The entire band is in full flight as the gastropods in the pond submerge and resume their bottom-feeding.
The light of day is beginning to chase away the blackness of the tunnel when the leader finally motions the band to fall out and rest. As they settle down, the leader notices a discernible brightening in the distance.
They are nearing the tunnel’s end.
Chapter 22. Edge of the World
The man makes it only a few yards into the lighted tunnel when he passes out and slips into the profound slumber of the near-dead. The encounter with the amphipod has drained all his energy, all his strength, all his reserve. He is left with only the restorative promise of deep, deep sleep.
It is a promise that consumes fully two days and two nights.
Waking weakly on the morning of the third day, the man proceeds to climb, slowly and gingerly, toward the beckoning light. Near as it is, he does not reach it. He passes a third day and night in restful sleep.
He awakens the following morning much strengthened and refreshed, albeit with a parching thirst. This time, he easily makes it to the light at the tunnel’s end, where . . .
He narrowly escapes hideous death!
Reaching the end of the tunnel, the man is momentarily blinded by the harsh sunlight as his extended foot finds no purchase. He is balanced precariously on one foot, his other leg dangling over the void.
With herculean effort, he throws his shoulders backward and narrowly avoids falling to his death on a valley floor thousands of feet straight down the sheer wall of rock at the tunnel’s end.
Landing on his back, the man gets up slowly, leans carefully forward and nearly becomes dizzy viewing the distance of the deep downward drop. And he is nearly dazed by the width of the valley, whose other side is too far away to see.
The man has never felt so puny and insignificant as he does at this moment, looking out for the first time at this great valley, so vast is its scale.
Surveying it in all its vivid vermilion majesty, the man realizes, of course, this is the continental rift valley that so impressed him during his global mapping mission. Viewed at this more intimate level, it is a completely different and more mysterious place than the superficial contours he viewed from space.
He is thankful now for that fly-over perspective and knowledge of what lies before him.
The cinnabar hues of the rift valley are eminently fitting, he reflects, symbolizing the eternal nature of the place and its continental magnitude. He is witness now to an immensity that blurs the far reaches of the valley into an indistinct horizon.
How, he wonders, will he ever cross it?
Scanning the rocky surface surrounding the mouth of his tunnel, he spots a narrow slash of deep black he suspects is the entrance to a neighboring cave. While the wall here is sheer, there are several rocky outcrops—like stepping-stones--that lead to the dark shadow and, he hopes, a route of escape from the sheer drop at the tunnel’s mouth.
The man does not hesitate but immediately climbs across the supportive stepping-stones and is soon standing in the entrance of a large, downward-sloping cave. After a short trek, he finds himself in utter darkness and then proceeds more slowly, feeling his way along the cave’s wall as he goes. It is not long before a familiar sound causes him to halt, straining to locate its direction and source.
It is the trickling melody of running water, and it is directly ahead of him. Soon, he is cupping his hands to catch the precious life-giving fluid streaming in narrow rills down the cave wall. He drinks and drinks and drinks.
His thirst slaked, the man resumes his descent with new hope. But the way is too long, and he is forced to sleep in the dark bowels of the cave. His slumber is uninterrupted, and he awakens refreshed and eager to go on. Soon he is standing in full sunlight on the valley’s level floor.
The scene is stunning, overloading his senses with its endless vista and scarlet radiance. So brilliant are the vermilion tones of the near wall and valley floor they hurt the man’s eyes and he is forced to shade them with his hand. So enormous are the dimensions of the valley that it seems to go on forever.
∆ ∆ ∆
Rested, the band resumes its trek through the green tunnel toward the widening light at its end. The final leg of the journey is a winding descent over scree and deadfall that threaten to bar their way. But after a long, exhausting downward climb, the spent band finally reaches the inviting light.
They emerge into a space so vast, so endless it feels like the very rim of the world.
Looking up, the leader cringes at the sight of the violet-red-yellow monster still in pursuit of the sole surviving sun.
Looking ahead, he sees no horizon—only the vague void of infinite space. And he fearfully wonders if they finally have reached the far limit of solid earth.
In closer perspective, he stares at the scarlet hues of a sheer cliff that climbs out of view above him and of level rock-strewn ground that marches out of sight into the distance ahead of him. Every visible surface seems awash in blood, and the intensity of color jolts his senses.
Looking back, the leader sees there is no escape from this forbidding landscape, save for the way they have come.
Viewed from here, it is a ribbon of lush pampas winding down a broad crease in the sheer escarpment, with switchbacks at each recurring bend and spilling out onto the valley’s level floor.
The vertical green ravine is fed by rivulets of water trickling down the talus on each side of the descending pampas, and the leader is gladdened by the presence of a wide pool they all spill into at the foot of the ravine.
The difficult, enervating climb down the ravine saps their energy and blunts their will.
Although the sun rides high in the sky, the leader knows the band cannot go farther this day. Spying a well-shaded crawl space under a high shelf of scree, the leader motions his band to rest there and regain their strength.
At the end of this day, the encroaching shadows of dusk find the members of the band sleeping soundly beneath the rocky shelf at the base of the ravine. But their leader remains on the cusp of wakefulness, haunted by turbulent visions of sky and space.
In his first dream, the sun is swallowed by the violet-red-yellow monster stalking it, and the world is plunged into darkness.
In the nightmare that follows, the band stumbles blindly through the blackness, falling off the edge of the world into the nothingness beyond.
The leader awakens in an agitated state of uncertainty, unsure of his band’s fate and dreading what these dreams portend. He dwells on the troubling visions until the shadows of night are chased away by the reassuring light of a new dawn.
As he stretches awake, the leader sees a solitary figure moving toward the band in the gathering light.
∆ ∆ ∆
Grateful to be standing upon the dry, open land, the man spends the remainder of the day and the night asleep on the ground near the mouth of the cave. The gentle stillness of the place eases his mind and relaxes his body as he drifts into deep, peaceful slumber.
The early light of a new day finds him refreshed and invigorated, eager for whatever challenges and discoveries lie ahead. First, though, he must find water.
Since the cave was the source of several rivulets, he decides to explore the area around the base of the cliff before striking out into the barren landscape ahead.
Walking a few steps away to gain a better perspective of the cliff’s sheer surface, the man discovers a vertical crease enlivened by a verdant ribbon cascading from the top of the cliff to its base far below. The feature is so distant he cannot distinguish any detail, just its irregular appearance and its contrast against the ochre of the surrounding cliff.
But he knows green is the color of life, and water is its well-spring.
The man sets out at once for the verdant ravine. It is a long trek, and he becomes more and more excited as the bright green ribbon resolves itself into thick, reedy blades of pampas adorning the winding vertical contours of th
e ravine.
As he draws near, the pampas is not the only life that materializes.
There are the leader and his band, gathered at the base of the ravine, waving him on. Raising his arms in salutation, the man rejoins his erstwhile companions.
When he signals his parching thirst, a member of the band leads him to the low pool formed by narrow rills of water trickling down the stony surface of the cliff.
After drinking his fill, the man falls in with the band as they journey into the blood-red barrens toward a distant haze. There are many boulders scattered along the path. They are unremarkable and of indifferent shape and size.
Indeed, the land is devoid of any landmark beyond the steep escarpment they are leaving behind.
Night finds them in the center of an unusually symmetrical array of boulders standing side-by-side in concentric rings radiating outward from the band’s central position.
Accustomed to accepting things as they are, the furry bipeds evince no curiosity. But the man is spooked by the unnatural order and wonders how the rocks came to form such a neat geometric pattern.
His uneasiness is brushed aside when the leader calls a halt to the day’s march and the man makes preparations for sleep. Despite his misgivings, the night is uneventful and the travelers get a full measure of rest.
For the man, and him alone, everything is about to change!
Shaking off his torpor, the man is first to rise in the early dawn of a new day. To satisfy his gnawing hunger, he retrieves the papaya-like fruit from his pockets, shells them and eats the soft reddish pulp within. Again, his thoughts begin to drift into a dream-like state.
Looking around, he is startled to find the open, endless vistas of yesterday are gone.
In their place is a virtual diorama of creatures that roamed his world at the end of the Pleistocene, when glaciers covered the earth.
Shuffling parades of woolly mammoths.
Stalking prides of great saber-toothed cats.
Slinking packs of dire wolves.
Plodding caravans of hook-nosed macrauchenia ungulates.
Towering hulks of megatherium ground sloths, giant short-face bears and other megafauna.
All of these, as well as teeming herds of other long-extinct fauna, march across the man’s vision.
Transfixed by the surreal procession of creatures from a distant world and time, the man does not notice the leader summoning the band, now fully awake, to begin the day’s journey. They are nearly at the outermost ring of the boulder array when the man’s limbic brain alerts him to the peril they are walking into.
Like a giant tapestry of moving images, the diorama continues to stream through his consciousness as he runs toward the departing band to warn them of their danger.
The leader is walking between a fierce giant bear and a feeding megatherium, while the other members of the band are caught between great, crouching saber-toothed cats and slinking dire wolves.
Unsheathing his hand-axe and knife, the man races to their aid while crying out in alarm. Stopping in mid-stride, the members of the band look back at the man with blank expressions of incomprehension. Leaping to the leader’s side and raising his axe, the man takes a terrific swing at the giant short-face bear, and is thrown to the ground by the momentum as his axe slices through . . .
A mirage!
The jarring fall jolts the man back to reality.
Gone are the giant bear and sloth. Gone are the mammoths, the saber-toothed cats and the wolves. Gone are the ungulates. Gone is the entire diorama of Ice Age creatures. In its place are the empty vistas of the rift valley.
Counting himself the victim of some psychedelic diurnal dream, the man looks sheepishly at the confused members of the band and shrugs his shoulders in a gesture of resignation. For their part, the band dismisses the man’s antics as just another strange behavior of one who mysteriously disappears and reappears for no apparent reason.
Once beyond the evenly spaced geometric rings, the day’s trek is uneventful. The boulders become sparser, and the band makes good progress. But the distant haze is no closer or better defined and, if anything, appears to be farther away and less distinct than when they set out from the base of the cliff.
As shadows lengthen, the leader sees a small mesa in the distance, and he motions the company in its direction.
They arrive at the mesa in total darkness and immediately ascend to its top—a bare, flat plateau ideally suited for a camp-site. Wearied from their extended trek into the night, they fall out and are soon asleep.
Chapter 23. The Judas Molecule
The man is first to awaken, and he is relieved to see the unbroken, tangible cinnabar barrens he knows are real.
The mesa’s raised plateau affords an expansive view of the landscape and, in the light of a new day, the man espies a subtle distortion at ground level in the distance ahead. It is too remote for him to make out any real detail, but its low profile suggests it hugs the ground and is more narrow than wide.
The sun is high overhead when they reach the slight rise of ground.
It is an adit whose opening is only a few feet high but several feet wide, and it emits a bright reddish-brown glow. Crouching, the man perceives that the source of the light lies beyond a rough, ragged crawl space through the rocky lip of the opening.
And, he observes, there isn’t a flutter of air venting out from its open mouth.
Commanding the others to remain outside, the leader joins the man and, together, they crawl through the stillness of the confined space to the edge of a brightly illuminated cavern. Its sienna walls are aglow with reflected light from a massive river of magma flowing the length of the cavern.
Again, the man is confronted with the conundrum of ice-cold ambient air beside white-hot molten rock. Curiously, the air seems impervious to the heat and, even more curiously, none of it seeks escape through the open vent of the adit.
Reaching his hand into the main cavern, he feels the icy touch of gelid air streaming across his fingertips. When they begin to numb, he withdraws his hand and discovers his fingers are tipped with frosty rime.
The leader is not surprised, having witnessed the howling, sucking craters on the arctic tundra. But the man is perplexed and fails to make any connection with the blasting heat he felt at the equatorial vents.
For him, the mystery only deepens as he puzzles over the unnatural attraction between the hot flowing magma and the cold streaming air. It is beyond his experience and reason and, as a trained scientist, he is stumped.
The answer lies in the unique geology and peculiar chemistry of the small moon. The relationship between the super-cooled airstream and the super-heated magma manifests a singular process of molecular interaction that breathes life into the planet, and the very atoms of air and molten rock conspire to keep it so.
Equilibrium is maintained through the fundamental influence of electromagnetism. The intermolecular forces that give matter its form are “bent” to overcome the bonding tendency of charged atoms on the surfaces of the moving airstream and magma-flow. Generating an electromagnetic field that holds both in relative position, even as the one moves swiftly over the other.
The molecules of air are in constant convectional turmoil, their bonded atoms “excited” by magnetic force as they are drawn to the airstream’s outer band. Like a Judas goat, each wave of excited molecules pulls other molecules behind it as they are successively destroyed and replaced.
The result is an ionized, self-regenerating, seamless membrane binding the airstream together, even as its outer band is in constant flux.
Like iron to lodestone, the icy air is drawn to the magma, as it constantly moves across it, on its subterranean course across this strange world.
What the man cannot know is that the process of constant molecular destruction is as well a process of constant creation.
The bonded molecules are rich in carbon dioxide, scrubbed from the atmosphere by the great sucking craters bordering the frigid norther
n and southern polar regions. As they reach the outer layer of the magma-enveloping airstream, great quantities of free oxygen atoms are released, bleeding into the air as diatomic gas and spiking its oxygen content.
While the great ocean acts as an important carbon sink for the planet, the land mass no longer contains the once ubiquitous carboniferous and deciduous forests that dominated the temperate latitudes in the distant past.
Vast as the ocean is, it cannot by itself absorb enough carbon dioxide to restore atmospheric balance on a global scale.
Expansive as they are, the broad belts of pampas and narrow necklace of equatorial rainforest are not, by themselves, sufficient to maintain a viable atmosphere.
Vegetation is sparse or absent over the remainder of the super-continent, and the limited extent of photosynthesis is simply unequal to the task.
The constant release of diatomic oxygen to enrich the air is this small planet’s way of regulating the chemistry of its atmosphere on a global scale.
It is an explanation for the airstream’s unnatural behavior that will elude the man until he reaches the tundra at the southern polar region and witnesses firsthand the howling, sucking craters which are its source.
Chapter 24. The Stone Forest
The leader and the man crawl back out of the adit and rejoin their fellows, resuming the interminable journey across the rift valley. Progress seems slow as, leaving the solitary mesa and low slit of the adit behind, they enter a totally flat, featureless landscape.
Step after weary step draw them closer to a distant haze, and the man curses the stultifying monotony of the trek every mind-numbing day through the repeated sameness of every previous day.
Many days and many leagues after leaving the adit, the haze begins to materialize into a most startling horizon!
They are approaching a steep escarpment whose features send a thrill of expectation through the man and a shudder of apprehension through the band.
The sheer surface of rock seems to touch the sky as it towers above them, stretching so high it fades seamlessly into a lost horizon.
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