Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  “How would you get down?”

  “I wouldn’t. There is a large river about thirty miles south of here that should be navigable all the way to the sea, if Hank Stearman’s report is accurate. What I’m suggesting is that I tow you over to the fall, help you any way I can in getting the Bree over the edge, watch you launch her in the river, and wish you the best of luck, all we can do for you from then on is give weather and navigation information, as we agreed. You have ropes, do you not, which will hold the weight of a raft?”

  “Of course; ordinary cordage would take the weight of the entire ship in this neighborhood. We’d have to snub the lines against trees or your tank or something like that; the whole crew together couldn’t furnish traction enough for the job. Still, that’s no problem. I’d say you had the answer, Charles.”

  “How about the personnel? Will they like the idea of being lowered down that way?”

  Barlennan thought for a moment. “I think it will be all right. I’ll send them down on the rafts, with a job to do like fending off from the cliff. That will keep them from looking straight down, and sufficiently occupied so they shouldn’t be thinking of the height. Anyway, with this light feeling everyone has”—Lackland groaned silently—“no one’s much afraid of a fall anyway; not even as much as they should be. We’ll make that part, all right. Had we better start for that waterfall right away?”

  “All right.” Lackland hauled himself to his controls, suddenly very weary. His part of the job was nearly over, sooner than he had expected, and his body shrieked for relief from the endless weight it had dragged around for the last seven months. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stayed through the winter, but tired as he was he could not regret it.

  The tank swung to the right and started moving once more, parallel to the cliff edge two hundred yards away. The Mesklinites might be getting over their horror of heights, but Lackland was developing one. Besides, he had never attempted to repair the main spotlight since their first battle with Mesklin’s animal life, and he had no intention of driving close to that edge at night with only the running lights to guide him. They pointed too nearly straight ahead for comfort—the edge of their beams might be confused with the rim of the escarpment until it was too late to rectify the error. Even at this distance Lackland was uneasy after sunset; and he finally asked Barlennan to have either himself or Dondragmer ride on the tank to give warning if he began to slant to the left. He had learned long since that the natives, while not in a class with Terrestrial cats or owls, could see at night rather better than a man.

  They made the waterfall in a single lap of about twenty days. Both natives and Earthman heard it long before they arrived, at first a vague trembling in the air that gradually rose through a muted thunder to a roar that put even the Mesklinite vocal equipment to shame. It was day when they came in sight of it, and Lackland stopped involuntarily as they did so. The river was half a mile wide where it reached the brink, and smooth as glass—no rocks or other irregularities appeared to exist in its bed. It simply curled over the edge and spilled downward.

  The fall had eroded its way for a full mile back from the cliff line; and they had a splendid view of the gorge. The lack of ripple marks gave no clue to the liquid’s speed of fall, but the violence with which the spray erupted from the bottom did. Even in this gravity and atmosphere a permanent cloud of mist hid the lower half of the curved sheet, thinning gradually away from its foot to reveal the roiled, eddied surface of the lower river. There was no wind except that created by the fall itself, and the stream grew rapidly calmer as it moved smoothly away toward the ocean.

  Lackland looked for a rainbow in the spray with something like a tinge of homesickness; but the sun was in the wrong position, and he wasn’t sure that methane drops would produce one anyway. He must ask one of the physicists, he decided.

  The crew of the Bree had gone overboard the moment the tank had stopped; and the way they were strung out along the rim of the gorge indicated that there would not be much morale difficulty during the descent. Now Barlennan called them back to the ship, and work commenced at once. Lackland relaxed once more while cordage was. dragged forth and a plumb line dropped over the edge to secure a more precise measure of the cliff’s height.

  Some of the sailors began securing all loose gear about the rafts, though preparations for the original journey had left little to do in this respect; others reached down between the rafts and began unfastening the lashings which held them together and checking at the same time the buffers that held them safely apart. They were fast workers, and raft after raft was dragged away from the main body of the ship.

  Barlennan and his first mate, once this work was well under way, went over to the edge to determine the best place for the lowering operation. The gorge itself was rejected at once; the river within its walls was too rough, even if they had wanted to do their reassembling while afloat. It turned out, however, that almost any point on the cliff face would be suitable, so the officers quickly chose one as close as possible to the mouth of the gorge. The reassembled ship or its separate parts would have to be dragged to the river without the tank’s help, and there was no point in making the journey any longer than necessary.

  A scaffold of masts was arranged at the edge to give a point of suspension far enough out to prevent rope friction, though the masts were not long enough to hold a raft completely away from the cliff face; a block and tackle, which Lackland observed with interest, was attached to the scaffold, and the first raft dragged into position. All this was improvised, though the man did not realize it; the natives were not used to lifting objects any distance. It was adjusted in a rope sling that would carry it horizontally, the main cable attached to the sling and hitched around a tree, several sailors seized the cable, and the raft was pushed over the edge.

  Everything held up, but Dondragmer and his captain inspected each part very, very carefully before the mate and one of the crew crawled aboard the platform that hung somewhat slanted against the rock an inch or so below the edge. For a moment after they had gone aboard everyone watched expectantly; but again nothing happened, and Dondragmer finally gave the signal to lower away.

  All the crew members who were not on the cable rushed to the edge to watch the descent. Lackland would have liked to watch it himself, but had no intention of venturing either the tank or his armored person close enough to do so. Beside his own uneasiness at the height, the sight of the cordage the Mesklinites were using made him unhappy; it looked as though an Earthly clerk would scorn it for tying a two-pound bag of sugar, and knowing the qualities of Mesklinite animal and plant tissues didn’t make it look any better. Still, no one seemed to worry, and sailors should certainly know ropes.

  An excited hooting and general withdrawal from the edge indicated that safe arrival of the first raft, and Lackland blinked as the sailors proceeded to stack several more on top of each other while the cable was being drawn up. Apparently no more time than could be helped was to be wasted. Confident as he was in Barlennan’s judgment, the Earthman suddenly decided he wanted to watch the stack of rafts make the descent. He was on the point of donning his armor when he remembered that it was not necessary; he relaxed again, called Barlennan, and asked him to arrange one or more of the little communicators so that their “eyes” could cover the desired activity. The captain complied immediately, having a sailor lash one of the set to the scaffold so that it looked almost straight down and placing another on top of the pile of rafts which had just been secured in their rope sling.

  Lackland switched from one to the other as the operation proceeded. The first was a trifle more disconcerting than he had expected, since the supporting cable was visible for only a few feet from the pickup lens and the load seemed to be floating down without support; the other gave him a view of the cliff face that would undoubtedly have been highly interesting to a geologist. With the descent half completed it occurred to him to call Toorey to invite the interested parties to watch. The geology department re
sponded and commented freely during the rest of the process, but as far as Lackland could tell their remarks were mostly of the “it’s obvious that” and “I told you so” variety, None of them bothered to tune in any of the “eyes” which were still with the Bree’s gear, to get a look at the natives.

  Load after load went down, with little variety to make the operation more interesting. Toward the end a longer cable was installed and the lowering was done from below, since the greater part of the crew had now descended; and Lackland had a suspicion of the reason when Barlennan finally turned away from the scene of action and leaped toward the tank. The radio which had been used from that position was permanently mounted, and had not been taken down with the others.

  “We have only about two more loads, Charles,” the captain said. “There will be a slight problem in connection with the last one. We’d like to keep all our gear if possible, which means dismantling and sending down the masts used for our lowering tackle. We don’t want to throw them down because we’re not sure they’d take it—the soil below is very rocky. Would you be willing to get into your armor and lower the final toad by hand? I will arrange for it to consist of one raft, those few masts and the associated tackle, and myself.”

  Lackland was startled by the last item. “You mean you would trust yourself to my strength, knowing that I’m already under three and a half times my normal gravity and will have the weight of my armor as well?”

  “Certainly. The armor will easily be heavy enough to serve as anchor, and if you take a turn of the rope about your own body you can pay it out gradually. I don’t see any difficulty; the load will be only a few of your pounds.”

  “Not that way, perhaps, but there’s another point. Your rope is very thin indeed, and the handling clamps of my armor are somewhat clumsy when it comes to managing small objects. What if the cord slips out of my grip?”

  That silenced Barlennan for a moment.

  “What is the smallest object you could handle with reasonable security?”

  “Oh—one of your masts, I should say.”

  “There is no trouble, then. We will wind the rope about a mast, and you can use that as a windlass. You can toss mast and rope over afterwards; if the stick is broken the loss will not be too great.” Lackland shrugged.

  “It’s your health and property, Barl. I don’t have to say I’ll be careful. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, especially through my negligence. I’ll be out shortly.”

  The Mesklinite, satisfied, leaped back to the ground and began to give the necessary orders to the few remaining sailors. The second last load went down with all of these; and a few moments later the Earthman emerged from his conveyance.

  Barlennan was waiting for him. A single raft now lay at the cliff edge, tied in its sling and ready to go. A radio and the bundled remains of the scaffolding lay upon it, and the captain was dragging the mast which had the line wrapped about it toward Lackland. The man’s approach was slow, for the terrible fatigue seemed to grow with every instant; but he finally reached a point about ten feet from the edge, reached over as far as his clumsy garment would permit, and took the mast from the tiny being who had reared up to meet him. Without a word of caution or any other suggestion of doubt in his big friend, Barlennan turned back to the raft, made sure its cargo was lashed securely, pushed it until it was teetering on the edge of the cliff, and climbed aboard.

  He turned for a last look at Lackland, and the man could have sworn that he winked. Then, “Hang on, Charles,” came the voice over the radio; and the captain stepped deliberately to the outer edge of the precariously balanced raft. His pincers were securely caught in the lashings, which was all that kept him aboard as the platform teetered once and slipped over the rim.

  There was enough slack in the line Lackland was holding to permit a couple of feet of fall; and raft and passenger vanished instantly. A sharp jerk told the man that at least the line was still holding, and an instant later Barlennan’s voice cheerfully conveyed the same information. “Lower away!” was the concluding phrase; and Lackland obeyed.

  It was rather like handling a kite, at least in the form of windlass he was using—simply a cord wound on a stick. It revived childhood memories; but if he lost this kite he would, he knew, be much longer in getting over it. He did not have the best possible grip on the mast, and he slowly pivoted so as to wind the cord about his body before he tried to change holds. Then, satisfied, he paid out slowly.

  Barlennan’s voice came at intervals, always with something encouraging; it was as though the midget had an idea of the anxiety in Lackland’s mind. “Halfway now.”

  “Smooth going.”

  “You know, I don’t mind looking down even this far, now.”

  “Almost there—just a little more—that’s it; I’m down. Hold on to the tackle for a little, please; I’ll tell you when the area is clear and it’s all right to throw it down.”

  Lackland continued to obey. For a keepsake, he tried to break off a fool or two from the end of the cable, but found it impossible even with armored hands. However, the edge of one of the locking snaps on his armor proved sharp enough to cut the stuff, and he wound the souvenir around his arm before starting to carry out the remaining requests of his ally.

  “We have things out from underneath, Charles; you can let go of your end of the rope and toss the mast over whenever you want.” The fine cord slithered instantly out of sight, and the ten-inch twig that was one of the Bree’s main booms followed. Seeing things fall free in triple gravity, Lackland found, was even worse than thinking about it. Maybe it would be better at the poles—then you couldn’t see them at all. Not where an object falls some two miles in the first second! But perhaps the abrupt vanishing would be just as hard on the nerves. Lackland shrugged off these thoughts, and turned back to the tank.

  For the couple of hours the process took he watched the Bree’s reassembly through the vision sets. With just the traces of a wish that he might go along, he saw the cluster of rafts pushed out into the broad stream, and listened to the farewells of Barlennan, Dondragmer, and the crew—he could guess at the meaning of the sounds uttered even by the sailors who spoke no English. Presently the current bore the vessel far enough from the cliff to be seen from the tank’s position. Lackland raised a hand silently in farewell, and watched her as she shrank slowly and finally vanished toward the distant sea.

  For long minutes he sat silently; then roused himself to call the Toorey base.

  “You may as well come and pick me up. I’ve done all I can on the surface.”

  X.

  The river, once away from the vicinity of the great fall, was broad and slow. At first the air trapped by the descending water furnished a breeze toward the sea, and Barlennan ordered the sails set to take advantage of it; but this presently died out and left the ship at the mercy of the current. This was going in the right direction, however, and no one complained. The land adventure had been interesting and profitable, for several of the plant products collected could certainly be sold at high prices once they reached home; but no one was sorry to be afloat again. Some looked back at the waterfall as long as it could be seen, and once everyone stared into the west to catch a glimpse of the rocket as the muted thunder of its approach reached them; but in general the feeling was one of anticipation.

  A new sea lay ahead—one that no member of their nation had ever ridden. There would be new and strange people to meet, certainly to trade, perhaps to fight as well. Captain Cook sailing into the South Seas for the first time must have felt much as these beings felt—sailors as well as officers, for any who were so lacking in imagination as to go wherever Barlennan ordered without thought or interest had long since dropped away from his crew.

  There were no present worries; the Flyers far above had said that river had no falls or rapids all the way to the sea. There were none for the immediate future, either; there was so much food aboard that most of the sailors did not even bother to fish, much as they normally
preferred fresh food. For the moment, there was practically nothing to do except speculate on what the future might hold; and morale was so high that not even Dondragmer felt there was any need of inventing work to stop talk.

  The banks on either side began to draw more and more attention as they proceeded. During their overland journey they had become accustomed, to the sight of an occasional upright growth of the sort that the Flyer had called a “tree,” usually seeing one every few days. They had been fascinating objects at first, and had, indeed, proved a source of one of the foods they planned to sell at home.

  Now the trees were becoming more and more numerous, threatening to replace the more familiar sprawling, rope-branched plants entirely, and Barlennan began to wonder if even a colony planted here might not be able to support itself by trade in what the Flyer had called fir-cones—he had said the fruit closely resembled an object that went by that name on his own world. Of course, if they proved too common the price would go down—but no, they would never be common on the shores of his ocean while travel between the seas was this difficult. It was a project worth considering. Of course, some of the giant natives they had met above the cliff might be here too, and that could be either good or bad. Depending. The last thought was a cryptic one, and Barlennan shifted his speculation to other directions.

  For a long time, fully fifty miles, no intelligent life was sighted, though animals in fair numbers were seen along the banks. The river itself teemed with fish, though none appeared large enough to constitute a danger to the Bree. Eventually the river on either side became lined with trees, which extended no one could tell how far inland; and Barlennan, spurred by curiosity, ordered the ship steered closer to shore to see what a forest—he had no such word for it, of course—looked like.