Hal Clement - Heavy Planet

“Turning,” Barlennan replied, gesturing Karondrasee toward the rotation lines. “I’m not sure, but I think we’re pretty close to where the test was made, only we’ve passed the cliff. If it still is a cliff. Can your eye see through fog? If it can, you’ll know better than I where we are when you look back. Where’s Dondragmer? I should be able to—”

“I can hear you, Captain. I can’t make a very good report. The falling of the cliff stopped a couple of miles after it passed us, but we can’t get back to where the ship was yet. It’s too hot. The Flyers say that’s to be expected, and at least the lower part of the fall is producing fog too dense to see through. Luckily the wind’s now blowing toward the rockfall and keeping fog and that heat away from us, but we can’t get really near the ship yet.”

“Can you see enough to guess whether it escaped?”

“No, sir. And if it’s still uncovered it may not stay that way long. If you and the balloon were here you could tell better than we can, but it looks to us as though the very bottom of the fall were still moving this way. More like flowing than falling.”

“I see the wind near the ground where we are is also moving toward the rocks, and now that you mention it, I think we can see that outward flow, too. We’ll see it better when we get closer; we’ve let down pretty far — more honestly, we were pretty low when Hars killed our drop — and yes, we’re blowing back toward the cliff now.” The conversation had been in Stennish, but Parkos had been able to follow it. “Then you’d better climb again, Captain!” she cried. “If you’re carried too close to the slope — well, I don’t know how much heat you can stand, but you’ll be cycling though that updraft again. You’ll be starting from lower down, where it should be a lot hotter!” Hars spoke as he manipulated the guides, without waiting for orders. “Worse than that, Captain. I don’t think we have enough fuel to manage another descent like this one. We’d better get up into the flow away from the plateau, get some more distance, and then land before we’re carried back in again. The fog up there is blowing out past us the way we need to go, so there’s a good wind not too far up.” Barlennan gestured assent to the fireman. “Don, you must have heard that. Unless something serious happens, we won’t call you again until we’re on the ground. You can tell me anything you think worth while. Jeanette, you must have had a good look at the fog yourself by now. Can you see through it?”

“Probably no better than you. We can see the stuff lifting from the rocks at the edge of the slope; they must be pretty hot. Did you smell anything, familiar or otherwise, while you were in it? We’re trying to guess what could be boiling.”

“There was some ammonia. Nothing else I could tell, but ordinary methane seems likely, too. How about the rest of you?” The others gestured negatively. “That’s interesting just the same. Have you smelled any ammonia since you left the equatorial regions?”

“No. Not that I can remember.” Once more the others agreed with him. “It’s hard to see how that stuff could be so far from the equator at this season,” remarked another human voice. “I’d expected most of the planet’s supply to be frozen in the other hemisphere right now.” Once more the captain focused his attention on his more immediate problems. Hars had found the wind they needed and was holding altitude with his usual skill, and the line of fog was once more receding; but the fuel was getting very low indeed. It would not be good to let down into the other wind too early, of course; but if it took them too long to reach a safe distance, there might not be enough fire to make the descent and landing safely. “Your judgment, Hars,” the captain said. “Get as far as you think will let us down without flattening us. Don’t wait for my orders.” The fireman gestured understanding without taking his attention from his levers. Barlennan had never learned to like situations where he wasn’t in personal control, but he had long ago learned to be a captain. There were situations which didn’t leave time for orders. In Barlennan’s opinion, his pilot started the letdown too soon, but he said nothing. Hars almost certainly had a better idea of how much fuel the descent would take, and if the pilot were actually allowing a greater safety margin than the captain thought necessary, there was an excellent chance that he was right. Watching the balloon?s still wrinkle-free skin seemed wiser than interfering. At least, any dents would appear near the bottom first. It had occurred long ago to one of the alien watchers that if the lower half of the balloon were to cave in sufficiently, the bag might serve as a fair parachute. She had then calculated the terminal velocity of the resulting system in the polar regions and decided not to mention the idea to anyone. The resulting ignorance spared the captain some worry. Barlennan was partly right; the descent had started too soon, from one point of view. They were in the grip of the cliffward wind well before they reached the ground. It might, however, be too late as well; the fuel was going rapidly. The natives were unfamiliar with alien literature and would probably never have thought of using part of their basket for the fuel. This was probably just as well, since anything which distracted Hars from his piloting would very probably have killed the four of them. As it was, they were saved almost certainly by the fact that something else was approaching from the direction of the cliff. It was not methane. At least, it certainly was not ocean-pure methane; it could barely be called a liquid. Slush or mud would be better words. It lay under them as the supporting heat dwindled below the ability of the guiding deflectors to keep the balloon contents hot enough. The first wrinkles appeared in the bag; Karondrasee’s bellow of alarm just barely preceded contact between the basket and the semi-fluid. The car stopped almost at once, after a fall violent enough to make the stuff splash and jolt the occupants severely; the bag took rather longer to touch. The cordage tried to pull the basket toward the cliff as the wind still dragged at the balloon. For just a moment Barlennan thought the car would be tipped over and dump its fire, and had enough time to wonder what would happen when the latter met the whatever-it-was; then it appeared that there was enough weight stuck — frozen? — under their feet to hold them nearly level. They were more or less safe, it appeared, for the moment, but like Dondragmer they were uncomfortably warm. There seemed no practical way out of the basket for the moment; the stuff surrounding them appeared dangerously hot, and there was no way to tell yet whether this would get worse, or better, or remain unchanged, not that the last would be much help. The captain didn’t bother to ask the Flyers anything. “Dondragmer, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Have you been able to get back near the ship?”

“We’re closer.”

“How’s the heat? We’re down, but are stuck in some sort of goo. There’s a lot of ammonia smell, but it doesn’t look much like ammonia.”

“That’s happened here, too. It’s what’s keeping us from getting any closer to where the ship was. It looks and smells to me like the methane-ammonia slush we saw a good deal of where we wintered and met the Flyers, but that may be just a guess. If it?s right, the ammonia should freeze after a while and sink and leave ordinary methane on top, which should soon be cool enough to swim in. The Flyers won?t commit themselves either, but agree we should watch for clear liquid to show on top of the stuff.? “I hadn’t thought of that, but here we’ll have to wait anyway. I hope we don’t cook while we’re still waiting.”