Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

"Yes," said Will. "My opinion is that the well has penetrated some fissure in the mantle. Some unknown substance, converted by the enormous pressure to a plastic state, has found this outlet and is pushing the casing out."

"Just a minute," interrupted Stamm. "Gentlemen, we mustn't wander from the subject. I want to revert to the question of the artificial casing. Do you think…"

"I don't think, Mr. Stamm, that the walls of the borehole can have been so very greatly damaged," said Will with restraint.

"You don't think so," the Austrian summed up again. "But I think that a telecamera should be lowered immediately so we can see what is happening to the ground at the bottom. There is a telecamera on the rig, isn't there? While it is being lowered, the casing will come out of the ground, and we shall see how the artificial casing is behaving. I am surprised, Mr. McPherson, that you didn't think of lowering the camera at the very start. Continue, please."

"Aye, I agree I was remiss as regards the camera," said Will. "The substance which is ejecting the pipes has magnetic properties. I have been making measurements from the beginning of my watch and have satisfied myself that the pipes are magnetized. Just a second," he said raising his voice, seeing that the Austrian had opened his mouth, "I anticipate your question. Aye, the pipes are made of a non-magnetic alloy: nevertheless, it is a fact that they are magnetized. Their magnetic field neutralizes the ionizer of the plasma cutter. Will you please take a look at the graph of my observations?"

Stamm hastily put on his spectacles and bent over the graph. Bramulla, breathing noisily and puckering his thick lips, looked over his shoulder. Ali-Ovsad put his hairy ear close to Kravtsov's mouth and the latter whispered a translation of Will's words to him. At the end Ali-Ovsad thoughtfully scratched his ear. The old driller, who had bored many a well in his day, was puzzled.

"Do you want to say anything, Senor Ali-Ovsad?" asked Bramulla; Kravtsov translated his question to the driller.

"What can I say? Drilling-milling-I understand a little about that," answered Ali-Ovsad in a sing-song voice. "But, honestly, I've never come across rock like this. Let's wait until the stuff comes to the surface, and then we'll see."

Stamm raised his head from the graph.

"We cannot wait on any account. We do not know what has happened inside the Earth. The ejection of the casing may cause violent tremors. Gentlemen, I propose that after the television camera has been lowered everyone should be evacuated on the Dutch transport."

"Oh no, indeed!" cried Kravtsov. "Excuse me, Mr. Stamm, but I agree with Ali-Ovsad: we must wait and see what happens after the pipes are ejected. We've got to get the information!"

"I agree," said Will, nodding. "The instruments are here; we can't go away."

Everyone now looked at Bramulla-he had the last word. The fat Chilean pondered, stroking his bald head.

"Senores," he said at last. "The question, as far as I can see it, stands thus-is there any real danger? But it is difficult to answer, Senores, seeing that we have met an incomprehensible phenomenon of nature. I am accustomed, however, to approach such questions as a seismologist. It seems to me, Colleague Stamm, that from the seismic point of view, there is no immediate danger… Carramba!" he exclaimed suddenly, as he glanced out of the window. "What's that?"

Above the well mouth rose the grey casing, and on it, clinging to it with his arms and legs, hung a man in a blue cap and overalls. The fitters standing below were whistling and shouting at him. The gas cutter in the cradle, which was rising alongside the casing, was hanging out of it and yelling something in sheer delight.

"Is that one of your boys, Jim?" asked Bramulla anxiously.

Parkinson, chewing his gum, with complete sang-froid, shook his head.

"It's my driller Chulkov-Mulkov playing the fool a bit," said Ali-Ovsad, and leaving the cabin, he made his way across the sections of pipe toward the derrick, swaying from side to side.

They all followed him.

"Chulkov-Mulkov?" repeated Bramulla.

"No, simply Chulkov," said Kravtsov with a grin.

Ali-Ovsad called up to the cutter in the cradle who, following the driller's orders, cut the casing about two metres below Chulkov. The section of pipe, with Chulkov clinging to it, was slowly lowered on the hook.

"Jump!" shouted Ali-Ovsad.

Chulkov jerked himself free of the pipe, fell on all fours, and got up, rubbing his knees. His round boyish face was pale and there was a wild look in his eyes.

"What are you playing the fool for?" thundered Ali-Ovsad.

"The boys and I had a bet," muttered Chulkov, looking round for his cap, which had come off as he jumped down.

A thickset American with a bandana handkerchief on his head stepped out of the crowd of drillers. Grinning, he handed Chulkov a cigarette lighter with an intricate coloured monogram on it and slapped him on the back.

Bramulla made a short speech to the drillers, and the crews, laughing, returned to work. The incident was closed.

Only Kravtsov noticed that Chulkov's hands were trembling as he took the cigarette lighter he had won.

"What's the matter with your hands?" he asked the young fellow quietly.

"Nothing," answered Chulkov. Then, glancing up at the engineer with a puzzled expression, he said, "The pipe drew me."

"What do you mean?"

"It drew me," repeated Chulkov. "Not very strongly, it's true. But as if it was a magnet, and I was iron."

Kravtsov hurried to the messroom, where Bramulla was winding up the conference.

"We shan't abandon the rig just yet," the Chilean was saying. He suddenly burst out laughing, and added, "With such daredevils we've nothing to fear."

Stamm smoothed his flaxen hair with a stiff brush and made off in the direction of the television camera, muttering something about Russian and Chilean frivolity.

Kravtsov drew Will aside under the awning and told him what he had learnt from Chulkov.

"Really?" said Will.

Over three hours had passed since they began lowering the television camera. The cable was being unwound from the huge drum of a deep-sea winch and, passing over the pulley at the end of the latticed boom, went down into the black water. A half-naked rigger from Ali-Ovsad's crew was puffing cigarette by the side and glancing from time to time at the depth indicator.

Ali-Ovsad went over to him.

"People smoke when they're out for a stroll," he said severely. "Keep your hand on the brake."

"Nothing can happen, you know," said the rigger good-naturedly and flicked his cigarette overboard. "It's all automatic."

"Automatics are one thing and you're another."

A stickler for the rules, the old driller walked round the winch and felt it with his hand to make sure the bearings were not heating.

"I wonder what time it is now in Baku?" he said, and, without waiting for an answer, went to the television cabin.

Stamm, Bramulla, and Kravtsov were sitting in front of the flickering screen.

"Well?" said Kravtsov, peering up sleepily at him.

"The sea's very deep," said Ali-Ovsad sadly. "We've got to wait half an hour longer or an hour," he added, after a moment's thought.

The radio operator on watch stuck his head through the door.

"Is Kravtsov here? Moscow calling. Quick!"

Kravtsov dashed out on to the verandah.

The rig was flood-lit; there was a clanging of pipes near the automatic crane; and a Babel of languages could be heard. Kravtsov rushed to the radio set.

"Hullo!"

Through the static and crackling he heard a distant, beloved, agitated voice:

"Sasha, hullo! Can you hear me, Sasha?"

"Marina! Hullo! Yes, yes, I hear you! How did you…"