Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

He swept out of the room.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” said Flojian, when they could hear the Shower running. “We’re going to trust this guy to take us up in one of those baskets? What if he has a heart attack up there?”

“If somebody has a heart attack,” smiled Chaka, “I don’t think it’s going to be him.”

Claver returned dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with fluffy sleeves, the sort of clothing that would have looked dashing on a twenty-five-year-old. He was barefoot, and he carried a glass of wine. “Now.” He seated himself beside Chaka. “Tell me why you want to go so far.”

Quait crossed one leg over the other. “Does the name Haven mean anything to you?”

“Of course.”

“We think we know where it is.”

Claver’s eyes narrowed. “Endine,” he said, switching his gaze to Flojian. “I should have recognized the name. So you’ve come back. After all this time.”

“That was my father,” said Flojian.

“Ah. Yes. Certainly. And you’ve returned in his place to— do what?”

“To find Haven.”

“They didn’t do so well last time. What makes you think you can do better?”

“They did find it,” said Flojian. “We’ve no doubt of that.”

“It surprises me to hear it. Most of them died out there and the only thing that came back were stories about goblins.”

“They brought back a copy of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

“Really? How is it I never heard about that?”

“Don’t know,” said Quait. “But we have the book.”

“Listen,” said Chaka. “None of this matters that much anyhow.” She produced a gold coin and handed it to Claver. “We’ll pay you ten of these to take us where we want to go.”

He held the coin to the light. “That’s generous. But the flight’s a fool’s errand. There’s nothing up there to be found, and I don’t care to risk my life and my equipment. Not for ten gold coins, nor for a hundred. I really have no need for the money.”

“How do you know there’s nothing?” asked Quait.

“If there had been something, your father would have recovered it when he had the chance. He came back empty-handed.”

“We have the Mark Twain.”

“You have the Mark Twain. I have only your assurances.”

“We wouldn’t lie to you,” said Flojian, his voice rising.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. But your interpretation of events could be mistaken.” He sat back and relaxed. “I’m sorry to say this, but I see no compelling reason to go.”

“You see no compelling reason?” Quait felt anger rise in his throat.

“The place is a myth,” said Claver.

Quait got up and started for the door.

“I was impressed with your steam engine,” said Chaka, not moving.

“Thank you.” Claver flashed another of those smiles compromised by his eyes. His teeth looked strong and sharp. “I’m working on an improved model. The wood-burners aren’t as efficient as they might be.”

“Coal,”said Flojian.

“Very good, Endine. Yes, it should improve output.”

“Tell me,” continued Flojian, “have you thought about the possibility of designing a power plant that could take a ship across the sea?”

He laughed. “Of course. It’s coming.”

Chaka could see the framework and the balloon through the window. “Orin,” she said, “if that really is Haven up there, we’d have a chance of finding the Quebec.”

Claver stopped breathing.

“Think about it,” she said. “Think what it would mean to find out how to build a propulsion system for an undersea ship. Or do you think it was a coal-burner?”

This time the smile was complete. “It would be nice to find.”

“But the Quebec is only a myth,” said Flojian. “Right?”

“Take us where we want to go,” said Chaka. “The worst that can happen is that you’ll come back with ten gold coins. Who knows what the real payoff might be?”

Claver provided quarters for the Illyrians. In the morning they inspected the gondola, which was larger than the basket they’d seen in storage. This one was oblong, rather than circular, and big enough to accommodate several people. Claver brought aboard a supply of rope, tools, and lanterns. He also loaded four blankets, “because it gets cold up there”; and an array of pots, tubes, rubber fittings, and glass receptacles, which he described as his portable laboratory. “To make hydrogen for the return trip,” he explained.

“You mean,” demanded Quait, “we can’t just set down and tie the thing to a tree until we’re ready to leave?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “unfortunately, it won’t be as simple as that. Once we’re on the ground, we’ll stay there until we can manufacture some hydrogen. That won’t be especially difficult, but we need to land near a city.”

“Why?” asked Flojian.

“Because we need sulfur. There’s always plenty in the ground around Roadmaker cities, if you know where to look. I have to tell you, I think all this fuss about Roadmaker knowledge is overblown. Damned fools were poisoning themselves.” They were talking more loudly than normal, trying to speak over a machine that chugged and gasped while the balloon, which was supported by the large wooden framework in back of the house, gradually filled. “We’ll also need to find coal. It burns hotter than wood. And iron. We’ll have to have iron.”

“Anything else?” asked Flojian.

“Well, water, of course.”

“Of course,” said Quait.

“What that means is that we won’t be able to land right on top of your target. We’ll pick the nearest Roadmaker city and set down there.”

Chaka frowned. “Orin, how long is it going to take us to get there?”

“Depends on the wind. If the wind cooperates, and your maps are right, we can make it in about twenty hours.”

“What happens,” she asked, “if the wind doesn’t cooperate?”

“We won’t be going there at all.” He grinned. “It’s okay, though. The wind always cooperates. To a degree.”

“Twenty hours,” she said doubtfully. “And we can’t set down until we get there?”

“We won’t have much privacy,” he admitted. “I’m sorry about that, but balloons have some drawbacks when you use them for long-distance travel. But we’ll have a bucket available.”

The balloon was made of a tightly woven fabric coated with varnish. There was a valve on top to permit the release of gas, thereby allowing the pilot to descend. The gas-filled bag, which Claver called an envelope, was enclosed within a hemp net. Sixteen lines, passing through a suspension hoop, secured the gondola to the net.

“This is the rip-panel rope,” Claver explained. “When we get close to the ground, during landing, we’ll open a panel in the top of the envelope and dump the remaining hydrogen.”

“Why?” asked Flojian. “Why not just try to tie up somewhere? And save whatever’s left?”

“Only if you like broken limbs. No, we need to get rid of it when we touch down. It doesn’t matter; there won’t be that much left anyhow. Just enough to drag us along the ground.” He laughed. “I know it sounds a little dangerous but balloons are really much safer than traveling by horse.”

Bags of sand were strung around the exterior of the gondola. That was their ballast, Claver explained. “We want to go up, we get rid of some ballast.”

The process of filling the envelope was finished by about midnight. Quait and Chaka had watched from the back porch. When Claver disconnected the hydrogen pump, an eerie silence fell across the grounds. The balloon strained

against its frame, bathed in moonlight, anxious to be free of the ground.