Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

Kravtsov fell silent. Fletcher's curious words- "I'm afraid of turning yellow"-came back to him again, and suddenly he understood their meaning. He comprehended-and his face darkened.

A door-handle clicked and a bright oval appeared on their left. A number of men, talking and laughing loudly and flicking their cigarette-lighters, came out on deck from inside. One of them came up to Kravtsov and Ali-Ovsad, lying in their deckchairs.

"So that's where you are," he said. It was Olovyannikov. "You look cosy enough." He threw himself into a deckchair and stretched out. "The devil knows what to tell the paper," he sighed. "It's all so vague, so damned vague. I managed to push through to Morozov and asked him to write just a few words for 'Izvestia'; but he refused. It was too early. Alexander Vitalyevich, do you know anything about the theory of a single field?"

"I only know there's no such a theory yet. Why do you ask?"

"Morozov mentioned it casually-he seems to have his own views on it. I can picture magnetism to myself. With some mental effort I can imagine the gravitational field. But what is the field that has appeared around the black pillar? What is horizontally acting attraction?"

"It's all connected," said Kravtsov. "A theory is needed which combines all the theories of fields. After all, there used to be the theory of the ether, and all, and it seemed unalterable, didn't it? I believe a theory of the single field will be put forward soon."

"So am I," agreed Olovyannikov. "Otherwise there is terrible confusion. Do you know what's worrying Morozov so much?"

"What?"

"The ionosphere. Soon, he says, the pillar will reach the ionosphere. He was just about to add something more, when he exchanged glances with Tokunaga and said no more. What do you think might happen?" Kravtsov shrugged his shoulders.

"It's quite fantastic," he said. "We understand some problems about space much better than those about the interior of our own planet. Our borehole is less than one per cent of the distance to the centre of the Earth, yet we're already up against this phenomenon. We don't know a damned thing about what is going on underneath our feet." He was silent for a while and then, getting up, added, "But we'll find out just the same. Our borehole is only the beginning."

Kravtsov was awakened by a sound like gunfire, and rushed to the porthole. The dark sky was overcast with storm clouds. Lightning flashed and there was another long peal of thunder. A glass on the washstand and the brass curtain-rings echoed with a faint tinkle.

Dressing hurriedly, Kravtsov ran up to the spardeck, where a number of men were crowded on the side facing the rig. They were talking uneasily and from time to time peals of thunder drowned their words.

Normally, it was dawn at that hour and the sky shone blue, but now it was like midnight. It seemed as if all the clouds of the world had been drawn to the black pillar. Lightning flashed from the clouds in sheaves and struck the pillar, only the pillar, and the sky cracked with swelling-thunder.

It was fantastic! Flashes of lightning lit up the restless sea, which looked paler than the lowering sky. On the horizon white daggers fought an infernal duel at the steam-shrouded pillar.

Rain began to fall in torrents.

Kravtsov caught sight of Bramulla and made his way to him. The fat man was clinging to a bulwark and his lips were moving.

"0 Santiago di Barrameda!" he muttered. "Black Madonna of Montserrat!"

Stamm, who was standing silent and motionless by his side, turned a pale face to Kravtsov and nodded.

"What a storm!" cried Kravtsov. "I've never seen anything like it."

"No one has ever seen such a storm," Stamm began but a clap of thunder drowned his words.

The "Fukuoka" was rolling violently from side to side. Hanging on to the handrail, Kravtsov made his way to the stairway, went below, and knocked at Will's cabin. An unfamiliar voice replied. Kravtsov opened the door slightly, just as the ship heeled, and he flew into the cabin, nearly knocking over a Japanese in a white coat.

"Excuse me," he whispered and looked at Will.

Will lay on his back with his bony chip thrust out and his eyes closed. The doctor touched Kravtsov's arm and said something incomprehensible -but Kravtsov understood-he was in the way and must leave. He nodded and went out, closing the door behind him. He heard a metallic sound on the other side.

Norma Hampton was hurrying along the passage. Her hair was pinned up carelessly and there was not a trace of lipstick on her lips.

"Don't go in," said Kravtsov. "The doctor's there."

She neither answered nor stopped, and went into Will's cabin without knocking.

Kravtsov stood listening for a moment. The storm roared deafeningly, but no sound came from the cabin. "We must do something," the thought harassed him. "We must do something."

He dashed off. Several members of the Japanese crew were having lunch in the brightly-lit saloon, but neither Morozov nor Tokunaga was there.

"Where is Academician Morozov?" Kravtsov asked. One of the sailors replied that Morozov might be in the radar cabin.

Kravtsov went up the steep ladder to the bridge. The rain beat on his back, protected only by his jacket, and on his bare head. He stood still for an instant. From that height the picture of the storm was even more fantastic. The sea below seethed, flashes of lightning ripped across the livid sky, and he was dazzled by the play of light and dark. There was a smell of ozone in the air. The bridge rocked under his feet.

Torrents of water streamed down the glass of the radar cabin. Kravtsov pulled open the door and went in.

Hemmed in on all sides by grey instrument panels, two Japanese in naval uniform, the gravitation technician Yura, and Morozov, were working there. The radar screen flickered with an unsteady silver light while a luminous spot crept over it. Morozov cast a keen glance at Kravtsov.

"Ah! Comrade Kravtsov! What can I do for you?"

"Victor Konstantinovich," said Kravtsov, wiping the rain from his forehead with his hand. "McPherson is very ill. This storm and the rough sea…"

"If I'm not mistaken, the doctor is there with him."

"Yes, I know, but… Couldn't the ship be moved away from the storm zone?"

Morozov threw his pencil on the table and rose to his feet. He watched the radar scanning for a minute.

"The air's absolutely saturated with electricity," said Kravtsov.

"Look here, are you a doctor?" asked Morozov sharply.

"No, of course not, but surely you can see…"

Morozov scratched his cheek. Then he lifted a telephone receiver and dialled a number.

"Is that… Mrs. Hampton? Morozov speaking.

Is the doctor there? Will you call him… Oh, all right, then ask him how McPherson is," Morozov listened for a few minutes, frowning and his cheek twitching. "Thank you."

There was a click as he put the receiver back.

"Very well, Kravtsov," said Morozov, taking up his pencil again. "I think you're right. We'll do something-you mustn't worry."

The "Fukuoka Maru" moved further away, and again hove to. The storm continued to roar above the ocean. Lightning encircled the black pillar like a ring and struck it without cease from all sides. Someone saw a fire-ball-a blazing concentration of energy, scattering sparks-sail above the waves, tracing their contours.

A little after nine in the morning a launch left the "Fukuoka" for the rig with a group of volunteers including Chulkov on board. At their head was Yura, who had received detailed instructions from Morozov about what instruments to take and where to place them.

"It's dangerous," said Ali-Ovsad. "Can't you wait until the storm is over?"

But the all-knowing Olovyannikov explained that there was no point in waiting: the storm would not be over for a long time, for many days, perhaps.