Bob Shaw - The Fugitive Worlds

Toller shut down his microjet and coasted to rest, twitching the line to bring his silent prisoner into place beside him. Steenameert expertly drifted himself to a halt nearby, a few yards above the fantastic conglomeration of huge crystals. Two miles away across the burning sea the alien station was outlined like a castle against the darkest part of the sky, where occasional meteors made furtive dashes to oblivion.

“A rare sight, Baten,” Toller said. “One that not many can claim to have seen. One that you will no doubt remember.”

“I expect I will, sir,” Baten replied, a puzzled expression appearing in his eyes.

“I want you to take two messages back with you—one for my father and one for Queen Daseene. I have no time to write them out, so I want you to listen carefully and—” Toller broke off as Steenameert violently crossed and uncrossed his arms in a gesture of disagreement.

“What are you saying to me?” the younger man cried out. “Have I not served you well?”

It was Toller’s turn to be puzzled. “Nobody could have done better. I intend to include a citation in my message to the Queen so that you…”

“Then why are you dismissing me at this most crucial moment in the venture?”

Toller pulled down his scarf and smiled. “I am moved by your loyalty, Baten, but things have reached a pass at which I have no right to expect anything further from you. The voyage to the intruders’ home world will almost certainly result in my death—I am not deluding myself on that score—but that is an acceptable prospect to me because it is a matter of my personal honor. Having set out with the avowed intention of rescuing the Countess Vantara, I could never return to Prad and admit that I had abandoned the attempt simply because—”

“And what about my personal honor?” Steenameert demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. “Do you think that honor is a prerogative of the aristocracy? Do you imagine that I could ever hold my head up again, knowing that I had cravenly forsaken my duty at the first whiff of danger?”

“Baten, this goes beyond duty.”

“Not for me.” Steenameert’s voice had a new edge of hardness which made it almost unrecognizable. “Not for me!”

Toller paused for a few seconds, his eyes prickling painfully. “You may accompany me to Dussarra on one condition.”

“You have but to name it, sir!”

“The condition is that you cease addressing me as ‘sir’. We will go into this thing as private citizens, leaving the Sky Service and all its ways behind us. We will undertake the venture as friends and equals—is that understood?”

“I…” Steenameert’s new-found assertiveness seemed to have deserted him. “That would be difficult for me… for one of my upbringing…”

“Your upbringing counted for little a moment ago,” Toller interrupted, grinning. “It is a long time since I have been chastised so vigorously.”

Steenameert gave a sheepish grin. “I fear I may have lost my temper.”

“Keep hold of it until we reach Dussarra—then you may say good riddance to it forever.” Toller turned his attention to his alien captive. “What do you say, greyface?”

I say it is not too late for you to abandon this pointless exercise, Divivvidiv replied, breaking a long silence. Why don’t you try to use what little intelligence you have?

“He hasn’t understood a word of our discourse,” Toller said to Steenameert. “And he calls us Primitives!”

Without speaking further Toller activated his propulsion unit and maneuvered himself and the alien close to the nearer of the spaceships. The varnished, straight-grained timbers of the hull glowed in the sunlight with warm shades of brown. The ship had been assembled in the weightless zone from five cylindrical sections hauled up from Overland by skyship. It was four yards in diameter—and in the past had been regarded by Toller as a massive structure—but now, in comparison with the alien station, it seemed totally inadequate for its purpose. Reminding himself that his grandfather had successfully crossed the interplanetary void in a similar vessel, Toller thrust his doubts aside.

He examined the circlet of crystal which bound the ship to the glassy plain, and turned again to Divivvidiv. “Is there any strength in that manacle? Is there likely to be any damage to the ship if I simply blast off?”

The crystal will fracture easily.

“Are you sure? Perhaps it would be better if you were to instruct the being in the machine to release its hold.”

It is best if I do not communicate with the Xa at this time. The alien’s face was hidden behind a reflective visor, but to Toller his words carried conviction. Remember that I will be with you inside that barbaric contraption — it is in my interests to see that no harm befalls it.

“Very well,” Toller said, unfastening from his belt the coil of rope which tethered the alien and allowing the end to drift free. “My fellow Primitive and I have certain chores to carry out which demand our uninterrupted attention. I am going to leave you here for a short time—with a request that you do not stray. You will comply?”

I promise not to move an inch.

Toller had made his request with mock courtesy, knowing that the alien was incapable of changing his position, and had not expected a reply which seemed to match his own style of humor. It occurred to him, fleetingly, that the little exchange might have had some significance for the future if there had been any prospect of normal contact between the Dussarran and Kolcorronian cultures. As it was, he had more pressing concerns on his mind.

The rear section of the vessel was actually a specially designed skyship in which the customary square gondola had been replaced by a cylindrical spaceship section. Folded within it was a full-size balloon which gave crewmen the capability of taking the section down to a planetary surface and of rejoining the mother ship while it waited aloft. Toller had no use for the detachable module in the forthcoming mission because descent by balloon was both conspicuous and painfully slow.

“What do you think, Baten?” he said as they drifted in the thin cold air. “Is it worth trying to rid ourselves of the tail section? We have plenty of jacks, and 1 have no relish for the idea of lugging an extra engine and all those extra control mechanisms.”

“The sealing mastic has been there a long time,” Steenameert said doubtfully. “It will have worked its way into the leather seals, the wood, the pegs, the lashings … It will be like basalt. Even with jacks it could take four or five men to separate the section from the main hull, and there’s no telling what damage would be done in the process. On top of that, we would have to shorten all the control rods and reconnect them to the permanent engine…”

“To cut a long story short,” Toller put in, “we should take the ship as it is. Very well! If you will be so kind as to retrieve our supply of parachutes and fallbags, I will inspect the ship—and then we will be on our way.”

The flight to Dussarra produced little in the way of surprises for Toller.

Practically all that was known about the business of travelling to destinations beyond the Land/Overland pair came from notes made by liven Zavotle, who had been a member of the single historic expedition to Farland. Toller had studied abstracts from the notes during his training and was relieved to find them corresponding well with practical experience. He had enough to occupy his thoughts without any waywardness on the part of the ship or the cosmic environment.

The surrounding sky became black, exactly as predicted, and a short time later the ship warmed up, making it necessary for those on board to remove their insulated suits. According to the long-dead Zavotle, the bitter coldness of the weightless zone between the twin worlds was caused by atmospheric convection, and when a ship escaped into vacuum it was free to accept the sun’s bountiful heat. Also as predicted, the meteor display—a permanent feature of the home worlds’ night skies—could no longer be seen. Zavotle’s explanation was that the meteors were still present, hurtling through space at unimaginable velocities, and that they only became visible on encountering a planet’s atmosphere. The possibility of the ship being destroyed between heartbeats by an unseen rocky projectile was one that Toller did not care to dwell on.