“I don’t mean the weeds here,” Numbark said. “Farther.”
“This is a great discovery,” said Adam. “We’ve got to find living plants.”
“Yes, no problem. Over there.”
He stood back up again and ran after Numbark and Gronolf. Suddenly he feared that they’d leave him behind. Just to be safe, he switched to infrared. He saw hot haze swirling red through his field of vision, with his companions not too far off.
“You’ve finally made it,” said Gronolf.
Adam looked around. So what was there to see here that was so fantastic? His gaze fell on Loknor, who was also black up to his stomach. He was trying to clean himself with all four hands.
“The stuff is tough to clean off,” he commented.
“So what did you find?” asked Adam.
“Just take a few steps in that direction,” Numbark said, pointing ahead.
Adam looked at him skeptically.
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. We were just a little careless. But if you walk at your normal pace, you’ll notice it in time.”
Adam breathed deeply. Carefully, he took one step and then another. He briefly paused each time and observed his surroundings. The Grosnops could laugh, but he’d done enough stupid things in his lifetime. No more. It seemed like the herbaceous growth covering the ground was becoming increasingly elastic. It no longer broke so readily beneath his feet. As he advanced, it would straighten back up behind him. He crouched down to touch it. Delicate dewdrops had settled on some of the tendrils. Adam checked the atmospheric data. The temperature was still 42 degrees, and there was still water vapor.
But the ground was changing. He was sinking a little bit, now, with every step he took. Adam looked behind him and saw the prints left by his soles. He crouched down again. The ground was no longer rubbery, and he could move it around with his finger. He picked up a few clods. He rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger, and dark dust trickled into his palm. He performed a spectral analysis. The results were astonishing—the mass he’d thought was black was more purplish, and the soft, fresh tendrils were brown.
What did this mean? He needed a biologist. Marchenko would certainly have had an idea. Or Eve, who was also very interested in all living things. Onward! He could feel the Grosnops watching him from behind, three eyes watching his every move. The ground was growing softer with every step. What had initially been a viscous mass had given way to a viscous paste, and his boots were sinking deeper into it with every step. It was perhaps two or three centimeters, but the trend was clear. Was this where Numbark and Loknor had gotten the black stuff all over their spring-legs? He’d have to be careful. If he were to sink in as deep as they had, he wouldn’t be able to get himself out.
Okay, far enough. The mud on the ground was now five centimeters deep. It was exhausting to go through it because it clung to his boots. Now he understood what was going on here. He turned and almost fell over in terror—he almost fell backward into the black mush! His companions were directly behind him, and he hadn’t noticed them at all.
“You’re not a good hunter,” Loknor said.
“That’s true. But I know what’s going on here.”
“Well, out with it then,” said Gronolf.
“My bet is that the entire planet is covered with this mud,” said Adam. “And that the plant grows all over. There are no differences in terrain, and the currents of air blow so quickly that they completely balance out the temperature differences between the side where it’s day and the side where it’s night. So there’s no need for a differentiated ecosystem. The plant is probably the only higher life form all across the planet.”
“You mean that there’s only one life form here?”
“No, there’s surely something like bacteria or fungi, but we’d only find them under a microscope.”
“And why is the ground back there so hard?” asked Numbark.
“It’s because we landed on it. The hot jet engine scorched the plants and glazed the ground. We could test this out easily using a lighter. We just need to heat the ground with it.”
“That sounds reasonable. Will it help us to find Marchenko?” asked Gronolf.
“I don’t know how,” said Adam.
“Then we’ll go with the original plan and examine the traces you came across in the photo,” said Gronolf. “Let’s go.”
The general pointed in the direction that Adam assumed the ship was in. Of course, it was too dark to be able to see the freighter. Adam switched to infrared. Damn. A cloud of water vapor must have moved between them and the ship, because all he could see was interference from the heat.
* * *
After 50 meters, Gronolf, who was leading the small group, stopped. What was wrong?
“Am I mistaken?” Gronolf asked, “or shouldn’t we have gotten back to the ship a long time ago?”
Numbark pulled a pouch out from his stomach fold and removed a technical device about the size of a book. First, he pressed on it and held it close to the ground. He rotated it, then repeated the process with his arms outstretched above his head. Numbark consulted the device.
“The tracker indicates that we haven’t made our way back entirely from the direction we went in. But still, our spaceship should be out in front of us.”
“Exactly,” said Gronolf. “But do you see anything here?”
“How does the tracker work?” asked Adam.
He urgently needed a distraction now. He didn’t want to have to think about what...
“Like an olfactory organ,” Numbark explained. “Every form of life constantly leaves behind specific traces. The device measures the differences in concentration.”
Thank you, my friend, thought Adam.
“Like a dog,” he said, imagining a cute puppy. His mental image was based on the pictures Marchenko had shown them once long ago.
“A dog?”
“It’s an animal on Earth,” said Adam.
He’d never petted a real dog.
“This is how carrionteeth track their prey in the dark depths of the sea,” explained Numbark.
“Let’s focus on what’s going on here,” said Gronolf.
The ship had disappeared. That’s what. Without the ship, his spacesuit would run out of energy after one day at the most. The air contained enough oxygen and water for him, but he’d perish in the heat. And even if he could somehow stand the heat, he’d starve. He was going to die on this planet. But this had been clear to him all along, and he had factored it into his decision. It was the only reason why he hadn’t taken Eve with him. The panic subsided, and now he was calm.
Adam switched the visor to infrared and saw they were alone—there was no ship. But before them was a light, round spot.
“There’s the landing site,” said Adam, pointing ahead.
“Right,” said Numbark. “The ground is still hot.”
“Ships can’t just simply disappear,” said Gronolf. “We would have noticed if it had launched without us. It couldn’t have gone upward. So there’s only one possible conclusion.”
“The ground must have swallowed up the freighter,” said Numbark.
“Well, we’re gonna get it back,” Gronolf said.
The general stood in the middle of the spot with his legs apart, then struck the substrate with his carrier-arms. It sounded like there was a storm raging close by. Gronolf drummed with his arms for about a minute, then observed the results of his work.
“This doesn’t get us anywhere,” he said.
Adam knelt and examined the ground. It was now firmer where Gronolf drummed than in the surrounding area.
“Your hitting the ground caused something like a callus to form,” said Adam. “Subjecting it to force only makes the ground more resilient.”
“I have die cutters,” said Loknor, pulling a 30-centimeter knife out of his backpack.
“Try your luck,” Gronolf said.
The general stepped aside, and Loknor stood in the center of th
e circle. He fiddled with the handle of his knife, and it started to hum. He set the tip on the ground and pushed the vibrating knife down. It penetrated the tough soil up to the hilt. At the edge of the resulting hole, there was a black, viscous mass leaking out.
“Looks good,” Numbark said. “The ground is no match for the knife.”
Loknor shifted his weight to one side of the knife and pulled on it, apparently wanting to enlarge the cut. The can opener was in the can, and now he had to bring it around for a complete turn. Then perhaps they’d find their ship beneath the lid.
The Grosnop grunted, but the knife didn’t move.
“Wait, I’ll help you,” Numbark said.
Soon the three of them were pulling, but without any success.
“This stuff is pretty stubborn,” Gronolf said. “You gave it quite a surprise with the cutters, Loknor, but then it adapted to them very quickly.”
“Could it be intelligent?” Numbark asked.
“So far there’s nothing to indicate this,” said Gronolf. “To apply a counterforce against a force is pure instinct.”
“But so quickly?”
“Carrionteeth aren’t intelligent either, Numbark, but they have a damned fast hunting instinct. They even cooperate.”
“We may also have instinct to thank for being able to land here in the first place,” said Adam. “The ground may have stabilized to counter the heat from the jet somewhat. If it hadn’t, we’d have just sunk right away into the black mud.”
“And once the ship landed and no longer posed a threat, the ground turned back to black mud until it swallowed the freighter,” said Numbark.
“Hmm. So now, why is it as hard as it was before?” asked Adam. “There’s something else going on. This system is only seven hundred million years old, but who knows how long the planet has been covered with this type of life? Perhaps the surface already has a low mineral content. Maybe the entire ecosystem here just feeds on what comes down from the sky? Because of the short distance to the asteroid belts, meteorite showers must be significantly more frequent.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Gronolf. “But does it help us in any way?”
He just kept replying with these rhetorical questions.
“Of course. If it’s true, then the planet is now starting to digest our ship,” said Adam.
“Then we’ll dig it out quickly,” said Loknor.
“You just tried without success,” Numbark said.
“I have a better idea. Back there,” Loknor said, pointing to the west, “the ground was soft. We’ll dig tunnels.”
“For that, we’ll have to go deep into the mud,” said Adam.
“It’s not dangerous. You have a spacesuit, and we can go for a long time without breathing.”
“I see it as a waste of time,” Gronolf said. “What would we do with the freighter? It won’t get us out of here, anyway. We should look for Marchenko and his shuttle.”
“Well, presumably Marchenko and the shuttle have both been swallowed up,” said Adam. “The planet is probably digesting him right now.”
“Then we’d better find him fast.”
* * *
The moment they set out, the clouds in the sky tore open, giving a clear view of the planet’s sun. Now, for the first time, the brown dwarf was living up to its name. It was glowing brown instead of red, as it did from space. The sky, on the other hand, was an intense, muddy yellow. They were somewhere in the middle latitudes. Here, the central star occupied a large part of the eastern celestial sphere, and just like Proxima b, it would never change its position. Nonetheless, Adam felt awfully strange here. It seemed like the planet wasn’t made for life, yet there was life constantly underfoot.
They soon stopped because the ground had become too soft.
“We’ve still got about two kilometers until we reach the trace left by Marchenko’s landing,” said Numbark.
“Couldn’t we have come down closer to our destination?” Gronolf asked.
Numbark flinched. Gronolf had presumably addressed him very brusquely. Adam still couldn’t always tell.
“We chose this landing site at sufficient distance so as to avoid putting anyone in danger,” said Numbark.
“I’m sorry, Numbark. I remember the decision now. But how are we going to get there?”
“Snowshoes,” said Adam.
“What’s snow?” Gronolf asked.
“Frozen water in the form of powder. With Marchenko, I saw a film with people wearing special, oversized shoes to walk over snow.”
“That’s not the problem now. It’s forty-four degrees here and a lot of water vapor.”
“I think I know where you’re going with this, Adam,” Numbark said. “We distribute our weight over a larger area so we don’t sink in so quickly.”
“Exactly,” said Adam.
“But how do we make these snowshoes?” asked Gronolf.
“We need something hard and flat,” said Adam.
“In the freighter, we’ve got enough material,” said Numbark. “We could simply remove the ceiling panels.”
“But the freighter’s gone,” said Gronolf.
“And two kilometers through the mud? It’ll take weeks,” said Numbark.
Gronolf turned around.
“I’m afraid you’re right, Navigator,” he said. “We’ve got to go to the freighter first. I’ll let myself sink into the mud next to it, and then you’ll direct me to the ship via radio. It’s definitely under the callus.”
There were energy supplies and food in the freighter. He’d better ask Gronolf to bring something back for him. But how long would a replacement battery last? It could prolong his life only slightly.
“I’ll do it,” said Adam. “It’s about time I made myself useful. My physical profile is narrower than yours is, so it will probably be easier for me to get through.”
“Very well,” Gronolf said approvingly.
“I can also charge up my suit and pack food in the freighter,” said Adam. “I wasn’t prepared for such a long trip.”
* * *
What had he gotten himself into? He sank slowly into the black sludge. Gronolf was holding on to him with one of his long touch-arms—otherwise, he’d have sunk far more quickly. Well, it had been clear that it would have been impossible to cover the two kilometers to Marchenko’s landing site walking normally. Adam moved his shoulders. The cable—his lifeline, which Numbark was in charge of —pressed tightly against them. The line was his only connection to the surface, and the Grosnops could use it to pull him out if necessary... if the mud were willing to give him back.
His hips entered the sludge. Adam stretched his arms up, but it was ridiculous. He had to go completely under. The best thing for him was to keep his arms close to his body. That way, perhaps he could use them to move forward. This would be the most challenging part. They’d thought about whether he might be able to swim in the viscous liquid—slowly, perhaps, and with great effort, but it could only be 50 or 60 meters to the freighter. They also agreed that he wouldn’t just keep sinking endlessly. At some point, the buoyancy would have to be significant enough to maintain him at a certain depth. The suit with its technical equipment was quite heavy, but the mud was also very dense, meaning that the displaced volume would be heavier, and the buoyancy would be greater than with normal water.
But these were considerations, theories. The reality was that he was already up to his chest in mud. He started breathing faster. He’d soon find out if their considerations had been correct. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too late. No, it wouldn’t be too late. Gronolf and the others could always pull him out using the cable. And not to worry, the rope was made of metal fibers so the mud wouldn’t be able to digest it so quickly. He’d be out of there in a few hours, with fresh provisions and his suit fully charged.
His head. If he could just keep his head out, at least! The mud was already spreading up around his neck. He could feel it despite the helmet he wore, which was connected sea
mlessly to the upper part of the suit. It was all in the head, all in his head. It always had been.
“Are you okay?” Gronolf asked over the radio.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to let you go now.”
Adam breathed even faster. He had to be sure he didn’t hyperventilate because if he did, and then were to lose consciousness, he wouldn’t notice if he sank low. Stay calm, Adam. The others are right over you.
The darkness kept rising. First it covered his mouth, then his nose, and finally his eyes. The helmet protected him from coming directly into contact with the mud, but it still let in the darkness. The complete darkness. He’d thought it was dark on this planet, but that had been a misperception. It was only dark down here, where there was the total absence of light.
“Now you’re about a meter deep,” Gronolf said.
A light in his helmet blinked. Go on, my friend, keep talking. Whenever you say something, there’s light from the blinker.
“That deep already?” he asked.
“Not deep enough yet. We calculated three meters, remember?”
Yes, Gronolf, I remember, but three meters is unthinkable, with so much mud over me! If something happens, how long will it take for someone to help me? But nothing’s going to happen, Adam. He talked to himself like he was a little kid.
Then he attempted his first swimming movements, as they’d discussed. It was tiring to bring his arms forward, but he was moving. It worked!
“Did you see that?” he asked.
The others were following him from above via infrared. Nobody knew how far down they’d be able to see him. The freighter was beyond the range of vision, at any rate. Adam gave the cable a quick tug, and Numbark answered in kind. Just a short jerk was a quick greeting. Three in a row followed by a pause, and then three more was his emergency call. He wouldn’t need it.
“You’ve gone five fingerbreadths,” Gronolf said. That was about five centimeters, practically nothing, but at least it was a start.
Proxima Logfiles 1: Marchenko's Children: Hard Science Fiction Page 12