A Planned Improvisation (6 page)

“I imagine it takes a long time for this many grazers to get anywhere,” Iris put in. “You can see them from horizon to horizon north to south and I don’t know how wide this super herd is. It
 
might make finding a safe place to set down for the night impossible.”

“We can fly all night if we have to,” Park told her, “but maybe we won’t have to. We may as well keep going and see if we can find the other side of the herd.”

By the time the sun had set, however, the large postmammalian grazers were everywhere that could been seen from the buggy. From experience, Park and Iris knew it would be suicidal to set down in the middle of such a group, so Park took over the buggy controls and they continued flying.

By the time Iris woke up, sometime after midnight, she found Park sleeping next to her while the buggy flew on. Getting up she found Dannet at the controls chatting with Marisea in the seat beside him. Cousin, predictably was curled up in her lap. “Are we still over the herd?” Iris asked.

“No,” Marisea responded. “We left them behind an hour or so ago. At least that’s when I noticed I couldn’t see them any longer.”

“Maybe we should set down and sleep the rest of the night,” Iris suggested.

“We’re only an hour away from Van Winkle,” Dannet informed her. “We may as well finish the trip and sleep in our own beds.”

“All right,” Iris nodded, “But if you like, I’ll take another shift at the yoke.”

“Uh uh!” Marisea stopped her. “It’s my turn. You can pay co-pilot if you want. You’d better take Cousin, though. It’s difficult to
 
pilot without disturbing her.”

Iris accepted the small primate and Marisea took the controls from Dannet. An hour later they finally landed at Van Winkle Town.

The redesigned Phoenix Child did not launch for another five days after their return. In spite of Ronnie’s careful scouring of the new tanks, there were still microscopic metal filings getting caught in the filters as they emptied the nitrogen tetroxide tank. On the second day, Ronnie finally resorted to using a spray-on sealant of Mer manufacture inside the tank. “The Mer use that gunk all the time,” she admitted to Park while waiting for the new coating to set, “but I just don’t like the idea that it might flake off and clog the lines.”

“Does that happen on Mer ships?” Park asked.

“They say it does once in a while but that there has never been an incident,” Ronnie replied. “Of course this wouldn’t have been a problem had we done the refit in Quetso. They have a large pool for immersing a new tank in. they can pump fluid in and out in one operation until it’s perfectly clean.”

“Water?” Park asked.

“Carbon tetrachloride,” Ronnie replied. “They dry clean the tanks out that way.” I call it a pool, but actually it’s in a large enclosure. That stuff can kill you if you don’t handle it properly, you know.”

“So can most of what makes a spaceship go,” Park pointed out. “Do you want to build something like that here?”

“Where would we put it?” Ronnie wondered.

“The old launch silo?” Park suggested. “The one we launched the comm. satellites from.”

“A vertical bath for cleaning large objects?” Ronnie considered it. “Hmm, I suppose, but no. We don’t generally need something like that here. This was the first time we’ve had to do something like this outside of Quetso although had I expected the filings problem, I would have taken our bird there. Anyway, this ought to do the trick.”

Flight was further delayed when it turned out Park’s crew had actually found several pockets of sub-surface damage to the newer of the two runways at the aerospace port. “How did this happen?” Park asked.

“I’ve no good excuse,” Terry admitted. “The best explanation I can come up with is that it was the first time we built a runway with all Mer materials. We probably did not mix the foundation concrete up correctly since that’s what gave way or else we poured it too thick.”

“Too thick?” Park asked. “Wouldn’t that have made it stronger?”

“Yes, but it would have had to set longer too,” Terry explained, “and we made have put the top layer down before the foundation was ready for it. We have a Mer engineer coming in tomorrow with his team to inspect it personally. I figured we may as well do it right and if we can just patch this section so much the better, but he may tell us to
 
pull it up and start over again.”

“Is it that immediately dangerous?” Park asked, alarmed.

“I doubt it,” Terry shrugged. “Not right now, but come the rains it going to get soft down there. Even then, there probably is not a lot of danger, but why take chances.”

“Good thing we have the old runway in such good shape,” Park decided, then wondered, “Uh, it is in good shape, right?”

“Like new,” Terry assured him. “Just those few minor surface cracks we spotted before you left and we’ve already filled them. That should hold them for years to come and this port isn’t exactly Kennedy Interplanetary, is it?”

“No, but I don’t want to get caught in the middle of the rainy season with a torn-up runway,” Park told him. “Will we have time to finish before the rains come?”

“That all depends on what our expert tells us,” Terry replied. “It would probably be faster to just build a new one.”

“Good idea,” Park told him. “We can put it in parallel to the newer one. Then when that’s been patched we’ll have a third runway.”

“We hardly need another runway and besides that would eliminate the space we marked out for one of those VTOL ship pads,” Terry remarked.

“We’ve never needed a landing pad,” Park pointed out, “but there have been times we had ships parked out on the runways. I’m not expecting that again, but let’s build this one the Mer way. I think we’ll all learn something valuable. Can we get a survey team out on the field to mark it off before our expert arrives?”

“I’ll send a team out today,” Terry nodded. “They may not finish before he gets here, but we shouldn’t miss by much.”

“Good, maybe we can sweet talk this guy into supervising the construction,” Park nodded.

The “guy” turned out to be a Mer woman of middle years and long bright red hair named Larie Hawshu. Larie was all business from the moment she hop-stepped off the jet that brought her to Van Winkle Town. She examined the core samples in the base’s electron microscopes and had her analysis ready in an hour.

“The foundation cured too slowly,” she told them.

“Too slowly?” Terry asked. “I would have thought the danger would have been if it had been too fast.”

“I have seen samples of your concrete,” Larie replied. “It is very different from the material we use. Why didn’t you use it on that runway?”

“We weren’t certain it would be compatible with the overlying finish layer,” Park explained. “It seemed safer to use something we knew would not cause problems.”

“That’s good thinking but you probably should have had an engineer who had worked with it before on hand to supervise,” Larie told them both.

“We were assured the instructions would be sufficient to guide us,” Terry commented defensively.

“They probably sent you the sort of instructions that come with a bag of the stuff at any hardware store,” Larie chuckled. “Those would suffice if you wanted a new walkway, but a project of this scope takes an experienced hand. The substrate appears to have been properly prepared, however. Your people know how to build a better road – or a runway in this case – than any Mer I know.”

“Does that surprise you?” Park asked dryly.

“Not really,” Larie replied with a smile. “We don’t build highways as I’ve read your people used to. A city street does not need that sort of construction and our methods are sufficient for our runways. It’s just that you prepare the subsurface better than we do. The real question is when did you pour the foundation? Not in the heat of summer, certainly.”

“We don’t really have a winter in these parts,” Park explained. “We have a wet season, a cool dry season and a hot dry season. The cool season, which is when we poured the foundation, is not really all that cool, of course, but we will sometimes get a frost at night during the weeks following the wet season.”

“So you built the runway during the cool season,” Larie concluded.

“The average night time temperature were in the high forties as I recall,” Park replied. “On your thermometers, let’s see, that would be”

“Roughly thirty,” Larie supplied, “and the days were in the high seventies by your scale?”

“To low eighties,” Park added.

“That should not have been cold enough to do this,” Larie shook her head, “unless…”

“Yes?” Park prompted her.

“You’re close to the tropics here,” Larie noted.

“But at an elevation of thirty-five hundred feet about sea level,” Park pointed out.

“Yes,” Larie nodded. “I think someone was being a little too thoughtful at the wrong time. We have formulations for frigid, temperate and tropical climates.”

“You have cities on the south coast of Australis?” Park asked, surprised.

“No, of course not,” Larie laughed, “but cities on the far north coast do experience winter conditions and there are times we must repair the roads in freezing weather. I think some well-meaning person looked at a map and decided you needed the tropical formulation. Had it been at this time of year he would have been correct, but you should have had the temperate formula. The stuff you used set more slowly than it should have and it developed large crystals in its structure. Now it is starting to fracture along that crystalline structure.”

“Our concrete depends on gravel or sand to act as a tempering medium,” Park commented. “I’d have thought crystals might serve a similar function.”

“Ours is best as a homogenous material with crystals as small as possible,” Larie replied. “Ideally, no crystals at all would be perfect, but that is almost impossible to achieve in practice. I’m afraid you will have to completely rebuild that runway.”

“We thought that might be the case,” Park admitted. “Is the runway an immediate danger to incoming ships and planes?”

“I would not think so,” Larie shrugged, “but you’re going to have to do it in the next year or two. Why not now.”

“We thought it might be faster to build a new one from scratch and have it ready before the rainy season,” Park replied. “We can rebuild the other after the rains.”

“And never have fewer than two functioning runways,” Larie nodded. “So long as you are willing to spend the money, it makes sense.”

“And would you be willing to oversee the construction?” Park asked.

“Me?” Larie asked, startled.

“Of course, you,” Park replied. “I’ve no doubt you’re qualified. “I realize you must be very busy, so if you don’t have the time…”

“No, I set my own schedule,” Larie told him, “It’s just that I have not actually supervised construction in several years. Lately, my job has been to go look at what went wrong and report on it.”

“Well, we agree we need an expert to help with the runway,” Park pointed out, “and you’re already here, so if you’re willing…”

“Of course, I’m willing,” Larie laughed. “This is going to be fun!”

Park stayed in town long enough to see the bed being cut for the new runway. Larie was amazed at how deeply the humans cut the bed, but had to admit that the end result would be a stronger surface. “I am not sure how necessary it is,” she told Park, “but I cannot argue that this is a superior construction technique.”

“This is what our usual building materials require to be able to support the weight of a craft like
Phoenix Child
,” Park explained. “A deep and well-compacted bed and a thick slab. Anything less and we would risk having a landing or departing craft tear up the surface.”

“I dare say,” Lari laughed, “that such ships could land safely on your runway foundations even without paving during the dry season.”

“Well, yes,” Park agreed, “but once the rains set in all we would have is mud.”

Finally, Ronnie announced she was satisfied that
Phoenix Child
was space-worthy once more. She admitted after the fact that she probably should have made the redesigned cargo bay just a little longer as the new probe had less than an inch of clearance as it was loaded. “I’ll have to do an EVA to make sure it gets out of the bay once we’re beyond Saturnian orbit,” she told Park.

“Just don’t take that bird for a ride,” Park replied.

A strange look formed on the engineer’s face. “That could be fun.”

“Not if it’s another one-way trip,” Park retorted.

“Park!” Tina Linea’s voice came from the bridge. “We’re ready to launch whenever you are.”

“On my way,” Park told the pilot. He arrived at the bridge in time to hear Marisea receive clearance to taxi to Runway Number One. Iris was sitting at her battle board, although no one was expecting the weapons to be necessary this trip. Her job had been an easy one the last few missions and that was how everyone liked it.

Park found Cousin curled up and napping on his “Captain Kirk” chair. He carefully picked up the furry critter and allowed her to stretch a bit and then curl up in his lap. “All hands,” he called into the intercom. “Prepare for takeoff.”

Just then Dannet and Sartena entered the Bridge. “I didn’t know you two were part of the crew this mission,” Park commented.

“We’re merely here to observe,” Dannet replied. “I thought you knew we were coming.”

“I arranged it, dear,” Iris cut in. “Ronnie is certain this time is going to be a success and I thought it would be appropriate for our two Alliance ambassadors to be on board to observe and confirm.”

“Fine by me,” Park admitted, “but we still don’t have any guest seats on the bridge.”

“I would not mind sitting in the navigator’s apprentice seat,” Sartena told him. “I see that one is vacant and I am a fair navigator if I do say so myself.”

“Welcome aboard, ambassador,” the navigator, an Atackack named Kickack, greeted her. His clacking words were instantly translated by his torc. She thanked him and sat in the seat beside him. Kickack had been one of Marisea’s first students. Now most of those students were serving on ships and at the Human bases on Earth and Luna and a few were teaching the next several classes of Atackack students. The giant insects learned fast and took to their new specialties as though born to them. Park reflected that perhaps they had. Each of the students had shown an aptitude toward what soon became their specialties. Those aptitudes would have translated elsewise within their native cultures, but among the Space Age Humans and Mer their jobs were different. They all seemed happy in their work and rarely needed correction once trained.