Not in Solitude [Revised Edition]

by Kenneth F. Gantz

  “I’ll send you out some help. Stand by. It will only take a few minutes.”

  “Stand by hell,” Dane told him. “I’m getting out of this. I’ll bring him in. No use risking anybody else.”

  To underscore his thinking about the spark bolts, a big one banged in. It must have struck the other tank. Its flame could have turned. It seemed to be pointing in a slightly different direction.

  “See what I mean?” he demanded, arrogant that he was here and they were there, safe in the spacecraft.

  The bolts were farther apart, but they were as sharp as ever. He guessed the next accumulation would be discharged against Seckinger’s tank. Or John Dane. Time to move, boy, he told himself. Time to go home.

  He moved to the right and came on Noel face down. Lichens swarmed thick around him.

  “Watch your suit,” Cragg admonished him.

  He could pick Noel up easily enough, he knew. Probably carry him in his arms, with a few stops for rest. Might even get him over his shoulder. Also could very easily spring a joint in either Noel’s suit or his own. For a quick end. He rolled Noel over carefully and pointed his light through his visor. The mouth was moving. Slowly with heavy breathing.

  “He’s alive!” he reported.

  Now he had to make it.

  With inspiration he remembered his Boy Scout tricks. He unhooked the shank of guard rope from his belt and cut a yard from it with his sheath knife. He lashed Noel’s wrists together as carefully as he could, binding around the heavy cuffs above the intricately articulated handpieces. It was a feat to tie the knot, but he managed it, flinching at the thought of the tank. If they were shooting at the fire.

  When he had the job done, he got Noel under the armpits and brought him up on his knees and then to his feet, facing him and holding him against his chest. Next he managed to turn himself enough to support Noel’s chest against his back. He bent forward and pushed Noel’s arms up and over his head and slipped the loop of his lashed wrists under his own chin. When he straightened up, the smaller man’s feet swung clear in a kind of dangling piggy back. His own hands were left free to steady the weight and restrain Noel’s bound arms from jamming up against his neckpiece and helmet. Just pull down on the tag ends of the rope around his wrists. Simple. He walked a few steps and decided that it was going to work. “Be prepared!” he gloated.

  “Nice work!” Colonel Cragg congratulated him.

  “If you can get it,” Dane said.

  “Save your breath, fellow.”

  How did Colonel Cragg get in on this, anyway? he suddenly wondered.

  It was hard to hold himself to a slow, level gait. He wanted to put distance between him and the metal of the tank in a hurry. Most of all he wanted to climb up the ladder and be inside the Far Venture. He made himself endure the slowest, most cautious movements and hunt around the denser lichen clumps.

  Now it occurred to him that Noel was a heavy devil for his size. He was thankful for the smaller mass of Mars. The planet’s surface gravity was 38 per cent of Earth’s. That meant a 150-pound man on Earth would weigh only 57 pounds on Mars. He doubted that Noel weighed 150 pounds. His load should not be 75 pounds, even with the equipment. He caught up short. He had forgotten to remove the weights on Noel’s belt and shoulder harness. No wonder the guy was heavy. He had a good 150 pounds on his back, and then some.

  All that weight could play hell with the pressure suits. They were rugged enough and made to withstand falls against hard surfaces, but still he ought to stop and get rid of all the weight he could. It was only being smart. Even if the putting down and picking up again were a dangerous strain, it was only smart to get rid of half his weight. He cursed gently and eased his burden down.

  He cut away the four weights from Noel’s belt and shoulders and finally the anklet weights.

  Two bolts struck hard, so close together their flashes blended. Dane straightened up and looked around. The fire was gone from the other tank. He couldn’t locate it. The flame of Seckinger’s tank had swung around more than 90 degrees. A little more and it would have reached them

  Then he noticed that the line of fire was drifting, swinging closer. It was arcing slowly around. At them! He eyed the distance to the tank. The flame would easily reach where he stood over Noel. At its present angle he could see that clearly, shooting out the way it did, more than two hundred feet from its nozzle.

  “Run for it, boy!” Colonel Cragg sounded off in his ears. “Save yourself! Run for it! That last bolt knocked it on traverse. Run!”

  Fifteen or twenty yards would do it! “God damn you!’ he raged. “If you hadn’t forgotten the weights, we’d be out of range now!”

  All the while he was busy. Automatically and desperately busy. Fighting for the calm to move smoothly, he pulled Noel up and eased him into position.

  The earphones were ominously quiet. They’re keeping their mouths shut, he thought. So they won’t rattle me. He couldn’t have even a minute left, no matter how slow the traverse. Already the relentless second hand of flame was passing three o’clock to his six o’clock. Sobbing for breath, he thrust his head up into the loop of Noel’s arms and churned forward into an urgent shuffle.

  No time for caution now. Decompression was the lesser of the evils. Stumble and fall, and it was over. He knew that, but still he did not curb his lunges against the lichens that thrust back against his legs.

  He tried to look where he was placing his feet, at what the next step would bring to defeat or circumvent, but it was more than a human could do not to look back over his shoulder at the triggered fire.

  It was lancing ahead of him, now practically at his side, so close that nothing but the insulated suit kept him from feeling its fierce heat. He was inside the peak of its range.

  Doggedly he bent forward to the business of putting foot in front of foot. He had lost, but it was still going to be a good try!

  They kept the searchlight directly on the path he trod. As long as he looked down, it could not blind him, and under its brilliance every detail of his footing stood clearly forth. Except for the tangling lichens. Except for the damned tangling lichens he would have made it.

  Now he waited for the bite of the fire or the quick boiling death of decompression. The instant his suit leaked his air pressure, his blood would boil. How does it feel when your blood boils? How does it feel in the instant before consciousness blacks out forever? The next tick of the second hand on his watch might be the last He would not feel the fire when it first licked at him. Its first bite would momentarily be repelled by his suit insulation until the flame wrapped him in and scorched him to a crisp, as the phrase went. Time for one more step maybe. In a detached sort of way he knew his legs were fighting, but he seemed just to be standing there, waiting for the streaking pain. He was annoyed by somebody trying to talk to him, rasping and shouting in his ears. He ought to turn down the volume. Turn it off altogether.

  Then he realized that words had meaning. “Take it easy boy. You’ve got it made. Take it easy!”

  Dully he stopped and swung around. The fiery arm of the compass had already described its arc past where he stood. Already it pointed past! A great joy burst over him. You made it, boy. You made it!” he gurgled, feeling the smile ripple his face.

  “Nice going!” Colonel Cragg was saying, and words to that effect.

  “Well,” Dane said aloud, “I’ll be goddamned!”

  “So will I,” Colonel Cragg agreed.

  He had forgotten about the microphone, but he didn’t mind forgetting a great many things. He was happy. Just goddamned happy. Right now that’s what he was. Happy.

  When he got his breath, he was entering in the shadow of the Far Venture. Well, that was to be expected. Seckinger’s tank could not have been two hundred yards out. The lichens were now against the base of the spacecraft’s tail cone where it stood upon the sand. A few more steps, and he came under the airlock. He eased Noel off on the cargo hoist that came down and climbed on himself. He did not kn
ow until later of the final spark bolt that came in and exploded Seckinger’s tank.

  He was tired and happy. That was all he knew or cared about. So the lichens were in contact with the Far Venture. Tomorrow was a new day, and tomorrow they took off for the blessed Earth.

  26

  IT WAS Lieutenant McDonald, his hard, youngish face crinkled into a big grin. When they had got Dane out of his suit and hustled Noel off to the infirmary and the contaminated equipment had been properly disposed, he came riding down on the elevator into the airlock. He stuck out his hand and yelled, “What do you want to do? Win a medal? You think they add anything to the pay check?” He stood aside in mock politeness for Dane to get into the cage. “You scared the you-know-what out of all of us. What do you use for nerves? Piano wire?”

  You couldn’t help liking just plain animal admiration. McDonald bubbled with transparent sincerity. Dane felt himself grinning all over his face. “I——”

  “You were just out for a walk? So you thought you’d just bring in this guy Noel? With that big squirt gun about to burn your tail off, you take your own sweet time about getting the guy up on your back. You drape him on you just so; then you walk right out around the end of a jolt of liquid fire like you had on asbestos drawers in hell. They can close the snack bar tonight. The whole damn crew from the commander down has just finished a good meal off their fingernails.”

  “If you think I wasn’t in a hurry,” Dane said, “you ought to see a centipede with a hotfoot.”

  The cage slackened and stopped. McDonald said, “Colonel Cragg wants to see you. My guess is he’ll chew you out for not obeying orders and then kiss you for being a damn hero.”

  Dane looked out on 1-high corridor. “Wrong deck”, he said. “Infirmary’s on 2-high.”

  McDonald affected an air of disapproval. “You think they’re going to keep that guy in bed with all this going on? He’s at the command post in a wheel chair.”

  Cragg was nearly his old self. His color was back and his voice was strong. He sat ramrod-straight in the invalid chair. Dane would not have been surprised to see him in his blue uniform coveralls instead of pajamas.

  He ignored Dane’s comment that he was looking good. “I owe you the life of a fine officer.” He stopped before he went on, as if he wanted to be careful of what he had to say. “I doubt that we would have been able to get to him in time, before the tank blew up. Even if the flame went over him, that would have finished him off. Very likely. You know about Seckinger’s tank?”

  Dane nodded. “They told me while I was getting out of my gear. He was a good man.”

  “I lost five good men out there!” Cragg said harshly. “You know about the others too?”

  “I didn’t realize they were all dead,” Dane said.

  “We got the three men in who were on foot. They were all dead. They all got it direct. Noel was the only one who didn’t get a direct hit.”

  “You said five. Who was the other one?”

  Cragg stared at him coldly. “Three men were brought in dead and both tanks blew up. That’s your five. It would have been six if it hadn’t been for your timely action. The survivors had to come in and get the flame throwers off before they could go back out. They couldn’t have got back out to Noel as soon as you did, and you barely made it out with him. Likely I would have lost two more men.”

  He hitched impatiently at the cover on his knees. “As I say, you saved Major Noel, if he pulls through, and they say there’s nothing wrong with him besides shock. Maybe he’ll be up and around tomorrow. I haven’t got much liking for you, but I’ve got to say there’s nothing wrong with your courage. I couldn’t have censored you if you had left Noel on the ground and got yourself the hell out when the tank name started around at you. You didn’t. It took guts to do what you did. I acknowledge that and commend your action and respect your courage. I regret that I cannot respect you. When it comes to your damned newspapers, you are as tricky and as reckless as ever!”

  “Just a minute!” Dane interrupted. “I am not a member of your crew, even if I am temporarily under your command. My principle business on this flight is to represent the press. What I write is my own business. Past as well as present.”

  “Your business is not to meddle!” Cragg roared. “Are you aware that it is the opinion of some of the scientific party that the lichen growth might be controlled by intelligent beings who are using them to destroy us? Of course you are!”

  Dane decided he had had enough, even if he would like to know what the man was driving at. “What I know or don’t know makes very little difference,” he snapped. “It happens to make a great deal of difference to me if somebody chooses to shout at me. Supposing I just say good night and go about my business.” He spun around the mouth-open Sergeant Peeney.

  “Sergeant!” Cragg barked. “Switch over to fire control and step outside. Close the door and stand by.” He jerked back to Dane “I’ve got some more to say. Quite a bit more. You will be kind enough to stay and listen.”

  “It doesn’t look as if I have much choice,” Dane said grimly.

  “You are well aware that there is hostile intelligence on this planet. Pretty damned hostile, I’d say!”

  Dane said, “I’ve been exchanging messages with Martians. We all know that.”

  “That’s it exactly.” He jerked the wheel chair around to square off at Dane. “That’s it exactly. Yesterday you send a message, and all at once we are attacked by lightning bolts.”

  “You think I ought to anticipate that?”

  Cragg pulled the corners of his mouth down. “I expect you to obey my orders, and my orders were not to send any more messages after that. Do you obey orders? No. You take it on yourself to send messages again tonight. And what happens! In less than an hour we have five men dead from more lightning bolts.”

  “What I sent——” Dane began.

  “I know what you sent,” Cragg snarled. “What’s the difference what you did send? The fact is you sent it and then all hell breaks loose. So we got we don’t know what kind of Martians on our neck, and you stir them up while we’re still stuck here on the sand without power for take-off and evasion. All to make some news for your damn papers.” His lips went white. “All these men dead because a news punk’s got to try to make news for his damn papers. You think I’m going to be easy on you? What do you think I’m going to do to you for getting five of my men killed!” He raised his head and roared. “Peeney! Think that over!” he added.

  “I doubt if I’ll have time,” Dane told him hotly. “I’m going to be damn busy thinking you’re completely nuts.”

  Cragg clamped his jaw down on that one. “Suit yourself. One thing you’re going to do for sure. You’re now going into confinement. Then you can do any kind of thinking you want to.” He barked at Sergeant Peeney standing in the half-opened door. “Take this man to his quarters and post a guard over him.” He swung the wheel chair around hard and slammed the papers from his lap at the command desk.

  Peeney said, “You heard the colonel.”

  “If I didn’t, I’d get a hearing aid.” Dane laughed briefly at the shock on Peeney’s face.

  With the sergeant in tow he climbed up to 3-high. He slid his door panel shut and locked it, somewhat irrationally, against the guard he knew Peeney would post.

  The bunk felt good. He was so tired he was sore. The muscles in his flanks were on the edge of quivering, and the pain came sharp in his back when he breathed in deeply in preparation for a long exhalation. Sighing a little less rashly, he plucked at the heavy belt and the binding coveralls and raised up enough to peel them off. Then he lay in the dark but sleep would not come. Once or twice he swore out loud, but he kept coming back to the spark fires and the pattern of the long bolts and the network areas that were obviously some kind of energy centers where the long bolts were generated. The idea that formed was preposterous, but what else would accommodate all the known facts?

  He thrashed at it until he was as weary o
f it as he was tired himself, but he couldn’t make it go away. Finally he switched on the lights and went to his notebook. Write it all out. Set down the observed evidence and the happenings. Relate them to each other and total up all their bearings on the idea. The best way to clarify your thinking, Professor Acher had been fond of repeating. Even if he was too tired to figure it out, he could set it down. Maybe then he could go to sleep.

  He wrote for two hours, regretting the portable lost in the wreckage of his former quarters. When he was finished he square-stacked his sheets under the cone of the desk light to ready them for the ring binder. But instead of snapping them in the notebook, he shoved it away and fished an envelope out of his portfolio and sealed what he had written inside. Before he signed his name on the envelope, he took a soft blue pencil and struck out the TO AMALGAMATED PRESS, HOUSTON, TEXAS. Just below the strike-out he printed TO COLONEL CRAGG (IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH).

  Things written down take on an existence and a new validity of their own, he thought. We write too many things down. He sat, thinking some more with the dimmed clarity of extreme fatigue about the night the first signals came from the Martians. Why had Dr. Pembroke gone out on the sands, mysteriously alone, to return to his own death? Again Dane tried to put down the nagging thought that the going out had been the deed of a crazed mind. What other reason than madness could have lifted a man from a hospital bed to wander out alone on a strange planet and return empty-handed? If mad enough for one such deed, then maybe why not mad enough for another? Such as putting a knife in Cragg on his way out for his mysterious sortie.

  Dane came up short. Wide awake. Not Pembroke. Conclusively not him. The proof of that and of his own innocence as well had rested in his own hands all the while. Unrecognized, it had been his all the while.

  He began to write again. Furiously. When he had it all down, he broke open his envelope and resealed its content and his case for Dr. Pembroke inside a new cover. He pondered a minute and then addressed it to Major Noel, also in the event of the death of John Dane.