Wildcatter (14 page)

JC’s voice: “Commodore to Master. Don’t forget to plog. Gotta keep the kiddies happy. Commodore out.”

Seth muttered an obscenity. A plog was a prospector’s log, and a valuable part of the expedition record. The contract required him to record a commentary during EVA, and he ought to start now. Traditionally, the rights to the plog belonged to the person who made it, and there were many sly rumors of prospectors who had made more money out of their plogs than their employers had made out of the voyages.

He talked for a while about the view, his lifelong ambition to be a prospector, and the dangers of bad weather. He mentioned that Galactic had lost prospectors but was careful not to hint that they had been marooned. Then he signed off to prepare for landing. He fetched his EVA suit and left it handy. He put his two bags by the rear hatch, where he could kick them out.

“Control, report weather forecast for Site Apple.”

—Calm at estimated touchdown and for one hour thereafter.

“It seems that the weather window is narrowing,” he told his plog. “The ship’s computers cannot predict this planet’s weather more than an hour or two ahead. A strong gale would wreck this shuttle once it’s on the ground, and a Category One hurricane is a mild breeze by local standards. I need a clear two hours’ sampling. As soon as I land, therefore, I will send
Niagara
back to the mother ship to refuel…”

He was a private, self-contained person and hated this mindless, anonymous chatter.

* * *

He was eating a sandwich, which might be his last meal for a long time, when Control announced go-no-go point for an Apple descent. The decision was his, but out of courtesy he called home.

“
Niagara
to
Golden Hind
. You see any problems?”

Jordan’s face appeared in the viewer. “Negative. All looks clear to us for a landing and prompt take-off. Good luck, Master.”

“Thanks. Start synthesizing a roast ox for the banquet tomorrow.
Niagara
out. Control, landing confirmed. Use cold-skin approach.”

The cold-skin approach would waste more fuel, exuding it from pores in the hull to cool it, but he had fuel to spare now that he was committed to the first choice landing site, and the faster his exit from the shuttle, the less time it must sit on the ground and be vulnerable.

A short burst of the rockets began the final descent into the atmosphere. He stripped and put on the EVA suit. It was a marvel of technology and plumbing, light and comfortable, yet strong enough to stop a shark’s bite, airtight, air-conditioned, and able to change color when needed. Cameras on the helmet would send a visual record of anything he looked at back to
Golden Hind
. His heartbeat and other personal statistics would also be reported. He attached a scoop, knife, water bottle, sample wipes, and the stun gun. By the time he had checked all the circuits and gadgets, Control was warning him to strap in for turbulence. The shuttle had begun final approach, angling down over a blue enamel sea.

“I hope you can make out those whitecaps, and there are some shapes over to starboard that look to be whale-sized. Whether they’re mammals or reptiles or jellyfish we don’t know, and they may be some other type never met anywhere else.” They might just be seaweed, but seaweed wasn’t romantic. “Those misty peaks are the southern coastal range of Sombrero Island, which is our destination. We are approaching from the west, aiming for the site named Apple, on the eastern coast. I am really feeling the gravity now.”

Deceleration, in fact, but he could edit that out of the published version.

He explained how the fog on the wings was fuel being exuded to cool the ship so that he could make a quick exit when it landed. He did not comment on the stall light flickering orange as Control spun out the approach as long as possible.

“A very rocky coast in sight now. Just look at those breakers! Big waves do not necessarily mean strong winds near here, of course. The storm may be a long way away. The swell outruns the wind, and this is a planet-sized ocean. You may think that looks like great surfing, but low-gravity planets offer better. Waves ten stories high were sighted on Pixie.”

The interior plains of Sombrero were green, with meandering rivers, but he was too high to see any detail. The central peaks looked volcanic, but he decided not to say so. He could ask Maria later.

“The eastern sea is just coming into view ahead.” So was a major storm to the south, cloud tops dazzlingly white, ominous lightning flashes underneath. “I’m turning up the magnification on this screen to take a look at that cluster of what we’re calling chimney rocks over there. These are a major mystery, one of the things I have to check out. We don’t know what they are or what makes them.

“
Niagara
’s coming in about treetop height, except there are no trees, at least not here. Less than fifty meters. The plain is very green, but not grass. You can see it waving in the wind gusts.”

The cabin display was showing wind gusting to sixty klicks. Control wouldn’t try landing in that. Damn! Damn! Damn! Keep hoping.

“The sandy channels are the distributaries in the delta of a great river, mostly dry now because it’s summertime and we’re too far from the equator for glaciers. There’s a bigger arm over there; lots of water in that one; this place gets a lot of rain.” He would edit out all this rubbishy babble. “And that white thing straight ahead in that smaller channel is the wreck of one of Galactic’s shuttles. I am planning to land close to that because… Here we go!”

Niagara
tilted to the vertical, jets flashed fire, and … and hovered, drifting.

“It looks like I’m not going to be able to…”

What? Why? The wind gauge had dropped to twenty klicks, just a gentle breeze hereabouts, but the shuttle was floating over the greenery, moving steadily farther away from the wreck.

—Looking for level ground, Prospector.

It all looked level to him, but Control had radar. The vegetation was thrashing in the wash from the jets, as well as in the wind. This hovering ate fuel at a murderous rate. His chatter dried up as he stared in horror at the fuel gauge. Forty-six … forty-five … Forty-one was the point of no return. When the numbers showed that, Control would blast back into orbit… Forty-three…

The shuttle gently settled down in a roiling mass of smoke.

Then came silence—and sheer panic as the shuttle began to tilt. He added some comments that would certainly have to be cut. If the undercarriage could not find a level footing, the engines would fire again and the landing would be aborted.

That almost happened but didn’t. He started breathing again when
Niagara
came to rest at a Tower of Pisa slant. Even that could be a fatal problem. The ground might be rocky and uneven, but soft goo was far more likely in a flat area with high rainfall. Mud had been known to trap shuttles permanently. Blackadder’s Law:
Every world is different, except they’re all out to get you.
Which way was the wind blowing? Even a middling gust from the wrong direction would tip him over.
Move!

He unbuckled his harness. “
Niagara
has landed—a little off vertical, but it seems to be stable. I see the wind is clocked at a bracing twenty-five klicks, probably the closest to dead calm we ever get around here. Temperature is forty-one Celsius, humidity ninety-two. My EVA suit will keep me comfortable. I am now starting down the shaft we call the Gut. You will see how Control closes the bulkhead hatches above me as I pass each one. That’s to prevent contamination of the ship when I open the outer hatch. I am really conscious of the high gravity. At my weight it makes me tote an extra sixty kilos or so and I notice it just holding the rungs of the ladder.

“Now I’m at the door, but Control will not open it until the outer skin is cool enough to touch. I expect to find smoke outside there. The landing jets will have fired the vegetation, but my suit is fireproof and my helmet filters the air I breathe. Even the two packs at my feet are fireproof. Ah!”

The clock in his helmet display tipped over to
Day 413
.

The door fell open.

Outside he saw the triangular shadow of the shuttle, like a giant arrow pointing the way to fortune for Seth Broderick. The nearby vegetation was charred, but it must be too wet to burn well. White smoke was streaming away in the wind, staying close to the ground. He kicked out his packs, noting how they fell as if shot out of a cannon; then he turned and gingerly clambered down the ladder on the inside of the door. Because of the shuttle’s tilt, the last rung was about a meter above the ground. Normally he would have jumped, but the packs made the landing tricky and a twisted ankle could kill him now. He lowered himself by his arms, which was not the easiest thing he had ever done.

Golden Hind
opened the circuit just long enough for him to hear them all cheering, but he was too busy looking around at the world to respond.

Day 413

The public and the wildcatters themselves glamorize the first-footers. They’re an all-right gang, of course, but I’ve always been more impressed by the second wave, the ones who go down to gather up the first ones’ bones.

Fonatelles, op. cit. 

He had expected something like grassland—not a putting green, of course, but a tussocky meadow. He should have known better. What Cacafuego had laid out as a welcome mat was a boulder field, giant shingle on a chaotic scale, with everything from gravel up to rocks as big as bathtubs. For three meters out from the shuttle the rocks had been blackened by the landing jets, but beyond that the ground was hidden under a dense mat of ropy roots or vines, from which sprouted ferny green stuff about waist high.

Of the shuttle’s five legs, one was contracted as far as it would go, two were fully extended, and one of those did not even reach the ground. The result looked highly unstable. If the wind veered about thirty degrees to the east, Control would very likely slam the door shut and lift off. It lacked enough fuel to hunt for a better site nearby. His EVA suit was fireproof but it could not save him from being boiled alive. He didn’t mention all that to his plog. It could be dubbed in later, if there was a later.

He hoisted one of the packs and carried it out of range, then came back for the other. They were heavy but the footing was horrible, even when he could see where he was stepping. He tore off a couple of fronds, wound them into a wad, and rolled them in a sample wipe—which looked like an ordinary sheet of sandwich wrap, but at once sealed itself and evacuated the air. Loamy soil and scummy water were the two best sites to find potentially pharmaceutical materials, but neither was handy. He tried tearing up one of the creeper vines, but could not budge it.

Then his eye was caught by a tiny movement. He was being watched. In shape it was most like a terrestrial lizard, about as long as his hand. In color it was trying to match the half-blackened rock on which it sat, but not succeeding very well. Fire would be rare on this rain-sodden island. Seth slowly drew his stun gun, set it to low, and froze the little critter. He picked it up.

“Sorry, wee fellow. Hey, you’ve got six legs! Aren’t you lucky?”

And so was he. Plants were just sunlight-eaters, sugar-makers, and much less diverse than fauna. There could be no argument with a new animal species. Chemists would drool over this evidence. He wrapped it in a wipe and dropped it in his collecting pocket.

“Captain to Master. Your fifteen minute planned stay is almost up. Our view of your location is through a probe, not direct. We don’t see any major storms lurking, but don’t rely on that too much.”

Especially when the shuttle was balanced on a hair.

“Copied and out.” Seth trudged back to the open door and threw the two samples inside. “Control, close door.”

Then he had to retrace his steps to the packs and squat to take out the flag. His knees were weary already. The flagpole was telescopic, but where could he plant it? It would be very unimpressive peeking over the shrubbery. He tried a patch of finer gravel, but the shaft went in only a few centimeters, not enough. He jammed it between two of the burned boulders, then turned to face
Niagara
.

“Can you see me clearly?”

“You’re beautiful!” That was JC, excited. “Wave for all your teeny plog fans. Now get farther back and send
Niagara
home.”

Easier said than done. The vegetation completely hid the ground, and kept writhing in the wind. While the boulders underneath seemed fairly stable, being locked in place by the creeper, he had to feel for every foothold. If he tangled a foot and tripped, he would very likely twist or break something. After about ten meters he turned.

“Control, return to mother ship for refueling.”

—Crewmember still ashore. Confirm instructions.

Does it think he was not aware of that?
“Departure confirmed.”

White flames and smoke burst out around the shuttle’s undercarriage.
Niagara
soared up on pillars of fire and turned to the east. No birds flew up in alarm. The sky was a clear blue, but uncluttered by circling vultures. Evolution did not favor wings on high-gee worlds.

A stray buffet of wind blew the flag over.