the volcanoes and spreading part way up their slopes. Then they turned to each other almost simultaneously and asked, “Your people?”

STRICTLY SPEAKING, there were no people to be seen, but they had rather evidently been there. Cities do not build themselves, and the area between the cones was a city whether seen by human or Abyormenite eyes. None of the buildings seemed very high. Three or four stories, judging by the window arrangement, was the maximum. The windows were apparently quite large — of course, at this distance, small ones would be pretty hard to see — but there was no reflection suggesting that any of them were glazed. This might, of course, be due to chance, but with both suns in the sky and thousands of windows, the chance that none of them would be reflecting light toward the travelers seemed pretty remote.

Kruger realized almost instantly that if his ideas about Dar were correct, such a place would hardly have been made by the pilot’s fellows. However, he waited for an answer. This was several seconds in coming; Dar was expecting a reply to his own question. Kruger gave in first.

“No, that place was not built by my people. I have never seen it or anything much like it before.”

Dar took this statement with some reservations, but in turn denied any knowledge of the place.

“The shelters at the ice cap are below,” he said. “These are built on the surface. My own place, Kwarr, is also on the surface, but the shapes and colors of the buildings are very different. I have never seen a place like this — either.” Dar hoped the last word was not too obviously an after-thought.

“The place looks deserted to me. Let’s look it over, anyway.”

It was here that Dar gave evidence of the friendship he now felt for the human being. Left to himself, of course, he would have avoided the city by as wide a margin as possible. He was not as happy as he might have been about Kruger’s remark concerning the city’s deserted state; the Teachers had been rather mysterious about some phases of this fire matter. In spite of his doubts, which came very close to being fears, Dar Lang Ahn made no objection to Kruger’s proposal, and the two started down the hill toward the city.

There were several more miles of jungle to pass before they reached it. Dar noted with interest that even the usual animal sounds from the vegetation around them seemed to be lacking. If Kruger noticed this he did not mention it. He might not have noticed it, Dar realized; he had long since learned that his own hearing was considerably more acute than that of his friend. A lack of wild animals might just possibly mean that the city was not as deserted as Kruger believed, and Dar kept his crossbow ready.