Hal Clement - Heavy Planet

“Not strong enough?” It was Reejaaren rather than the merchant who expressed indignation. “This material is made nowhere else, and is the only substance at once strong and light enough to form the wings of our gliders. If you buy it, we will have to give it to you in bolts too small for such a purpose — no one but a fool, of course, would trust a sewn seam in a wing.”

“Of course,” Barlennan agreed easily. “I suppose such stuff could be used in wings here, where the weight is so small. I assure you that it would be quite useless for the purpose in high latitudes; a wing large enough to lift anyone would tear to pieces at once in any wind strong enough to furnish the lift.” This was almost a direct quote from one of his human friends, who had been suggesting why the gliders had never been seen in countries farther south. “Of course, there is very little load on a glider in these latitudes,” Reejaaren agreed. “Naturally there is no point in building them stronger than necessary here; it adds to the weight.” Barlennan decided that his tactical adversary was not too bright. “Naturally,” he agreed. “I suppose with the storms you have here your surface ships must be stronger. Do they ever get flung inland the way mine was? I never saw the sea rise in that fashion before.”

“We naturally take precautions when a storm is coming. The rising of the sea occurs only in these latitudes of little weight, as far as I have been able to observe. Actually our ships are very much like yours, though we have different armament, I notice. Yours is unfamiliar to me — doubtless our philosophers of war found it inadequate for the storms of these latitudes. Did it suffer seriously in the hurricane that brought you here?”

“Rather badly,” Barlennan lied. “How are your own ships armed?” He did not for a second expect the interpreter to answer the question in any way, except perhaps a resumption of his former haughtiness, but Reejaaren for once was both affable and cooperative. He hooted a signal up the hill to some of his party who had remained above, and one of these obediently came down to the scene of bargaining with a peculiar object in his pincers. Barlennan had never seen a crossbow, of course, or any other missile weapon. He was suitably impressed when Reejaaren sent three quartz-tipped bolts in a row thudding for over half their six-inch length into the hard trunk of a plant some forty yards away. He also lost most of his surprise at the interpreter’s helpfulness; such a weapon would be so much dead weight before the Bree was a quarter of the way to her home latitudes. More as a test than anything else, Barlennan offered to buy one of the crossbows; the interpreter pressed it on him as a gift, together with a bundle of bolts. That was good enough for the captain; as a trader, he naturally enjoyed being taken for a fool. It was usually profitable. He secured an incredible quantity of the wing fabric — Reejaaren either forgot to make sure it was in small bolts, or no longer considered it necessary — much of the elastic rope, and enough of the local artifacts to fill the Bree’s decks, except for the normal requirements of working space and the area devoted to a reasonable food reserve. He was rid of everything salable that he had brought to the island, with the possible exception of the flame throwers. Reejaaren had not mentioned these since he had been told they were damaged, though he had obviously recognized them as armament of some sort. Barlennan actually thought of giving him one, minus chlorine ammunition, but realized he would have to explain its operation and even demonstrate. This he had no intention of doing; if these people were not familiar with the weapons he did not want them to know the truth of their nature, and if they were he did not want to be caught in a lie. It was much nicer to have Reejaaren in a good humor. With the selling completed, the crowd of local people gradually melted away; and at last there remained only the gliders and their crews, some of the latter down near the ship and others on the hilltops by their machines. Barlennan found the interpreter among the former group, as usual; he had spent much time talking casually to the sailors. They had reported that he was, as expected, pumping them gently about the flying ability of their people. They had filled their part of the game with noncommittal replies that nevertheless “accidentally” revealed a considerable knowledge of aerodynamics. Naturally, they carefully gave no hint as to how recently the knowledge had been acquired — or its source. Barlennan at this point was reasonably sure that the islanders, or at least their official representative, believed his people capable of flight. “That seems to be all I can give or take,” he said as he secured Reejaaren’s attention. “We have, I think, paid all necessary fees. Is there any objection to our departing?”

“Where do you plan to go now?”

“Southward, toward decent weight. We do not know this ocean at all, except by vague reports from some of our merchants who have made the overland journey. I should like to see more of it.”

“Very well. You are free to go. Doubtless you will see some of us on your travels — I occasionally go south myself. Watch out for more storms.” The interpreter, apparently the picture of cordiality, turned up the hill. “We may see you at the coast,” he added, looking back. “The fiord where you first landed has been suggested as possibly improvable to harbor status, and I want to inspect it.” He resumed his journey to the waiting gliders. Barlennan turned back to the ship, and was about to give orders for immediate resumption of the downstream journey — the goods had been loaded as fast as they were purchased — when he realized that the stakes dropped by the gliders still barred the way. For an instant he thought of calling the islander back and requesting their removal; then he thought better of it. He was in no position to make a demand, and Reejaaren would undoubtedly grow supercilious again if he put it as a request. The Bree’s crew would dig out of their own troubles. On board, he issued an order to this effect, and the cutters were once more picked up; but Dondragmner interrupted. “I’m glad to see that this work wasn’t wasted time,” he said. “What?” asked the captain. “I knew you were at some stunt of your own for the last forty or fifty days, but was too busy to find out what it was. We were able to handle the trading without you. What have you been doing?”

“It was an idea that struck me just after we were first caught here; something you said to the Flyers about a machine to pull out the stakes gave it to me. I asked them later if there was such a machine that was not too complicated for us to understand, and after some thinking one of them said there was. He told me how to make it, and that’s what I’ve been doing. If we rig a tripod by one of the stakes, I’ll see how it works.”

“But what is the machine? I thought all the Flyers’ machines were made of metal, which we couldn’t fashion because the kinds that are hard enough need too much heat.”

“This.” The mate displayed two objects on which he had been working. One was simply a pulley of the most elementary design, quite broad, with a hook attached. The other was rather similar but double, with peglike teeth projecting from the circumference of both wheels. The wheels themselves were carved from a solid block of hardwood, and turned together. Like the first pulley, this was equipped with a hook; in addition there was a strap of leather threaded through the guards of both wheels, with holes punched in it to match the peg teeth, and the ends buckled together so that it formed a continuous double loop. The whole arrangement seemed pointless to the Mesklinites — Dondragmer, who did not yet understand why the device worked, or even whether it actually would. He took it over in front of one of the radios and spread it out on the deck. “Is this now assembled correctly?” he asked. “Yes, it should work if your strap is strong enough,” came the answer.?You must attach the hook of the single pulley to the stake you want to extract; I am sure you have methods of doing that with rope. The other pulley must be fastened to the top of the tripod. I?ve told you what to do from then on.? “Yes, I know. It occurred to me that instead of taking much time to reverse the machine after it was wound up tightly, however, I could unfasten the buckle and rethread it.”