R.W. III - The Dark Design

by Philip José Farmer

  A voice suddenly came over the radio.

  "Firebrass here."

  "We read you loud and clear," the radio operator said.

  "Fine. You're coming in L and C, too. I'm going to land about a hundred meters from the dome. Our radar's working A-OK and so we shouldn't have any problems. I expect that the wall will block off most of the wind when we land.

  "Jill? You there?"

  "Here, Captain."

  "What did you do about Thorn?"

  Jill told him, and Firebrass said, "That's what I would've done. I'll ask him why he was so hot to go with us when I get back. If . . . if I don't get back, for any reason, you question him. But keep him under guard until this tower business is finished."

  Jill ordered Aukuso to tie in the radio with the general address system. There was no reason that everybody should not listen in.

  "I'm coming down now. The wind is weaker now. Jill, I . . ."

  Cyrano said, "The belly hatch is opening!"

  He pointed at a blinking red light on the panel.

  "Mon Dieu!"

  He pointed out through the windscreen.

  That was not necessary. Everybody in the control room was looking at the fiery ball suddenly born in the dark-grey ness.

  Jill moaned.

  Aukuso said loudly, "Captain! Come in, Captain!"

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 58

  * * *

  The intercom was ringing.

  Moving slowly, as if the air was cotton candy, Jill pushed the switch to ON.

  Szentes said, "Sir, Thorn just stole the other chopper! But I think I got the son of a bitch! I emptied my pistol at him!"

  Cyrano said, "He's on the scope!"

  "Szentes, what happened?"

  She fought to get out of the thick element in which she was drowning. She had to shed this numbness, to recover quickness of analysis and decision.

  "Officer Thorn left the hangar bay as the captain ordered. But he came back as soon as the chopper left, and he had a pistol with him. He made us get into the supply compartment, and he shot off the intercom unit. Then he locked us in. He forgot that arms are stored there, too. Or maybe he thought he'd be gone before we could get out.

  "Anyway, we shot off the lock, and we rushed out. By then he was in the chopper and lifting it off the landing platform. I shot at him just as the chopper was going down out of the bay. The others shot, too.

  "Sir, what's going on?"

  "I'll notify the crew just as soon as I know myself," Jill said.

  "Sir?"

  "Yes."

  "It was a funny thing. Thorn was weeping all the time he forced us into the supply room, even when he said he'd shoot us if we tried to stop him."

  "Out," Jill said, and switched the intercom off.

  The infrared equipment operator said, "The fire's still burning, sir."

  The radar operator, pale under his dark pigmentation, said, "That fire is the helicopter, sir. It's on the landing deck of the tower."

  She looked into the fog. She could see nothing except the swirling clouds.

  "I've got the other chopper.," the radarman said. "It's headed down. Toward the base of the tower."

  A moment later, he added, "The chopper is on the surface of the sea."

  "Aukuso, call Thorn."

  The gluey feeling was receding now. She still felt confused, but now she was becoming capable of finding some order in the chaos.

  After a minute, Aukuso said, "He doesn't answer."

  According to the radar, the amphibious helicopter was now floating on the sea 30 meters from the tower.

  "Keep trying, Aukuso."

  Firebrass was probably dead. She was the captain now, her ambition achieved.

  "God! I didn't want it this way!"

  Dully, she called Coppename and told him to come to the control room to take over the duties of the first mate. Alexandros would be the aft first officer.

  "Cyrano, we'll have to take care of Thorn later. As of now, we have to find out what happened to Firebrass . . . and the others."

  She paused, and said, "We have to land on top of the tower."

  "Certainly, why not?" Cyrano said.

  He was pale, and his jaw set. But he seemed in perfect control of himself.

  The Parseval moved through the clouds, its radar probing ahead and below. There was a powerful updraft around the tower, but it lost its force as soon as the dirigible was over the top.

  The belly searchlights lanced downward, sweeping over the dull grey metal of the vast surface. The people in the control room could see the flames, but they could not distinguish the helicopter itself.

  Slowly, the airship slid past the fire. Now its propellers were swiveled horizontally to pull the colossus down.

  As gently as possible, its pilot brought it down. Under ideal conditions, there would have been no wind at all. However, the thousands of drainage holes along the base of the wall permitted a breeze of 8 km/ph. This, on the Beaufort scale, was a light breeze. Wind felt on the face. Leaves, if present, rustling. An ordinary wind vane moved by the wind.

  A layman would consider it negligible. But the great surface of the buoyant ship was easily pushed by this breeze if no propulsive force countered it. It would be taken up hard against a wall unless something were done to stop it.

  Unfortunately, there was no mooring mast. Also, the vessel could not be brought into direct contact with the landing field. Unlike the Graf Zeppelin and Hindenburg, the Parseval had no underslung control gondola with a wheel on its bottom to keep the lower tail structure from rubbing against the ground when landing. Since the control room of the Parseval was in the nose, the ship could not land without damaging the tail fin. However, there were ropes stored aboard. These had been taken along in case a landing had to be made on a plain alongside The River. They were to be thrown down to the people on the ground, and these, hopefully, would volunteer as a ground crew.

  Jill gave a few orders. Cyrano turned the craft broadside to the wind. For several kilometers, he allowed the wind, which was decreasing, to push the ship toward the wall. By then it was obvious that the wind was blowing the other way now, its source the nearest apertures.

  When radar indicated that the nose was a half-kilometer from the wall, he reversed the propellers at slow speed. The airship halted, and the belly hatch opened.

  Ropes were lowered, and, by fours, fifty men climbed down them. As each group touched the ground, the ship lost its weight and became more buoyant. Reluctantly, Jill ordered that hydrogen be released from the cells. This was the only way to balance the lift, and she hated to expend the gas. Ballast could be released later to regain the buoyancy.

  Other ropes were thrown down from the nose and the tail. The men on the ground seized these and hung on, bringing their weight to bear.

  Cyrano now let the airship sail toward the wall, the propellers unmoving. Before the nose touched the wall, the propellers started up again, and the airship stopped.

  Two men ran to the wall and tested the wind at the apertures. Via walkie-talkie, they verified that the wind coming in through these would be strong enough to keep the ship from swinging broadside into the wall.

  Other men were let down on ropes, and more hydrogen was valved. These added their weight to the crew holding the aft ropes.

  Others hastened to help the men at the nose. After towing the Parseval slowly until its nose almost touched the wall, they passed the ropes through the three holes, using extended hooks to catch the ropes outside and then draw them in. These were tied, and the tail was swung around until the dirigible was parallel to the wall. Then the tail ropes were tied down.

  The vessel was now floating about 20 meters away from the wall.

  Jill did not expect any change in the wind. If there was, it could be exceedingly damaging. One rub of the ship against the wall could strip off the transmission gears and the propellers on the port side.

  A ladder was let down from the belly hatch. Jill a
nd Piscator hastened from the control room, walked swiftly down the passageway, and then went down the ladder. Doctor Graves was waiting for them, his black bag in his hand.

  The helicopter had crashed about 30 meters from the dome. With its flames a beacon, they pressed through the fog toward it. Jill's heart beat hard as they neared the wreckage. It seemed impossible that vigorous, flamboyant Firebrass could be dead.

  He lay a few meters from the flaming mass where the impact had thrown him. The others were still in the machine, the blackened body of one sitting up in its seat.

  Graves handed his lamp to Piscator and bent down over the figure. Smoke mingled with the fog and brought the sickening stench of burning gasoline and flesh to them. Jill felt as if she were going to vomit.

  "Hold the light steady!" Graves said sharply.

  Jill did so, forcing herself to look at the corpse. His clothes had been blown off him; his skin was seared from top to bottom. Despite the burning, his features were still recognizable. He must not have been in the flames long. Perhaps he had been ejected by the explosion before the machine crashed. The fall would account for the removal of the top of his head.

  Jill could not see why the doctor had to examine the body. She was about to tell him so when he stood up. His hand, its palm open, was held out to her.

  "Look at this."

  She brought the lamp close to his hand. The object in it was a sphere the size of a match head.

  "It was on his forebrain. I don't know what the hell it is."

  After he had wiped it clean of blood, he said, "It's black."

  He wrapped the little ball in a cloth and dropped it into his bag.

  "What do you want to do with the bodies?"

  Jill looked at the blazing mass of crumpled metal. "There's no use wasting foam to put the fire out now," she said in a dull voice. She looked at the men who had followed them. "Peterson, you get the body back to the ship. Wrap it up first. The rest of you follow me."

  A few minutes later, they halted before the dome. Searchlights from the dirigible were turned on it, making it look like a ghost of an Eskimo igloo. Using her lamp, Jill saw that the dome was made of the same grey metal as the tower. It seemed to be continuous with the metal of the tower. At least, there was no sign of welding, no seams. It was as if it were a bubble blown from the surface.

  The others stood back from its arched entrance, waiting for her to decide what to do. Their lights revealed an opening like a cavern. About 10 meters beyond, the walls curved in, forming a corridor about 3 meters wide and 2.5 meters high. The walls were of the same grey substance. At its end, about 30 meters away, the hall curved abruptly. If there was an entrance down into the tower itself, it had to be just beyond the curve.

  Just above the opening were two symbols, both in alto relief. The top one was a semicircle, and it bore the seven primary colors. Below it was a circle inside of which was a looped cross, the Egyptian ankh.

  "A rainbow above the emblem of life and resurrection," Jill said.

  Piscator said, "Pardon me. The cross within the circle is also the astrological-astronomical symbol for Earth. However, in that symbol, the cross is a simple one, not the looped cross."

  "A symbol of hope, that rainbow. And, if you remember the Old Testament, it's God's sign of covenant with His people. It also evokes the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the Emerald City of Oz, and many other things."

  Piscator looked curiously at her.

  She was silent for a minute, overcome with awe and a fear that she hoped would not become overwhelming.

  Then she said, "I'm going in. You wait here, Piscator. When I get to the end of the hall, I'll signal you to come on in, too. If there' s no trouble, that is.

  "If anything should happen to me, I don't know what, you and the men get to hell back to the ship. And take off. That's an order.

  "You'll be the captain. Coppename's a good man, but he doesn't have your experience, and you're the steadiest man I know."

  Piscator smiled. "Firebrass ordered you not to land if something happened to him. Yet you did land. Could I allow you to be in a dangerous situation and just leave you?"

  "I don't want you to endanger the ship. Or the lives of almost a hundred men."

  "We shall see. I'll act as I feel the situation demands. You wouldn't do otherwise. And then there is Thorn."

  "One thing at a time," she said.

  She turned and walked toward the entrance. As she neared it, she gasped.

  A low light had filled the hall.

  After hesitating several seconds, she continued. As she passed beneath the arch, she was suddenly in a bright light.

  Chapter 59

  * * *

  Jill stopped. Piscator said, "Where is the light coming from?"

  Jill turned and said, "I don't know. There doesn't seem to be any source. Look. I don't have a shadow."

  She turned back and started to walk slowly. And then she stopped again.

  "What's the matter? You . . ."

  "I don't bloody know. I feel as if I'm in a thick jelly! I can't breathe, but I have to struggle to take another step!"

  Leaning into the palpable, invisible barrier as if she were going against a strong wind, she managed to force herself three more steps. Then, panting, she stopped.

  "It must be a field of some sort. There's nothing material here, but I feel like a fly caught in a spider's web!"

  "Could it be that the field is affecting the magnetic tabs in your cloths?" he called.

  "I don't think so. If that was it, the tabs would be pulling the cloths, and that's not it. I'll try it, though."

  Feeling some shyness at stripping in front of fifty men, she pulled the tabs loose. The air temperature was just above freezing. Shivering, teeth chattering, she again tried to force her way into the thick element. She could not go a centimeter beyond the limit of her original advance.

  She bent down to pick up her cloths, noting that she could do so easily. The force acted only in a horizontal direction. After backing away two steps, and feeling the force diminish, she put her cloths back on.

  Outside the entrance again, she said, "You try it, Piscator.

  "You think I could succeed where you can't? Well, it is worth experimenting.''

  Naked, he walked in. To her surprise, she saw that he was not affected by the field. Not, at least, until he had gotten several meters from the curve. Then he called back that he was encountering difficulty.

  He moved ever more slowly, struggling, his panting so loud that she could hear it. But he did get to the curve, and there he paused to regain his breath.

  He said, "There's an open elevator at the end. It seems to be the only way to get down."

  "Can you get to it?" she called.

  "I'll try."

  Moving like an actor in a slow-motion film, he plowed ahead. And he was gone around the bend.

  A minute passed. Two. Jill went into the corridor as far as she could. "Piscator! Piscator!"

  Her voice rang strangely, as if the corridor had peculiar acoustical properties.

  There was no answer, though if he were just around the curve, he would be able to hear her.

  She shouted again and again. Silence replied.

  There was nothing she could do except to return to the entrance and let others try.

  The men went in by twos to save time. Some progressed a little further than she; some, not as much. All shed their cloths, but this did not help them at all.

  Jill used the walkie-talkie to order the men in the ship to make the attempt. If one out of fifty-two could do it, perhaps one of the forty-one in the ship might succeed.

  First, though, everybody except herself had to return to the vessel. They trooped off, phantom figures in the dimly lit fog. She had never felt so lonely in all her life, and she had known many hours of the blackest isolation. The mists pressed wet hands against her face, which seemed to be congealing into a mask of ice. The funeral pyre of Obrenova, Metzing, and the others burne
d fiercely. And there was Piscator, somewhere around the corner. What situation was he in? Was he unable either to go ahead or to go back? Returning had not been difficult for her or the other men. Why should he not be able to retreat?

  But then she did not know what other obstacles there were beyond that grim grey hall.

  She muttered to herself Virgil's line, "Facilis descensus Averni." ("It is easy to go down into Hell.")

  What was the rest of it? After so many years, she found it difficult to remember. If only this world had books, reference materials.

  Now it came back.

  It is easy to go down into Hell. Night and day, the gates of Death stand wide. But to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air. There's the rub, the task.

  The only real trouble with that quotation was that it was not appropriate. It had been very hard to get to the gates, impossible for all but one. And climbing back – except for one – had been easy.

  She switched on the walkie-talkie.

  "Cyrano. The captain here."

  "Yes, what is it, my captain?"

  "Are you crying?"

  "Yes, but of course. Did I not love Firebrass dearly? I am not ashamed of my grief. I am not a cold Anglo-Saxon."

  "Never mind that. Get hold of yourself. We have work to do."

  Cyrano sniffled, then said, "I know that. And I am willing and able. You will find me no less a man. What are your orders?"

  "You know you're to be relieved by Nikitin. I want you to bring along twenty-five kilograms of plastic explosive."

  "Yes. I hear you. But do you intend to blow up the tower?"

  "No, just the entranceway."

  A half-hour passed. The men in the ship had to come out and those out had to go in. This was a long process, since, for every man that left, one had to go in immediately. Taking turns this way slowed the business but was necessary. Forty-eight leaving all at once would make the ship too buoyant. It would rise, leaving the end of the ladder above the reach of those on the ground.