Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

And all their lives they remembered the hoarse voice of Ali-Ovsad and his rallying cry: "Come on! Come on! There isn't much left!"

The seaplane arrived at dawn. It was quite a job to load the crates containing the PQK-6A photoquantum apparatus off on to the rig.

Kravtsov glanced through the instructions. Good-he was acquainted with the apparatus and it was simple to operate; but he was afraid it had arrived too late.

Two hundred metres of drill pipe remained in the borehole. One hundred and fifty…

Ali-Ovsad ordered the cradle removed: it was dangerous suspended up there when the remaining feet of pipe were coming up.

One hundred and twenty… Eighty…

In the east the sky was ablaze with the crimson fire of dawn, but nobody noticed it, and the rig was lit as before with harsh white light of floodlights. The workers of all four crews had nearly finished clearing a passage among the pipes, in accordance with Bramulla's orders, and an open jeep stood by, ready, in case of danger, to carry the cutters on duty at the well to the edge of the rig without delay.

Only four men now remained at the borehole: two cutters, Kravtsov, and Ali-Ovsad.

Sixty metres…

The rig rocked. It was as though a shoulder had jostled it from underneath and shaken it.

"Douse the cutters! Into the car!" ordered Kravtsov.

He drove along the cleared way to the edge of the rig and stopped near the awning. The rig rocked again. Kravtsov and the others jumped out of the car, their faces ashen. There was a crash in the middle of the rig, followed by a grinding noise. The last lengths of pipe, which had risen nearly as high as the crown-pulley, crashed down, but in the general din they seemed to fall noiselessly.

Bramulla, who had seized Will by the hand, was shouting something; while Stamm, still in his lounge suit, stood nearby, motionless as a statue.

The noise subsided a little. A few seconds of strained suspense-and everyone saw the rotary table, torn from its bedding, rise and slump sideways. Crash! The thick steel frame split and the jagged ends of girders bent upward. The deck beneath the derrick seemed to swell. Clouds of steam poured out and there was a blast of hot air.

A black rounded object appeared at the torn mouth of the borehole. The black cupola rose, breaking through the flooring as it did so. It grew into a hemisphere… After a few minutes it became apparent that a great cylindrical pillar was rising within the derrick.

Kravtsov stared at it with a fixed gaze. Time passed imperceptibly. The top of the pillar struck the crown-block of the derrick, and its long legs snapped at their base with a loud clang.

All at once Ali-Ovsad sprang forward and dashed toward the derrick. Kravtsov rushed after him, caught him by the shoulders, and dragged him back.

"The derrick's been smashed!" shouted Ali-Ovsad. Then as suddenly he realized the futility of his impulse and sadly dropped his arms.

The black pillar rose higher and higher, carrying with it the hundred and fifty-metre derrick.

The rig was now pierced right through by the gigantic pillar. Having pushed the pipes out of the borehole and penetrated the mass of water, the pillar rose like a black candle unchecked towards the sky.

The men on the rig had recovered from the first shock. Fat Bramulla hurried to the radio cabin.

Kravtsov went over to Will and said abruptly, "Shall we try and cut it?"

Will was leaning against the rail and staring at the pillar through powerful binoculars.

"I'm damned if it can be cut," he said, and handed the binoculars to Kravtsov.

The pillar was about fifteen metres in diameter. Its black surface gleamed dully in the floodlights. From what depths had it emerged, with its glassy crust of fused minerals? What was it made of? "Something's got to be done," said Kravtsov. "If it goes on growing as quickly as this, it won't be able to sustain its own weight and will break, and our rig…"

"Our rig!" muttered Will. "Don't be a fool, laddie. Bramulla's been in touch with the Presidium and the international bookkeepers have already written our rig off and consigned it to the devil."

"Why am I a fool?" said Kravtsov frowning.

"I don't know why. Don't you really understand? The rig's nothing. There's a much greater danger."

"What do you mean?"

Will did not reply, but turned away and went off toward the radio cabin.

"I can get along without talking to you!" Kravtsov called angrily after him.

It was scorchingly hot. Kravtsov unbuttoned his wet shirt and watched in amazement the dull black surface rushing upward. "Well, let them," he thought to himself. "They can do what they like. After all, it's not my business. My trade's drilling wells. The devil! It's reached the sky already! It won't sustain its own weight and will collapse, of course. Well, let them. What do I care? I'm not a scientist, I'm an engineer, my business is to drill, and not…"

Ali-Ovsad, who had been standing beside him, took the binoculars and looked at the pillar.

"It must be made of iron," he said. "It must be cut. It's probably good steel-why should it be wasted? It's got to be cut. Go and ask the Armenian."

"What Armenian?"

"The chief-Bramulian."

Stamm and Bramulla came out of the radio cabin. The Austrian geologist was wiping his face and neck with a handkerchief, and he had permitted himself to undo one button of his jacket. Will was saying something to him, but the Austrian obstinately shook his head in disagreement.

Kravtsov went over to them and, interrupting their conversation, said in as official a tone as he could manage:

"Mr. Bramulla, I consider it necessary to begin cutting the pillar immediately."

The Chilean turned his perspiring flabby face to him, his eyes like two black plums.

"What with?" he cried. "I ask you-what are you going to cut it with, when the plasma cutter can't even cut the pipes?"

"The PQK will cut it like a razor-blade," said Kravtsov. "I'm ready to begin at once."

"He's ready to begin! Did you hear that, Stamm? He's ready to get into that devil's hell! I forbid you to go near the pillar!"

"Mr. Kravtsov," said Stamm in an even tone of voice. "Until we succeed in establishing the nature of the phenomenon, we have no right to risk.

"But in order to ascertain the nature of this phenomenon, we must at least have a sample of the substance, mustn't we?"

The heat was getting unbearable, the deck was vibrating underfoot, and Bramulla's triple chin was shaking. The riggers of all four crews were huddled by the rail; the usual jokes and laughter were not to be heard and many were listening to the talk between the geologists and engineers.

"My head's splitting! I can't keep men here on the rig. I don't know what's going to happen." Bramulla talked without pausing for breath-it relieved him slightly. "Madonna! Where is the 'Fukuoka Maru'? Why are these Japanese always late? Why did everything have to fall on Miguel Bramulla's head?"

"It will fall," said Kravtsov, shortly. "It will certainly fall on your head, Senor Bramulla, if you go on wailing instead of acting."

"What do you want of me?" cried Bramulla.

"We've got protective clothing. Let me…"

"I won't let you!"

They glared at each other for a few seconds in silence.

Then lanky Jim Parkinson, stripped to the waist, came up to them, touching the celluloid peak of his cap with the tip of his finger.

"Sir," he said to Kravtsov, "I'd like you to know, if they let you cut this damned candle, I'm at your service."

A tall Romanian came up behind Jim, gave a hollow cough, and announced in broken Russian that he too was ready, and so were his mates.

"They've all lost their senses!" exclaimed Bramulla. "What arc you going to say to them, Stamm?"