Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

Kravtsov drove the loaded truck to the borehole. Feverishly, grazing his knuckles as he did so, he shoved the cylinders into the valves of the cutter and tightened the clamps.

The gas cutting went much slower. Time dragged interminably and metre after metre of pipe came interminably from the mouth of the yell.

Seven metres a minute!

He ripped wildly at the pipe and no longer dragged the severed lengths away, merely jumping aside as they crashed down on the gangway. The blue flame roared without interruption, the burner trembled in his hands, and the cuts were crooked and askew.

Had an hour passed? Or a day? Time stood still. The flame roared and the cut length of pipe crashed. Nothing else and only one thought went through in his dazed mind "I'll finish cooking it myself… I'll do it…"

He did not see how Will had dragged himself up and was now watching the pressure, changing the empty cylinders for full ones.

He did not hear the roar of aircraft engines. He did not see the landing of a white seaplane on the rough water near the rig, or approach of red inflatable dinghies, full of men in sou'westers bobbing over the waves to the landing stage.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Clear off!" he yelled with his last vestige of strength, and shook it off.

The hand was off his shoulder, but it did not disappear. It snatched the cutter from Kravtsov's hand, while another hand gently pushed him away.

Kravtsov raised his head and stared stupidly at the rugged wrinkled face with a small black moustache.

"Ali-Ovsad?" he murmured, articulating with difficulty, then fell flat on the deck.

Many newspapers around the world were b/ then publishing reports from their special correspondents in Manila, Jakarta, and Tokyo, which were then copied by the provincial papers.

"News from the Pacific: revival of 120,000-foot borehole abandoned during last IGY" (New York Herald Tribune)

"Mysterious Natural Phenomenon. Earth ejects drill pipes from ultra-deep borehole." (The Times)

"Heroism of Soviet Engineer. Twenty four hours' intense struggle on floating island in Pacific." (Izvestia)

"Driller Ali-Ovsad to the Rescue." (Baku Worker)

"Tussle of Russian and Scotsman with Sea Devil." (Stockholm Tidningen)

"Whatever happens, the United Arab Republic remains neutral." (Al Gomhouria)

"Divine judgement on impudent penetration of terrestrial interior." (Observatore Romano)

"We are alarmed: it is near us again." (Nippon Times)

Kravtsov glanced at the indicator, frowned, and scratched his neck under the left ear. He had shaved his beard off that morning, but the habit remained.

Ten metres a minute. Soon the whole casing would have come up.

Four crews, working in shifts, were cutting the pipes non-stop and barely managing to keep pace with the terrific speed of ascent. The rig was blocked with lengths of pipe; an automatic crane loaded them continuously on to dump trucks that discharged them into the holds of a Dutch transport at the landing stage.

Ali-Ovsad, the driller, swaying slightly from side to side, came over to Kravtsov. The skin of his face, tanned and leathery from wind and sun, was shining with perspiration.

"A pity," he said in his Azerbaijan accent.

"Yes, it's hot…," said Kravtsov absently, misunderstanding.

"I say-it's a pity. Such good pipe-a great pity." Ali-Ovsad clacked his tongue. "Jim!" he called to a fair-haired lanky lad in leather shorts. "Come here!"

Jim Parkinson jumped from the gangway and walked along the pipes, swinging his long arms. In spite of his youth, he was one of the best riggers in the Texas oilfields. He stood on a pipe balancing himself and smiling at Ali-Ovsad. The shadow from his green celluloid peak fell across his thin face, and his jaws moved rhythmically as he chewed gum.

Ali-Ovsad pointed to the hook of the auxiliary hoist.

(*Rig up cradle, bilirsen? (Bilirsen-do you understand? (Azerbaijanian).-Tr)

Put your autogenous boys in cradle, hoist them alongside pipe. Same speed as pipe, see?" Ali-Ovsad showed with his hands how the string of pipes would rise, with the cradle alongside. "Lift! Up! Bilirsen?"

Kravtsov was going to translate all this into English, but it appeared Jim had understood perfectly. He spat out the chewing-gum, lodging it exactly between his boots and Ali-Ovsad's and said: "O.K."

Then he bent over, slapped Ali-Ovsad in friendly fashion on the shoulder, and added: "Ali-Offside-fine!" Then with a laugh, off he went to give his lads their instructions.

Fifteen minutes later a cradle, slung from the hook of the hoist, was rising alongside the casing. A swarthy strapping Romanian member of the crew gave a piercing whistle and yelled "Go to it! Go to it!"

A Texan gas-cutter stuck his head out of the cradle and gave a thumbs-up sign, grinning. Then – he pointed the burner like a gun at the grey body of the pipe and drove the flame into it.

About seven o'clock that evening the Chilean Bramulla, who represented the Geological Commission, called a conference in the messroom.

"Senores, please give us your views." He drained a glass of cold lemonade and settled his stout body against the back of a wicker armchair. "Would you like to begin, Will?"

Will, who had recovered a little from his attack, was sitting next to Kravtsov and leafing through his notebook.

"First let my colleague Kravtsov tell us the latest measurements," he said quietly.

"Yes, please, Senor Kravtsov."

"The speed of ascent is now eleven metres a minute," said Kravtsov. "I calculate that, given this acceleration, the casing will be completely ejected from the ground in approximately four hours, and its lower end suspended above the sea bottom…"

"Excuse me, young man," interjected a dry little Austrian Stamm, the only man on the rig wearing a tie, jacket, and trousers. "You used the expression 'ejected'. If that is so, the bottom of the casing cannot possibly be 'suspended', as you termed it. Obviously, it will be supported by what has ejected it, isn't that so?"

"Well, perhaps…" Kravtsov was slightly taken aback. "I simply didn't choose my words. Now, as to the string of pipes. You know that we broke it deep down, but I'm certain that it is coming up as well. According to my calculations, its upper end is now at a depth of about seven thousand metres, that is to say, it is rising inside that part of the casing which is still in deep water." Kravtsov spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "By six o'clock tomorrow morning we can expect to see the drill string at the well mouth. I propose…"

"Just a minute," broke in Stamm's dry rattle. "Before we pass to proposals, we ought to clarify certain points. Do you consider, Mr. Kravtsov, that the artificial casing-that is to say, the fused rock of the walls of the borehole, which is a sort of continuation of the casing-is being pushed up with it?"

"I don't know," said Kravtsov hesitatingly. He was rather nervous of Stamm: the Austrian reminded somehow him of his school geography teacher. "I'm not a geologist, really: I'm only a driller."

"You don't know," declared Stamm. "Go on, please."

"Our gas cutters…" Kravtsov coughed. "The cutters are already having a hard time to cope. What will happen when the pipes are shoved-sorry, pushed up faster still? I suggest that we radio the Centre immediately to send us photoquantum knife. We have a fine apparatus in Moscow- the PQK-6A. It cuts through the toughest material in a flash."

"PQK-6A," repeated Bramulla, and nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea!" He poured another glass of lemonade down his throat. "Why have you stopped?"

"I've nothing more to say," said Kravtsov. "Senior McPherson!"