Arthur Clarke - Richter 10

“Let’s not worry about the grief yet.”

“Indeed. Are you involved in the S and R mission?”

“In a small way,” Newcombe said, looking past the holo to the diggers.

“What happened on Martinique? They haven’t been able to explain that cloud or anything else on the news—”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Newcombe said, angry that no one had taken charge of the surveillance gear on site. A good optical sensor could save them hours. Burt Hill would have seen to the equipment. Damn Crane for not taking him. He looked again at Brother Ishmael. “This kind of eruption happens from time to time. The French call it nuee ardente, ‘glowing cloud.’ A hundred and twenty years of refinement has settled the term at ‘glowing avalanche.’ It’s happened on Pelee before.”

“What is it?”

“A kind of lateral eruption with just enough force to blow the top layer of crater scum straight down the mountain. It acts as a heavy liquid, a mixture of gas, steam, and solid particles. As the heavier particles settle, the gas and steam are free to continue onward, only the smaller particles holding the cloud earthbound. As those are dispersed, the cloud ascends.”

“What’s the thing they’re bringing to the dig now?” Ishmael asked.

Newcombe looked at the screen, his insides tightening up for the big one. An optical sensor. Now they’d see.

Crane and Lanie sat side by side in their muddy tomb, leaning back against the tub that saved their lives. The boy whose name they hadn’t learned lay beside them in the darkness.

It was completely black. Crane had no idea of how much mud separated them from the outside. What air they had, he feared, was dissipating quickly. It was foul and musty.

He tapped his wristpad. “Dan … you there?”

“I’m here, Crane.” There was relief and happiness in Newcombe’s voice. “I think we’ve isolated your location. We’re coming at it with an optical sensor.”

“Get an air tube in here.”

“Okay. Let me talk to Lanie.”

“She’s indisposed,” Crane said, tapping off and sagging against the tub. Beside him, Lanie slid in and out of consciousness. She’d had a nasty cut on the temple; he’d stopped the bleeding by applying mud. He’d torn off the sleeve of his shirt and tied it tightly around her wound, loosening it every few minutes, then retightening. He’d gone through medical school for the field knowledge, never carrying it any further than on-site emergency treatment. Lanie needed a real doctor.

She moaned, regaining consciousness, just as she had fifteen times already. She had the damnedest type of concussion, one with trauma to the deep section of the frontal lobes involving recent memory. She could not capture and hold on to a new thought. Every time she became conscious, the experience was brand new to her. Crane prepared to start with her again at Square One. He heard her sudden intake of breath, knew she was reacting to the darkness and the pain, and quickly put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t panic,” he said low, soothing.

“Crane?”

“Take it easy. You’ve had a blow to the head. Try and relax.”

“Where the hell are we?”

“Trapped,” he said, “in the debris of a house … under a mudslide. In Martinique. They’re coming to rescue us.”

“You’re kidding? Martinique? Is Dan all right?”

“He’s fine … though a little worried. He’s back in California.”

“He is? Why don’t I remember?”

“It’s normal,” he said calmly, patting her shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What happened to me?”

“A blow to the head.”

“Really? And Dan?”

“He’s all right. He’s not here.”

“We’re not in California, are we?”

“No.” If the circumstances weren’t so grim, he knew he’d find it difficult to keep himself from laughing.

“I’m fine now.”

“I know.”

“Where are we?”

“Martinique.”

“Really? And Dan’s not here, right?”

“Right.”

“We got trapped here, but we’re going to get rescued.”

“That, dear lady, is my sincerest hope.”

She grunted. “I’m fine. Really okay now. My head feels like hell, though. I think there’s some dorph somewhere … I never travel without—”

“I’ve got it,” he said. “You’ve already had some, but if you want some more…”

“Only one,” she said, holding out her hand. He retrieved the dorph from his work shirt pocket and gave her a tablet. They’d repeated this particular scenario six times.

“You take one,” she said, swallowing the pill.

“You know I don’t take dorph.”

“How come? Ow! That hurts.”

“Don’t touch your head.” He drew his legs up. “You know, it just occurred to me I can tell you anything, because you won’t remember it.”

“I’ll remember.” She laughed. “I told you I’m fine. I simply need to know … is Dan all right?”

“He’s fine. He’s back in California.”

“Did I take a dorphtab?”

“Yes,” he said, the most wicked, thrilling sense of freedom stealing through him: no surveillance and perhaps a ton of mud for soundproofing insulation; a listener who would immediately forget what he said. If this were to be his last conversation, he’d make it a winner. “I was about to tell you why I don’t take dorph.”

“Why?”

“I tried it once. It stopped the pain.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do.”

“That’s why I don’t take it.”

He felt her stir beside him and looked in her direction, imagining her face in the darkness, her wide, inquisitive eyes. “I get it,” she said. “You’re going to be honest.”

“And you’ll forget everything I say. By the way, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Well, we’re talking … I remember that. I remember being on a boat. Why is it so dark?”

“We’re trapped under a mudslide, but they’re coming to rescue us.”

“Dan’s fine, though. Right?”

“That’s right. You know I’m attracted to you?”

“Whoa … hold it. I’m not looking for a quickie in the rubble.”

“I’ve never met a woman like you. Passionate … intelligent. I can see your mind working as I look into your eyes.” His fingertips came up to brush her face. She pulled away slightly, but only slightly, he noted.

“Right,” she said. “How many times have you trotted that line out?”

“What line?”

“That … you know, whatever you said.”

He smiled. “I’m going to tell you my story. You’re my perfect audience for it. I lived with my mother’s sister, Ruth. My aunt and her husband didn’t have much money, and he didn’t like me. Her own kids came first, so I had to perform to get noticed. I’d read every book ever written on seismology and plate tectonics by the time I was ten. Got my first college degree at age fifteen and went on fast from there.”

“What about your emotional life… friends … girlfriends?”

“I was the outsider,” he said. The rubble shifted and planks fell to the floor nearby. Lanie scooted closer and clutched his arm. “I grew up around people years older than myself. It strengthened my performing, but got me no friends. Nothing was ever expected of me emotionally.”

“Women?”

“None. Not even close. Never been kissed. I’m thirty-seven years old and I’ve never even held hands with a girl I liked.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “If we ever get out of here, I’ll give you a first-class kiss to get you started on your way.”

“Promise?”

“You bet, I … it’s so dark. Why are we here?”

“We were trying to save a boy trapped by the volcano—”