The Dark Design (44 page)

A difference in mountain altitude and valley width between the equatorial and temperate zones was apparent. The mountains were generally higher and the valleys narrower in the hotter region.

The narrowness of the valleys and the height of the mountains made for conditions comparable to those in the glens of Scotland. Generally, it rained every day about 15:00 hours or 3 p.m. in the temperate areas. Usually, a thunderstorm accompanied by rain occurred about 03:00 hours or 3 a.m. in the equatorial zone. This was not a natural phenomenon in the tropics or at least it was believed that it was not. The Parolando scientists suspected that some sort of rain-making machines concealed in the mountains caused this on-schedule precipitation. The energy requirements for this would be enormous, colossal, in fact. But beings who could remake this planet into one Rivervalley, who could provide an estimated thirty-six billion people with three meals a day through energy-matter conversion, could undoubtedly shape the daily weather.

What was the energy source? No one knew, but the best suspect was the heat of the planet’s core.

There was speculation that some kind of metal shield lay between the crust of the earth and the deeper layers. That there was no volcanic activity or earthquakes tended to strengthen this hypothesis.

Since there were no vast ice or water masses making a temperature differential comparable to that of Earth, the wind conditions could have been different. But, so far, the pattern seemed to be Terrestrial.

Firebrass decided to take the ship down to 3600 meters altitude, a little over 12,000 feet. Perhaps the wind there might be weaker. The mountaintops were only 610 meters or about 2000 feet below the vessel, and the effect of the up- and downdrafts was strong at this time of the day. But the ability to change the angle of the propellers swiftly compensated somewhat for this roller-coaster motion. The ground speed increased.

Before 15:00, Firebrass ordered that the vessel be taken up above the rain clouds. He brought it back down at 16:00, and the
Parseval
rode majestically above the valleys. As the sun descended, both the horizontal and vertical winds would weaken, and the ship could plow through the air more evenly.

When night came, the hydrogen in the cells would cool, and the vessel would have to lift its nose even higher to give it more dynamic lift to compensate for the loss of buoyancy.

The pressurized control room was warmed by electric heaters. Its occupants were, however, in heavy cloths. Firebrass and Piscator were smoking cigars; most of the others, cigarettes. The fans sucked the smoke away but not quickly enough to remove the cigar odor which Jill so detested.

Hydrogen-emission detectors placed by the gas cells would transmit a warning if there were any leaks. Nevertheless, smoking was permitted only in five areas: the control gondola or bridge, a room halfway along the vessel’s axis, the auxiliary control room in the lower tail fin, and rooms attached to the quarters of the crew fore and aft.

Barry Thorn, first officer of the tail section, reported some magnetic readings. According to this, the North Pole of The Riverworld coincided with the north magnetic pole. The magnetic force itself was much weaker than that of Earth’s, so slight, in fact, that it would have been undetectable without the use of instruments known only in the late 1970s.

“Which means,” Firebrass said, laughing, “that there are three poles on one spot. The North Pole, the magnetic pole, and the tower. Now, if only one of our crew was a Pole, we could have four on the same place.”

Radio reception was excellent today. The ship was high above the mountains, and the transceiver of the
Mark Twain
was carried by a balloon towed by the boat.

Aukuso said, “You can talk now, sir.”

Firebrass sat down by the Samoan’s side and said, “Firebrass here, Sam. We just got word from Greystock. He’s on the way, heading northeastward, ready to alter course the moment he gets wind of the location of the
Rex.
”

“In some ways I hope you don’t find Rotten John,” Sam said. “I’d like to catch up with him and so have the pleasure of sinking him myself. That’s not a very practical attitude, though it’s mighty satisfying. I’m not a vindictive man, Milt, but that hyena would make St. Francis himself long to kick him off a cliff.”

“The
Minerva
’s carrying four forty-six-kilogram bombs and six rockets with nine-kilogram warheads,” Firebrass said. “If only two of the bombs make a direct hit, they could sink the boat.”

“Even so, that royal thief might get away safe and sound to shore,” Clemens said. “He has all the good luck of the wicked. How would I ever find him then? No, I want to see his body. Or if he’s taken alive, I want to wring his neck myself.”

De Bergerac spoke softly to Jill. “Clemens talks big for a man who’s appalled by violence. It’s easy to do as long as the enemy’s sixty thousand kilometers away.”

Firebrass laughed and said, “Well, if you can’t twist his head off, Sam, Joe’s the man to do the job.”

An unhumanly deep voice rumbled, “No, I’ll tear off hith armth and legth. Then Tham can turn hith head around tho he can thee vhere he’th been. He von’t like where he’th going.”

“Tear off an ear for me,” Firebrass said. “Old John almost hit me when he shot at me.”

Jill presumed that he was referring to the fight aboard the
Not For Hire
when John had seized it.

Firebrass said, “According to calculations, the
Rex
should be in the area we’ll be over in about an hour. You should be in the same area but about one hundred forty kilometers to the west of the
Rex.
Of course, we could be way off. For all we know, the
Rex
may not be traveling as fast as it could, or King John could’ve decided to dock for repairs or a very long shore leave.”

An hour’s conversation followed. Clemens talked to some of the crew, mostly those he had known before he’d left Parolando. She noticed that he did not ask to speak to de Bergerac.

Just as Sam was about to sign off, the radar operator reported that the
Rex Grandissimus
was on the scope.

Staying at 452 meters altitude, the
Parseval
circled the boat. From that height it looked like a toy, but photographs, quickly enlarged, showed that it was indeed King John’s vessel. It was magnificent. Jill thought that it would be a shame to destroy such a beautiful craft, but she did not say so. Firebrass and de Bergerac felt very strongly about the man who had hijacked their fabulous Riverboat.

Aukuso transmitted the location to Greystock, who said that the
Minerva
should reach the
Rex
the following day. He also checked the location of the
Mark Twain.

“I’d like to fly over her so that Sam can get a good look at the ship that’s going to sink the
Rex,
” Greystock said.

“It won’t take you out of your way to do that,” Firebrass said. “And it’ll give Sam a big thrill.”

After he had quit talking to Clemens, Firebrass said, “I really think Greystock’s on a suicide mission. The
Rex
is loaded with rockets, and it carries two planes armed with rockets and machine guns. It all depends on whether or not Greystock can catch the
Rex
by surprise. Not much chance of that if John’s radar detects the
Minerva.
Of course, it might be off. Why should it be on? The sonar is good enough for daytime navigation.”

“Yes,” Piscator said. “But the people on the
Rex
must have seen us. They’ll be wondering about us, though they won’t know who we are, and they might start using the radar because they’ll be suspicious.”

“I think so, too,” Jill said. “They can figure out easily enough that only Parolando could build a dirigible.”

“Well, we’ll see. Maybe. By the time the
Minerva
gets to the
Rex,
we’ll be behind the polar mountains. I don’t think we can expect good radio reception there. We’ll have to wait until we come back over them.”

Firebrass looked thoughtful, as if he were wondering if the
Parseval
would return.

The sun sank behind the ground horizon, though at this altitude the sky remained bright for a long time. Finally, night came with its blazing star clouds and gas sheets. Jill talked for a few minutes with Anna Obrenova before going to her cabin. The little Russian seemed warm enough, but there was something in her manner which indicated that she was not at ease. Was she really resentful because she had not been given the first mate’s position?

Before going to her quarters, Jill took a long walk through the semipressurized passageway to the tail section. Here she drank some coffee and chatted briefly with some of the officers. Barry Thorn was present, but he, too, seemed a little nervous, even more reticent than usual. Perhaps, she thought, he was still unhappy at being rejected by Obrenova. If, indeed, that had been the cause of their argument.

At that moment, she was reminded that the two had spoken in a language unknown to her. Now was not the time to ask him about that. It was possible she might never be able to bring up the subject. To do so would be to admit that she had been eavesdropping.

On the other hand, she was very curious. Someday, when there were not more pressing things to consider, she would ask him about it. She could claim that she just happened to walk by—which was the truth—and had heard a few words of the dialog. After all, if she did not understand what they were saying, she could not be eavesdropping, could she?

She went to her cabin, where she crawled into the bunk and went to sleep almost at once. At 04:00 hours a whistle from the intercom awoke her. She went to the control room to relieve Metzing, the third mate. He stood around a while, talking about his experiences as commander of the LZ-1, then left. Jill did not have much to do, since Piscator was a very competent pilot and the atmospheric conditions were normal. In fact, the Japanese had set the automatic controls on, though he kept a close watch on the indicator panel.

There were two others present, the radio and the radar operators.

“We should see the mountains at about 13:00,” she said.

Piscator wondered aloud if they were as high as Joe Miller had estimated. The titanthrop had guessed them to be about 6096 meters or 20,000 feet. Joe, however, was not a good judge of distances, or, at least, not good at converting distances into metrics or the English system.

“We’ll know when we get there,” Jill said.

“I wonder if the mysterious occupants of the tower will allow us to return?” he said. “Or even to enter the tower?”

That question had the same answer as the previous ones. Jill did not comment.

“Perhaps, though,” Piscator said, “they may allow us to survey it.”

Jill lit a cigarette. She did not feel nervous now, but she knew that, when they were close to the mountains, she was going to be at least a little spooked. They would be entering the forbidden, the tabu, the area of the Castle Perilous.

Piscator, smiling, his black eyes shining, said, “Have you ever considered the possibility that some of Them might be on this ship?”

Jill almost strangled as she sharply drew in cigarette smoke. When she was through coughing, she said, wheezing, “What in hell do you mean?”

“They could have agents among us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s just an idea,” he said. “After all, isn’t it reasonable to believe that They would be watching us?”

“I think you have seen more than you’re admitting. What makes you think this? It won’t hurt to tell me.”

“It’s just an idle speculation.”

“In this idle speculation, as you call it, is there someone you think could be one of Them?”

“It wouldn’t be discreet to say so, even if there was someone. I wouldn’t want to point the finger at a possibly innocent party.”

“You don’t suspect
me
?”

“Would I be stupid enough to tell you if I did? No, I am just thinking aloud. A most regrettable habit, one which I should rid myself of.”

“I don’t remember you ever thinking aloud before.”

She did not pursue the subject, since Piscator made it evident he was not going to add anything. The rest of the watch she tried to think of what he might have observed and then put together to make a pattern. The effort left her head buzzing, and she went back to bed feeling very frustrated. Perhaps he had just been putting her on.

In the afternoon, only two minutes short of the time she had predicted, the tops of the polar mountains were sighted. They looked like clouds, but radar gave a true picture. They were mountains. Rather, it was one continuous mountain wall circling the sea. Firebrass, reading its indicated height, groaned.

“It’s 9753 meters high! That’s taller than Mount Everest!”

There was good reason for him to groan and the others to look disturbed. The airship could not go higher than 9144 meters, and Firebrass would hesitate to take it to that altitude. Theoretically, that was the pressure height of the gas cells. To go above that meant that the automatic valves on top of the cells would release hydrogen. If they did not do so, the cells would explode, having reached their inflation limit.