The Wind Between the Worlds

by Lester Del Rey

  Vic reached out and the scene shifted at once. There was no apparent transmitter, and the trick beat anything he had heard from other planets. Perhaps it was totally unrelated to the teleport machine.

  But he had no time to ask.

  A door in the little room opened, and another creature came in, this time single from pelvis to shoulders, but otherwise the same. “The ruler has been requested,” it whistled. “That which the ruler is is yours, and that which the ruler has is nothing. May the ruler somehow serve?”

  It was either the most cockeyed bit of naïveté or the fanciest run-around Vic had found, but totally unlike anything he’d been prepared for. He gulped, and began whistling out the general situation on Earth.

  The Ecthindar interrupted politely. “That we know. And the converse is true—we too are dying. We are a planet of a thin air, and that little is chlorine. Now from a matter transmitter comes a great rush of oxygen, which we consider poison. Our homes around are burned in it, our plant life is dying of it, and we are forced to remain inside and seal ourselves off. Like you, we can do nothing—the wind from your world is beyond our strength.”

  “But your science…”

  “Is beyond yours, true. But your race is adaptable, and we are too leisurely for that virtue.”

  Vic shook his head, though perhaps it made good sense. “But the bombs…”

  A series of graceful gestures took place between the two creatures, and the ruler turned back to Vic.

  “The ruler had not known, of course. It was not important. We lost a few thousand people whom we love. We understood, however. There is no anger, though it pleases us to see that your courtesy extends across the spaces to us. May your dead pass well.”

  That was at least one good break in the situation. Vic felt some of his worry slide aside to make room for the rest. “And I don’t suppose you have any ideas on how we can take care of this…”

  There was a shocked moment, with abrupt movements from the two creatures. Then something came up in the ruler’s hands, vibrating sharply. Vic jumped back—and froze in mid-stride, to fall awkwardly onto the floor. A chunk of ice seemed to form in his backbone and creep along his spine, until it touched his brain. Death or paralysis? It was all the same; he had air for only an hour more. The two creatures were fluttering at each other and moving toward him when he abruptly and painlessly blacked out.

  V

  His first feeling was the familiar, deadening pull of fatigue as his senses began to come back. Then he saw that he was in a tiny room—and that Pat lay stretched out beside him!

  He threw himself up to a sitting position, surprised to find that there were no after-effects to whatever the ruler had used. The damned little fool, coming through after him. And now they had her, too.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up beside him. “Darn it, I almost fell asleep waiting for you to revive. It’s a good thing I brought extra oxygen flasks. Your hour is about up. How’d you manage to insult them?”

  He puzzled over it while she changed his oxygen flask and he did the same for her. “I didn’t. I just asked whether they didn’t know of some way we could take care of this trouble.”

  “Which meant to them that you suspected they weren’t giving all the help they could, after their formal offer when you came over. I convinced them it was just that you were still learning Code, whatever you said. They’re nice, Vic. I never really believed other races were better than we are, but I do now—and it doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “It’d bother Flavin. He’d have to prove they were sissies or something. How do we get out?”

  She pushed the door open, and they stepped back into the room of the ruler, who was waiting for them. It made no reference to the misunderstanding, but inspected Vic, whistled approval of his condition, and plunged straight to business.

  “We have found part of a solution, Earthman. We die, but it will be two weeks before our end. First, we shall set up a transmitter in permanent transmit, equipped with a precipitator to remove our chlorine, and key it to another of your transmitters. Whichever one you with. Ecthinbal is heavy, but small, and a balance will be struck between the air going from you and the air returning. The winds between stations may disturb your weather, but not seriously, we hope. That which the ruler is is yours. A lovely passing.”

  It touched their shoulders, and they were back briefly in the transmitter, to be almost instantly in the Chicago Branch. Vic was still shaking his head.

  “It won’t work. The ruler didn’t allow for the way our gravity falls off faster and our air thins out higher up. We’d end up with maybe four pounds pressure, which isn’t enough. So both planets die—two worlds on my shoulders instead of one. Hell, we couldn’t take that offer from them, anyhow. Pat, how’d you convince them to let me go?”

  She had shucked out of the pressure suit and stood combing her hair. “Common sense, as Amos says. I figured engineers consider each other engineers first, and aliens second, so I went to the head engineer instead of the ruler. He fixed it up somehow. I guess I must have sounded pretty desperate, at that, knowing your air would give out after an hour.”

  They went through the local intercity teleport to Bennington and on into Vic’s office, where Flavin met them with open relief and a load of questions. Vic let Pat answer, while he mulled over her words. Somewhere, there was an idea—let the rulers alone and go to the engineers. Some obvious solution that the administrators would try and be unable to use? He shoved it around in his floating memory, but it refused to trigger any chain of thought.

  Pat was finishing the account of the Ecthindar offer, but Flavin was not impressed. Ptheela came in, and it had to be repeated for her, with much more enthusiastic response.

  “So what?” Flavin asked. “They have to die, anyhow. Sure, it’s a shame, but we have our own problems. Hey—wait! Maybe there’s something to it. It’d take some guts and a little risk, but it would work.”

  Flavin considered it while Vic sat fidgeting, willing to listen to any scheme. The politician took a cigar out and lit it carefully, his first since the accident; he’d felt that smoking somehow used up air. “Look, if they work their transmitter, we end up with a quarter of what we need. But suppose we had four sources. We connect with several oxygen-atmosphere worlds. Okay, we load our transmitters with atom bombs, and send one capsule to each world. After that, they either open a transmitter to us with air, or we let them have it. They can live—a little poorer, maybe, but still live. And we’re fixed for good. Congress and the President would jump at it.”

  “That all?” Vic asked.

  Flavin nodded. Vic’s fist caught him in the mouth, spilling him onto the floor. The politician lay there, feeling his jaw and staring up at Vic. Then the anger was gone, and Vic reached down to help him up.

  “You’re half a decent guy and half a louse,” Vic told him. “You had that coming, but I should have used it on some of the real lice around. Besides, maybe you have part of an idea.”

  “All right, no teeth lost—just the first cigar I’ve enjoyed in days.” Flavin rubbed his jaw, then grinned ruefully. “I should have known how you feel. I just happen to believe in Earth first. What’s this big idea of yours?”

  “Getting our air through other planets. Our air. It’s a routing job. If we can set up a chain so the air going out of one transmitter in a station is balanced by air coming from another in the same station, there’d be a terrific draft. But most of it would be confined in the station, and there wouldn’t be the outside whirlwind to keep us from getting near. Instead of a mad rush of air in or out of the building, there’d be only eddy currents outside of the inner chamber. We’d keep our air, and maybe have time to figure out some way of getting at that hunk of glass.”

  “Won’t work,” Flavin said gloomily. “Suppose Wilkes was asked to route through for another planet. He’d have to turn it down. Too much risk.”

  “That’s where Pat gave me the tip. Engineers get used to thinking of each othe
r as engineers instead of competing races—they have to work together. They have the same problems and develop the same working habits. If I were running a station and the idea was put to me, I’d hate to turn it down, and I might not think of the political end. I’ve always wanted to see what happened in continuous transmittal; I’ll be tickled pink to get at the instrument rolls in the station. And a lot of the other engineers will feel the same.”

  “We’re already keyed to Plathgol on a second transmitter,” Pat added. “And the Ecthindar indicated they had full operation when it happened, so they’re keyed to five other planets.”

  “Bomb-dropping starts in about four hours,” Flavin commented. After that, what?”

  “No chance. They’ll go straight through, and the Ecthindar can neutralize them—but one is pretty sure to start blasting here and carry through in full action. Then there’ll be no other transmitter in their station, just a big field on permanent receive.”

  The two engineers at the Chicago Branch were busy shooting dice when the four came through the intercity transmitter. There was no one else in the place, and no sign of activity. Word of the proposed bombing had leaked out, and the engineers had figured that answering bombs would come blasting back through Earth teleports. They knew what they’d have done, and didn’t know of the Ecthindar philosophy. The engineers had passed the word to other employees, and only these two were left, finishing a feud of long standing in the time left.

  “Know anything about routing?” Vic asked. When they indicated no knowledge, he chased them out on his Teleport Inter-stellar authority and took over. He had no need of more engineers, and they were cynical enough about the eventual chances there to leave gladly. Vic had never had any use for Chicago’s manager and the brash young crew he’d built up; word shouldn’t have gone beyond the top level. If it leaked out to the general public, there’d be a panic for miles around.

  But Chicago’s routing setup was the best in the country; he needed it. Now how did he go about getting a staff trained to use it?

  “Know how to find things here?” Flavin asked Pat. He accepted her nod, and looked surprised at Ptheela’s equally quick assent. Then he grinned at Vic and began shucking off his coat. “Okay, you see before you one of the best traffic managers that ever helped pull a two-bit railroad out of the red, before I got better offers in politics. I’m good. You get me the dope, Vic can haggle on the transmitter phones, and I’ll route it.”

  He was good. Vic watched him take over with surprise, and a sudden growing liking for the man. Flavin had probably been a lot more of a man, before he’d been shoved into politics. Maybe he’d have done less of drinking and picking up prejudices if he’d been working where he knew he was doing a good job. Certainly he had adapted well enough to the present situation, and he looked happier now as he took over.

  Flavin’s mind seemed to soak up all routing data at once, from a single look at the complicated blocks of transmitter groups and key-ins. He jumped from step to step without apparent thought, and he had to have information only once before engraving it on his mind. It was a tough nut, since the stations housed six transmitters each, keyed to six planets—but in highly varied combinations: every world had its own group of tie-ins with planets, also. Routing was the most complicated job in the whole problem.

  Plathgol was handled by Ptheela, who was still in good standing until the Council would learn of her breaking the law by talking to Vic. There was no trouble there. But trouble soon developed. Ecthinbal had been keyed to only two other planets, it turned out. Vromatchk was completely cold on the idea, and flatly refused. Ee, the other planet, seemed difficult.

  It surprised him, because it didn’t fit with Pat’s theories of engineers at all. He scowled at the phone, then whistled again. “Your zeal is commendable. Now put an engineer on!”

  The answering whistle carried a fumbling uncertainty of obvious surprise. “I—how did you know? I gave all the right answers.”

  “Sure. Right off the Engineer Rule Sheet posted over the transmitter. No real engineer worries that much about them; he has more things to think of. Put the engineer on.”

  The answer was still obstinate. “My father’s asleep. He’s tired. Call later.”

  The connection went dead at once. Vic called Ecthinbal while clambering into the big pressure suit. He threw the delay switch and climbed into the right capsule. A moment later, an Ecthindar was moving the capsule on a delicate-looking machine to another transmitter. Something that looked like a small tyrannosaurus with about twenty tentacles instead of forelegs was staring in at him a second later, and he knew he was on Ee.

  “Take me to the engineer!” he ordered. “At once!”

  The great ridges of horn over the eyes came down in a surprisingly human scowl, but the stubbornness was less certain in person. The creature turned and led Vic out to a huge shack outside. In answer to a whooping cry, a head the size of a medium-sized freight car came out of the door, to be followed by a titanic body. The full-grown adult was covered with a thick coat of copy hair.

  “Where from?” the Ee engineer whistled. “Wait—I saw a picture once. Earth. Come in. I hear you have quite a problem there.”

  Vic nodded. It came as a shock to him that the creature could probably handle the whole station by itself, as it obviously did, and quite efficiently, with that size and all those tentacles. He stated his problem quickly.

  The Looech, as it called itself, scratched its stomach with a row of tentacles and pondered. “I’d like to help you. Oh, the empress would have fits, but I could call it an accident. We engineers aren’t really responsible to governments, after all, are we? But it’s the busy season. I’m already behind, since my other engineer got in a duel. That’s why the pup was tending while I slept. You say the field spreads out on continuous transmit?”

  “It does, but it wouldn’t much more if there isn’t too long a period.”

  “Strange. I’ve thought of continuous transmittal, of course, but I didn’t suspect that. Why, I wonder?”

  Vic started to give Ptheela’s explanation of unbalanced resonance between the vacuum of the center and the edges in contact with matter, but dropped it quickly. “I’ll probably know better when I can read the results from the instruments.”

  The Looech grumbled to itself. “You suppose you could send me the readings? We’re about on a Galactic level, so it wouldn’t strain the law too much.”

  Vic shook his head. “If I can’t complete the chain, there won’t be any readings. I imagine you could install remote cut-offs fairly easily.”

  “No trouble, though nobody ever seemed to think they might be needed. I suppose it would be covered under our emergency powers, If we stretch them a little. Oh, blast you, now I won’t sleep for worrying about why the field spreads. When will you begin?”

  Vic grinned tightly as they arranged the approximate time and let the Looech carry him back to the capsule. He flashed through Ecthinbal, and climbed out of the Chicago transmitter to find Pat looking worriedly at the capsule, summoned by the untended call announcer.

  “You’re right, Pat,” he told her. “Engineers run pretty much to form. Tell Flavin we’ve got Ee.”

  But there were a lot of steps to be taken still. He ran into a stumbling block at Norag, and had to wait for a change of shift, before a sympathetic engineer cut the red tape to clear him. And negative decisions here and there kept Flavin jumping to find new routes.

  They almost made it, to find a decision had just been reversed on Seloo by some authority who had gotten word of the deal. That meant that other authorities would probably be called in, with more reverses, in time. Once operating, the engineers could laugh at authority, since the remote cut-off could be easily hidden. But time was running out. There were only twenty-seven minutes left before the bombs dropped, and it would take fifteen to countermand their being dropped.

  “Give me that,” Flavin ordered, grabbing the phone. “There are times when it takes executives instead of en
gineers. We’re broken at Seloo. Okay, we don’t know where Seloo ships.” His Galactic Code was halting, but fairly effective. The mechanical chirps from the Seloo operator leaped to sudden haste. A short pause was followed by an argument Vic was too tired to catch, until the final sentence. “Enad to Brjd to Teeni clear.”

  “Never heard of Brjd,” he commented.

  Flavin managed a ghost of a swagger. “Figured our lists were only partial, and we could stir up another link. Here’s the list. I’ll get Wilkes. Now that we’ve got it, he’ll hold off until we see how it works.”

  It was a maze, but the list was complete, from Earth to Ecthinbal, Ee, Petzby, Norag, Szpendrknopalavotschel, Seloo, Enad, Brjd, Teeni, and finally through Plathgol to Earth. Vic whistled the given signal, and the acknowledgments came through. It was in operation. Flavin’s nod indicated Wilkes had confirmed it and held off the bombs.

  Nothing was certain, still; it might or might not do the trick. But the tension dropped somewhat. Flavin was completely exhausted. He hadn’t had decent exercise for years, and running from communications to routing had been almost continual. He flopped over on a shipping table. Ptheela bent over him and began massaging him deftly. He grumbled, but gave in, then sighed gratefully.

  “Where’d you learn that?”

  She managed an Earthly giggle. “Instinct. My ancestors were plants that caught animals for food. We had all manner of ways to entice them—not just odor and looks. I can sense exactly how your body feels in the back of my head. Mm, delicious!”

  He struggled at that, his face changing color. Her arms moved slowly, and he relaxed. Finally he reached for a cigar. “I’ll have nightmares, I’ll bet, but it’s worth it. Oh, oh! Trouble!”