Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

Claver was cheerful enough about being disturbed, and seemed to enjoy having been called on to set things right. He tugged on the yellow line until the balloon started to descend. His manner suggested all this was really quite basic. Within a few minutes he had the vehicle back on course and, in his condescending manner, asked to be awakened again if there were any more difficulties.

Quait knew how to make the balloon rise and fall. What he did not understand was how to determine where favorable air currents would be. “I don’t know how to explain it/ Claver told him later. “Experience, I guess.”

Sleep came hard for Quait. It might have been the cold. Or the smell of salt air. Or the impending end of the hunt. But most likely it was Chaka’s proximity. On the trail, he had prudently maintained a discreet distance. Here, she lay breathing softly, within easy reach.

He sighed, got up, and joined Claver, who was at the helm, or whatever constituted a helm on this windrunner. The sky was ablaze with the rising sun, and they were running parallel to a rocky shore.

Claver was doing knee bends. “I recommend it,” he said. “Keeps you warm and flexible.”

“How are we doing?” asked Quait.

“Okay.” There was a note of self-satisfaction in his voice. “The wind wants to take us out to sea.”

“Don’t let it happen.”

“I won’t.” He flexed shoulders and arms, not unlike a boxer. “But we’re spending a lot of gas and ballast.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Starting to be.”

Quait settled back to watch the sunrise. The pilot passed him some nuts and water. “Not much of a breakfast,” Claver admitted. ‘But with luck, we’ll be on the ground anyway in a few hours.”

“I’ve seen the ocean before,” Quait said. ‘At the mouth of the Mississippi.”

“What direction was it from the land mass?”

“South.”

Claver thought it over. “I wonder if it’s the same body of water? It might be possible for you to go home by sea.”

Quait laughed. “Anything would be an improvement on the overland route.” He looked toward the rising sun and the curving horizon and wondered what lay beyond. ‘Could you get to Chicago in this thing?” he asked.

“If we had enough hydrogen. And the wind was right. But I don’t think I’d want to try it.”

They began to drift, and he had to take them up and then down to get the balloon moving forward again. It gave Quait a little satisfaction to see that even Claver didn’t guess right all the time. But the sandbags were emptying fast.

They floated north over a rugged coastline, an endless series of cliffs, shoals, inlets, and offshore islands. They saw deer and wild horses and, on occasion, signs of habitation. There were a few plowed fields, some orchards, a house on a bluff overlooking a harbor. Gray smoke billowed out of the chimney. Later they saw a small boat casting nets. But these were the exceptions. For the most part, there was only wilderness.

The sun climbed toward the meridian. The first sign of Knobby’s bay would be land to the east. But islands were liberally sprinkled through the area, so there was a series of false alarms. At midafternoon, the wind changed. Claver threw more ballast over the side. The vehicle moved first one way and then another before settling back on course.

“That’s about it,” he announced. “We don’t have enough left to manage anything other than a landing. Your bay better come up soon.”

Within the hour, a finger of land appeared in the east. They watched with hopeful skepticism, remembering the earlier islands. It developed into a long coastline, and cut off the open sea. Mountains rose. And, as they drew closer, they saw more Roadmaker towns and coastal roads littered with hojjies.

“This is it,” said Chaka.

They came in over the bay at an altitude of about two miles. The tide was out, and they saw with joy that it did indeed leave vast mudflats in some areas. It wouldn’t be difficult for an unwary master to find himself stranded.

A few minutes later, the bay divided into two channels. “Keep to starboard,” said Flojian, barely able to contain his excitement.

The water glittered in the sunlight. Escarpments and green hills lined the shore. Here, waves rolled onto white beaches; there, they pounded rock formations.

A crosswind caught them and blew them toward the wrong side of the bay. Claver reluctantly released more hydrogen until he had arrested the movement and they were again approaching the eastern coast. But they continued to drop, even after he’d thrown out ballast. “We’re going to have to find a place to land,” he said.

“Over there!” said Flojian. Inshore, the saddle-shaped mountain came into view.

“Okay,” said Quait. “We’re doing fine.”

“Not really,” said Claver. “We’re going down a little bit fast.” He dumped the last of his sand. They continued to fall.

“Orin?” said Quait.

“Prepare for landing,” he said. “We need a city.”

The bay was getting narrow. A long hooked cape, very much resembling the one marked on Knobby’s map, projected out from the east. Knobby had given them bearings, and they used them now to target an escarpment. A sheer wall, their map said.

“That’s it,” cried Chaka, and they embraced all around.

They drifted past. “We’re doing about forty,” said Claver.

The bay continued to squeeze down. The mountaintops were getting close.

“Town ahead,” said Claver.

Quait could now see clearly a network of ancient roads and piers and stone walls. The precipice that might contain Haven fell behind.

The town was reasonably intact. Blackened buildings still stood. The network of streets was easy to make out, and there was a large industrial complex on the north. “Looks like an old power plant,” said Claver. “Probably shut down before the collapse. If we can make it, we’ll be in good shape.”

Bluffs and trees were coming up fast. “Try to relax when we hit,” he added.

A road appeared beneath them, and swerved off to the east. They scraped the too of a hill and bounced throueh some treetops. As they broke free, Claver jerked away the rip-panel and the envelope collapsed with a sigh. The gondola landed hard and spilled its passengers into a field.

“We’re down,” said Claver.

“Orin,” said Quait, ‘flying is never going to catch on.”

They dragged the envelope and the gondola into a shed, collected their weapons, blankets, lamps, the rope ladder, and the rest of their supplies, and turned back toward the bay.

There was no sign of local inhabitants, no houses, no plowed fields. They found a road and followed it into the woods. Nobody talked much. They could hear the sound of the surf in the distance.

The road eventually faded out. But they could smell the water, and an hour later, as the sun went down, they broke out onto the shoreline.

They had fish for dinner and sat late into the night, listening to the long silences. Flojian was appalled to learn that Claver had sold individual steam engines rather than the process to marine manufacturers. In a society without patent laws, this had amounted to giving away the secret for the price of a few units. The buyers were now in the business of making their own, and he was effectively cut out. “It doesn’t really matter,” Claver said. “I have all the money I need. What disturbs me is that they overpriced the boats and people blame me. The river-men think I got rich on their backs.”

“When in fact,” said Flojian, “the manufacturers took the money.” He shook his head. “You need a business manager.”

Claver confessed that he was getting excited about what they might find tomorrow. “I’ve been trying to dismiss it as nonsense, and 1 still think it is. But wouldn’t it be glorious to find the Quebec? What a cap that would be for my career.”