Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

With all possible speed the factories of the Soviet Union, the United States, Japan, and many other countries were turning out assemblies and components for a circular core of unheard-of dimensions. The holds of steamships flying the blue flag of -the United Nations and the nacelles of freight airships propelled by steam turbines were filled with metal components, blocks of high-frequency panels, sets of enormous insulators, crates of tyres-all for the rig. Tankers came, and timber transports, and vessels laden with provisions, and liners with fitters and engineers, and government commissions.

Men worked day and night in protective clothing, without a break. Speed was imperative because-as the scientists knew-a lethal stream of cosmic rays was penetrating deeper and deeper into the lower atmosphere.

And the black pillar meanwhile, girdled with lightning and enveloped in a white shroud of steam, continued to rush upwards through the clouds, bending and forming a ring round the Earth in outer space.

At 9.0 p.m. engineer Kravtsov's shift, consisting of our old friends, the riggers of Ali-Ovsad's and Parkinson's crews, and the Romanian Gheorghi, climbed the zigzag metal ladder to the middle deck of the rig.

Kravtsov was taking over from the head of a shift that had just done its five hours.

"Well, Cesare, you have slashed up the section, and no mistake," he said, glancing at the hacked beams and narrow catwalks, below which a black chasm yawned.

"The level was higher here, all the decking had to be cut up," the Italian engineer answered, wiping his swarthy face with a towel. "Look at the mark."

He showed Kravtsov the drawing.

"I know," said Kravtsov. "But there's an atomic pile below us."

"But it's not functioning.'"

"But it will be functioning. And you have smashed the deck down on top of it." Kravtsov flashed his torch downwards.

"What do you want me to do, Alessandro?"

"We'll have to raise the decking. There mustn't be anything above the reactor except the roof."

The Italian, like Kravtsov, was an Esperantist, and conversation between them was easy. The riggers of both shifts listened trying to make out what was being said. The acetylene lamps cast a bluish light on their naked shoulders and backs, glistening with sweat.

"We've exceeded our stint today by seven metres," said the Italian. "The main thing is to finish the corridor as soon as possible, and if we leave a little litter underneath…"

"Anywhere but here," interrupted Kravtsov. "All right, Cesare, take your shift away," slipping into English, he added. "We'll have to rig up a tackle and clear your mess up a bit."

"What's that?" a hoarse voice cried suddenly. "Those Dagoes make a mess and we've got to clear it up?"

"Who said that?" Kravtsov turned abruptly.

For several seconds there was a hush in the compartment, except for the now familiar rumble of thunder overhead. Olovyannikov, who was also there, translated these exchanges to Ali-Ovsad.

"Ai-ai-ai," said Ali-Ovsad, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

"Who said that?" repeated Kravtsov. "It was one of your boys, Jim."

Jim Parkinson, who was holding on to an I-beam of the roof with his long arm, maintained a sullen silence.

Then the stocky Texan with his head tied up in a bandana handkerchief stepped out of the crowd. "O.K., I said it," he growled, scowling at Kravtsov. "What about it? I'm not going to do other people's dirty work."

"I thought so. Apologize at once to the Italian shift, Fletcher."

"Not if I know it!" Fletcher tossed his head. "Let them apologize."

"In that case I'm firing you-you're not working here any more. Go down and get back to the "Fukuoka" on the first launch. Tomorrow morning you'll be paid off."

"Blast your work!" roared Fletcher. "It can all go to hell! I'm damned if I want to roast any longer in this bloody heat!"

He spat and, running ' along the catwalks, made for the passage leading to the top of the ladder.

The riggers all began talking at once, and the compartment was filled with the buzz of voices.

"Shut up!" cried Kravtsov. "We're all working together here, lads, because that's the only way we can finish the enormous job we've undertaken. We can argue or disagree with people, but let's respect one another. Am I right?"

"Right!" came the answering cries.

"To hell with him! Let's get on with the job!"

"You've got no right to fire people!"

"Right, engineer!"

"Shut up!" Kravtsov threw up both his hands.

"I tell you straight: as long as I'm the head of this shift, no one insults anybody of another nationality and gets away with it. Do you all understand what I've said? That's all, then. Put on ^our protective suits!"

Cesare came up to Kravtsov and smiling broadly slapped him on the shoulder. The Italians, exhausted and wet with sweat, shuffled along in single file to the exit, talking and gesticulating excitedly as they went.

Kravtsov ordered the tackle to be set up. "Who'll go down and hitch on that girders?" he asked.

"I'll go," said Chulkov at once.

The figure of the Italian engineer, followed by several of his fitters, suddenly emerged again in the semi-gloom of the next compartment.

"Alessandro," he 'Said, jumping over the catwalks to Kravtsov, "my lads have decided to do a bit more. We'll tidy up down there."

Five hours were a long time in the hellish heat and humidity inside the rig. And the noise!- the roaring flames of the cutters, the thud of the steam-winch, the grinding of the steel sheets, the hiss of welding-machines. Yard by yard they went ahead. Not so many remained. Soon the circular corridor would close and girdle the perimeter of the middle deck of the floating island. Plasterers, following the fitters, covered the walls and ceiling of the corridor with a white heat-resistant plastic substance, and electricians were already installing the blocks of the gigantic circular core. The fitters drove themselves on and on. At dawn Kravtsov's shift returned to the "Fukuoka Maru". They had just enough strength left to make their way to the warm showers.

Now they had nothing to do but sleep. Just sleep! But Kravtsov was overtired, and whenever that happened, he was unable to fall asleep for a long time. He turned and twisted on his narrow bunk and tried counting to a hundred-but sleep would not come. He screwed up his eyes, but still he saw beams and girders, and there was a buzzing in his ears and the roar of the cutters. What was he to do?

He took a box of matches and lit the oil lamp. Should he have a look at the papers?… No, of course not-he'd finish his letter.

"I had to leave off yesterday, so I'll finish it today. What a life we're leading, Marina! We've no time to scratch ourselves, let alone anything else. We're sick to death of being without electricity, so we're working as hard as we can. We're nearly there now!

"You see, as soon as the pillar is cut, magnets will become magnets again, and the turbogenerators of the atomic pile will send electric current through the coils of the exciters of the core. The combination of superimposed fields will interact instantaneously with the field of the pillar and it will stop.

"The pillar is extraordinarily strong, but they expect a guided atomic explosion will cut it. Do you remember my telling you in one of my letters how the pillar pulled in and carried a container up with apparatus inside it? Well…"

There was gentle tap at the door. Jim Parkinson stuck his head in.

"Excuse me, sir, but I saw a light in your cabin…"

"Come in, Jim. Why aren't you asleep?"

"I can't sleep after a shower. And Fletcher won't leave me alone."

"Fletcher? What does he want?"

"He asks you not to fire him. After all, there's nowhere that pays like here."