Convergent Series (24 page)

"With respect, Commander Perry." J'merlia dug in six of his feet and cowered down until his slender abdomen was touching the rocky floor. "Humans are much greater beings than me or Kallik, we know that, and we will seek to do whatever you tell us. But Atvar H'sial and Louis Nenda gave us orders to stay in this area. We must wait until they return."

Perry turned in frustration to Graves. "Well? They won't do what I tell them. Do you think they'll obey a direct order from you?"

"Probably not." The councilor looked calmly at J'merlia. "Would you?"

The Lo'tfian shivered and groveled lower on the powdery floor.

Graves nodded. "That's answer enough. You see, Commander, we are placing them in an impossible position. Although they are trained to obey us, they cannot disobey the orders of their owners. They also have strong instincts to save their own lives, but they do not see the danger here. However, I have an alternative proposal—one that may be acceptable to them. We can leave them here—"

"We can't leave them. They'll die."

"We don't leave them indefinitely. But we are close to the Pentacline Depression. We can explore that for the twins. And if we provide a new power source for this beacon we can come back here afterward, whether we succeed or fail. By that time, perhaps Nenda and Atvar H'sial will also have returned. If not, the surface of Quake will surely be more obviously dangerous, and we can try again to persuade the aliens to leave."

Perry was still hesitating. At last he shook his head. "I think we can do better." He turned to J'merlia. "Were you told not to leave the place where Atvar H'sial and Louis Nenda dropped you off?"

"That is correct."

"But you
already
left that place—to come down into this tunnel. So you must have some freedom of movement. How far are you and Kallik willing to roam?"

"One moment, please." J'merlia turned away from Perry and held a whistling dialog with the Hymenopt, who had been squatting on the floor completely immobile. Finally he nodded.

"It is not so much a question of distance, as of time. A few kilometers would be all right; Kallik and I are agreed that we could go so far on foot. But if you are sure we can return here in three or four hours, we would be willing to travel a longer distance by aircar."

Graves was shaking his head. "Four hours is not long enough. How big is the Pentacline Depression, Commander?"

"Roughly a hundred and fifty kilometers across."

"And the twins may be in there, but they could be way over on the other side. I'm sure we can find them, given enough time, but we can't make an adequate scan for a starship in a few hours. We'll have to do it my way; leave these two here, and then come back."

Kallik interjected a whistle and a series of agitated clicks.

"But coming back will cut further into the search time." Perry ignored the Hymenopt. "If the two aliens would—"

"With great respect, Captain," J'merlia cut in—the first time he had ever interrupted a human. "But in all the time since Kallik and I met on Opal, I have been teaching her human talk. Already she understands some, though she cannot yet speak. Now she asks me, did she hear what she thought she heard? Are you searching for other human presence, here on the surface of Quake?"

"We sure are—if we can ever get out of here! So no more talk, we have to—"

This time it was Kallik herself who interrupted. The Hymenopt ran up close to Perry, raised herself onto the points of her toes, and produced a rapid series of whistling screams.

"With great respect," J'merlia gabbled before Perry could speak again, "she wants you to know that there is a starship on the surface of Quake."

"We know. The one that Kallik and Louis Nenda used to come over from Opal."

"Not that one. Before they landed, Master Nenda did a precautionary scan, because he was worried that there might be a trap. He picked up the trace of a ship's Bose Drive. Kallik says it was an Alliance design, able to do Bose Network transfers. She thinks, maybe it brought the humans you seek."

Kallik grunted and whistled again. J'merlia nodded.

"She says it is only a hundred kilometers from here—a few minutes' flight time. Kallik asks, Would you have any interest in knowing where it is?"

"What sins must a man commit, in
ho
w many past lives, to be born on Teufel?" 
 

The water-duty for seven-year-olds was precise and unforgiving. 
 

Suit on, check air tank, seal respirator, walk to the lock. Warning: Opening takes place as the surface wind drops, five and a half minutes before first light, after the night predators retreat to their caves. Be there in time, or forfeit one day's food. 
 

Outside.
Empty yesterday's wastes (time allocation, 24 seconds); climb the twenty-four stone steps to the pure-water stream that gushes halfway up the cliffside (33 seconds); wash out plastic containers (44 seconds); rinse filters (90 seconds); fill water cans (75 seconds); descend (32 seconds); reenter lock and perform closing sequence (25 seconds).
 

Margin for error: seven seconds.
If you are caught on the steps or with the lock wide open you are hit by the
Remouleur
—the Grinder, the dreaded dawn wind of Teufel. And you are dead.

Rebka knew that. And suddenly he knew that he was late. He could hardly believe it. Usually when his turn came for the water-duty he was the one who hurried down the cliff ahead of schedule, the only one with the time and confidence to stand in the open lock and look out on Teufel's stark scenery and spiky, eccentric vegetation for a few seconds as lock closure began. The strata of the cliff face were still too dark to be seen, but he knew they were a muted purple interleaved with gray and faded reds. The strip of sky above the canyon already showed the signs of coming dawn. He could watch as the stars began to fade and streaks of high cloud turned from black to rosy gray. The sight had an indescribable beauty. It excited him.

But not today. The trickle of spring water was weaker, and the cans refused to fill at their usual speed. Nearly five minutes were already gone. He was still on the top step, and his face mask was fogging over. He had to leave, with half-filled containers.
Right now.
 

Descent time allocation is 32 seconds; reenter lock and perform closing sequence, 25 seconds. 
 

He headed down the steps blind and fast, risking a fall. He knew from experience the possible fates. If the
Remouleur
hit when he was on the top few steps, he would be carried out of the canyon like a dry leaf and no one would ever see him again. That had happened to Rosamunde. Halfway down, the dawn wind was less strong, but it blew its victims right down the canyon and dashed them against the rock chimneys. They had retrieved Joshua's body from there, what was left of it after the day predators were finished. If he almost made it, say to the bottom three or four steps, the wind could not carry him away completely. But it still would rip away his respirator, break his grip no matter how he clung to the rocks or the support rail, and roll him into the poisonous, boiling-water cauldron that seethed and churned below the spring. Lee had floated there for nine hours before she could be retrieved. Some of her had been lost forever. The cooked flesh had flaked from her bones and escaped the nets.

Twelve steps to go. And the
Remouleur
is coming, no more than twenty seconds away, and the dust devils are stirring along the canyon, and now there is the preliminary scream of far-off wind and the chatter of torrential rain. The steps feel greasy under your feet.
 

If someone was actually in the lock when the wind hit, he might have a chance. Teufel lore said that if one dropped the water containers and flattened oneself to the floor, one might—just might—keep the respirator on and survive until the lock closed all the way. But Rebka had never met anyone who had actually done it. And the penalty for returning without water—or, worse, without containers—was severe.

But not as severe as death.

Six steps to go. 
 

Time had run out. He dropped the water containers.

There was a strange, moaning cry in his ears, and his body was lifted and pulled across a rocky surface. Cold water drenched his exposed arms and legs. His respirator was pulled away from his face. Death would at least be quick.

But he was not ready to die. He writhed against the force that held him, reaching up to grab the respirator straps and hold it in position.

His clawing fingers met human hands. The shock was so great that for a couple of seconds he could do nothing.

"Hans! Hans Rebka!" The cry came again, and this time he could understand it.

He opened his eyes for a last look at Teufel's dark skies. Instead of rosy streaks of wind-torn cloud he found himself staring at a shimmering blur of running water. Framed in front of the torrent, mouth open and panting with effort, was a dusty and droplet-streaked face.

It was Darya Lang.

When she realized what she had done, Darya was ready to sit down and start weeping again.

She had crawled out and hurried over to check the beacon as soon as she woke up. And when she peered through the shrouding dust and saw a figure huddled over the cairn, her first reaction was pure delight. That would teach Atvar H'sial a lesson! The Cecropian would not do that again, callously leaving someone to live or die without even telling her why.

And then as Darya came closer she realized that it was not a Cecropian. It was a human—it was a man—dear God, it was Hans Rebka!

Darya screamed and ran forward. The dust of Quake was as lethal to him as it would be to her. If he were dead, she would never forgive herself.

"Hans. Oh Hans, I'm sorry . . ."

He was unconscious and not listening. But it w
as
unconsciousness, not death. Darya found the strength to hoist him over her shoulder—he weighed less than she did—and carry him back through the waterfall. And as she laid him gently on the rock, his eyes opened. That puzzled look up at her was the most satisfying expression she had ever seen on a human face.

For twenty minutes she had the pleasure of tending him, watching him curse and spit up dust and snort out gray powder through his nose. It was delight, simply to know he was
alive
. And then, before she could believe that he was able to function, he was on his feet and forcing her back out onto the surface.

"You're not safe here, even if you think you are." He was still wringing his hand and arm at the pain that the neural convolver had left in the nerves. "Another few hours, and that waterfall might be steam. Summertide's coming, Darya, and there's only one road to safety. Come on."

He hurried her across the arid surface, and at the aircar he made a quick inspection. Within a couple of minutes he shook his head and sat back on his haunches. "It doesn't matter where Atvar H'sial went, or if she's coming back. We won't go far in this." He leaned in under the car to rub his hand over the intake units. "See for yourself."

The dust storm was easing, but the inside of the vents was still clogged. Worse than that, where Rebka brushed the dust away the liner metal showed bright and eroded.

"That was from flying in and landing here." He placed the grille back in position. "I think we ought to be able to make one more trip without major servicing and overhaul, but I wouldn't want to try beyond that. And we can't risk flying in any more dust storms. If we run into one, we'll have to go up and over and bide our time coming down. Assuming we don't run out of power, too—no extreme head winds, or we're done for."

"But what about the Carmel twins? You were supposed to be looking for them." Darya Lang remained crouched by the aircar's intakes. She had explained to Rebka why she had set her trap, and how Atvar H'sial had deserted her. He seemed to accept what she said, brushing it all off as an unimportant detail. But she had trouble looking him in the eye.

She knew why. That trap had been more than a desire to protect herself when Atvar H'sial came back. She had been looking for
revenge
for what Atvar H'sial had done. And then her unguided missile had gone astray and hit the wrong person.

"We can't do anything to help the twins," Rebka replied. "We'll have to hope that Graves and Perry had better luck than I did. Maybe they'll find them, or maybe the spaceship that you and J'merlia saw will be able to help them. I doubt it, though, if it's who I think it is."

"Louis Nenda?"

He nodded and turned away. He had his own reasons for wanting to appear calm and casual. First, he had fallen into Darya Lang's trap so easily that it dismayed him. He was supposed to be the smart and cautious one, but he had become soft and casual. Five years ago he would have tested
everything
for traps. This one he had fallen into like a baby.

Second, over the years he had found that dreams of his childhood on Teufel were a useful indicator. They were his own unconscious, trying to tell him something important. He had experienced those dreams only when he was in desperate trouble, and always when he did not know what that trouble might be.

Third—and maybe the driving force for the other two worries—Quake had changed since he had landed at the radio beacon. Superficially it was a change for the better. The winds had dropped, the blown sand was reduced to no more than an irritating half-centimeter blanket that lay over everything, and even the distant grumble of volcanic action was quiet.

But that was
impossible
. It was less than forty hours to Summertide. Amaranth was directly overhead, a huge, bloodshot eye glaring across five degrees of sky; Mandel, off to the west, was half as big again, and Gargantua was bright enough to be seen at Mandel-noon. The tidal energies pouring into the interiors of Quake and Opal were prodigious, enough to produce continuous and severe planetary distortions.

So where were they?

Energy had to be conserved, even on Quake, but it might be changed to another form. Was it being accumulated by some unknown physical process in the planet's deep interior?