Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

"Oil-refiners have pledged to overfulfil the plan for illuminant kerosenes." ("The Baku Worker")

"The nationalized coal mines must be returned to their rightful owners-this alone can save Britain." ("The Times")

"Fascism shall not pass! No more Princetons!" ("The Worker")

"The greatest sensation in stockings since San-son Hoggery Mills patented black heels. Buy the new 'Black Pillar' stockings-made in Philadelphia!" ("Philadelphia News")

"This winter Parisians will be warmed by their inexhaustible optimism." ("Figaro")

"Endless discussions are being held on the 'Fukuoka Maru', meanwhile the Black Pillar has penetrated outer space." ("Borba")

"Housewives demand: give us electricity!" ("For You, Women")

"The increased cost of candles should not lower the religious fervour of believers." ("Osservatore Romano")

"This autumn there has not been a single expedition to the Himalayas in search of the Abominable Snowman. The Association of Sherpa Porters is uneasy. His Majesty the King of Nepal is making a personal study of the problem." ("Katmandu Weekly")

"In view of the high fuel costs this season, it is anticipated, we regret to say, that long dresses with a high neckline will be worn. Our fashion editor says it is hoped it will be possible to create models with warm glasswool linings capable of emphasizing the specific features of the feminine form. It is expected that ladies' lingerie…" ("La Vie Parisienne")

"Fireball!" cried the lookout into a megaphone. "All below! Fireball!"

The upper deck of the "Fukuoka Maru" was emptied: only an emergency crew remained on deck.

Such were the strict orders of the Science Staff: whenever a fireball appeared, everyone was to take cover below deck, and all portholes, hatches, and other openings were to be battened down. These orders had had to be issued after a fireball had entered the ship's workshop one day through an open hatchway and caused a fire which had been extinguished with difficulty by the Japanese sailors.

Obeying orders, Kravtsov went below. He glanced in at the lounge adjoining the saloon, hoping to find Olovyannikov there, but he only saw a group of unfamiliar men standing at the bar.

Every day strangers arrived in jet seaplanes- scientists, United Nations officials, engineers, journalists. As new ones flew in, others took off. They conferred, argued, filled the "Fukuoka" with tobacco-smoke, and drank the ship's huge wine-cellar dry.

And meanwhile the black pillar climbed higher and higher beyond the Earth's atmosphere and, having gone a good third of the way to the moon, had curved round the Earth, as though it were going to encircle the planet with a fine girdle. As before, it was shrouded in a murk of endless cloud; sheaves of lightning struck the pillar, and it seemed as if the storm would never end.

The remote-control instruments on the rig had long ago ceased to function. The "Fukuoka" sailed round the rig, sometimes approaching it, sometimes moving away. A fuel transport had got lost somewhere, and she was running out of oil.

It was an anxious life on board the ship, but Kravtsov suffered most from the forced idleness. He understood things were none too easy for the scientists: they had to fathom the mystery of the field surrounding the black pillar! Yet he felt their conferences were dragging on too long. He longed to go to Morozov and ask him point-blank: "When will you finally make up your minds to fight the pillar? How long can we wait, damn it all?" But he restrained himself; he knew how hard Morozov was working.

And Bramulla, whom Kravtsov met sometimes in Ali-Ovsad's cabin over a cup of tea, would answer no questions, or would make a joke, or tell risquй Chilean stories.

Brooding over all this, Kravtsov stood in the dimly-lit lounge, watching the door of the saloon where the scientists were conferring.

"Hullo," he heard behind him, and turned round.

"Oh, Jim! Good evening! Why aren't you playing billiards?"

"I'm sick of it." Jim Parkinson smiled dolefully. "Forty games a day-it's enough to make you howl. They say a fuel transport's arriving tomorrow-you heard anything?"

"That's what they say."

"Would you like a drink, sir?"

Kravtsov agreed with a wave of his hand.

They perched on stools at the bar, and a Japanese barman quickly mixed cocktails and placed two glasses before them. In silence they began to sip the cold spiced drink.

"Is there going to be any work for us, or not?" asked Jim.

"I hope so."

"The pay's not bad here, and some of the boys like to get money for sleeping and playing billiards. But I'm fed up with it, sir. Over a month without movies or girls. You can't even listen to the radio."

"I quite understand, Jim."

"How long can they keep us in this Jap box? If the scientists can't think up something, let them say so straight out and send us home. I can live without electricity, blast it."

The cocktail sent a glow through Kravtsov's veins.

"We can't live without electricity, Jim."

"Oh yes we can!" Parkinson banged his glass down on the bar. "I don't give a damn for magnetic fields and all that garbage!"

"You don't give a damn, but other people…"

"What are other people to me? I tell you I can do without it! Drilling's always needed somewhere. There mayn't be electricity, but a steam engine can turn the bit in the well-what about that?"

"Oh dear," thought Kravtsov. "Even this phlegmatic fellow burned up doing nothing."

"Listen, Jim…" he said.

"That storm's bad enough, so now there's fireballs flying about, flocks of them. You can't go up on deck-there's Japs with carbines on all the hatches. To hell with it, sir! If the scientists are so interested, let them mess about here, but we're all fed up!"

"Stop shouting!" said Kravtsov, frowning. "Who's 'we all'? Come on, out with it!"

Parkinson's thin face darkened. Without looking at Kravtsov, he threw his crumpled paper napkin on the counter and went out.

Kravtsov finished his cocktail and got down from his stool in half a mind to return to his cabin and go to bed.

By his cabin door, leaning against the wall of the passage, stood Chulkov.

"I've been waiting for you, Alexander Vitalyevich." Chulkov pushed his cap to the back of his head; his round boyish face looked worried.

"Come in, Igor." Kravtsov followed Chulkov into the cabin. "What's happened?"

"Alexander Vitalyevich," said Chulkov, lowering his voice and speaking rapidly. "Things are no good. Those chaps in Parkinson's crew have been avoiding us for some time; they get together in their messroom and whisper together. And about half an hour ago I accidentally overheard some talk in… excuse me… in the toilets. They didn't see me-it was Fletcher and another chap, the one, you know, who's always giggling as if he was being tickled; they call him Laughing Bill."

"Yes, I know," said Kravtsov. "Well, I don't know much English, of course, but I've learnt a bit here. Anyway, as far as I could make out, they are planning to desert. Tomorrow a fuel transport's arriving and when pumping's finished, these chaps mean to overpower the guard, seize the transport, and then off to America."

"Are you sure you understood, Igor?"

" 'Attack the transport'-what's there to understand about that?"

"Right. Let's go." Kravtsov dashed out of the cabin and ran down the passage.

"Alexander Vitalyevich, you can't do that," said Chulkov hastily, as he ran after him. "There's a lot of them."

Kravtsov took no notice of him. Taking the steps two at a time, he ran down to "D" deck, and flung open the door of the messroom from which came the sound of voices and laughter.

There was an immediate hush. Through the blue haze of tobacco-smoke, Kravtsov could see a score of eyes fixed on him. Fletcher was sitting on the back of an armchair, with his high black boots on the seat. He thrust out his lower lip and noisily blew out a cloud of smoke.