by Fred Hoyle
Exploration
almost useless, he would later become a most valuable member of the party, when it came to navigating out again through the gravitational fields of the Sun and of Helios. This problem had worried Larson even before they landed. It was true that the problem wasn’t quite as difficult as getting in had been. But it had plenty of possibilities of disaster. Now, with Pitoyan, they had their insurance. The future looked pretty good.
They had a clear-cut routine for stripping down the job. The precise order in which every operation had to be performed was laid down in the manual. Every stud, every electro-magnetic clamp, had its appropriate moment. They had powered winches and pulley blocks; the outer part of die rocket became a crane which they used to handle the inner parts. In fact as the rocket came apart they used one bit against another in a cunningly designed dismantling programme. The result after three weeks’ work was a sleek, slim job about four hundred feet high, with its motors brand new and almost as powerful as the first motors had been. It stood there ready to swish them back home, its posterior ready to spurt a jet of blue-violet flame.
Strewn around the camp was the wreckage of the old ship. They set to work to tidy it up. They unbolted one section from another, so that the original thousand-foot- long strips of gleaming metal separated into more manageable lengths. These they dragged away with their vehicles and built into neat junk piles. One particular piece of junk they handled with extreme care however. This was a long, closed cylinder containing the highly radioactive motors. They dug a long deep trench and buried it. They checked carefully with geiger counters that nothing dangerous had managed to escape out of it. When everything was finished they had a party. As Larson said, ‘This is where we begin to enjoy ourselves.’
They had two vehicles, both of them running well. Since they could maintain radio communication with each other there seemed to be no reason why they shouldn’t send out
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two separate exploratory parties. Somebody of course had to stay with the rocket. Pitoyan’s arm, although much easier now, would make extensive cross-country pounding unpleasant, so it was obvious that he should be one of those left behind. The Westerners drew lots. It fell to Mike Faw- sett. He consoled himself with the thought that this was only the first exploration anyway, and that he would get a chance later. They set out early one morning, soon after the rise of Helios. One party set off to explore the shores of the first lake, which they guessed to be about fifty miles away. They could also take another look at the Russian ship on the way back. It might just be worth salvaging a few things from it. Bakovsky went with that party. The other was to explore away from the shallow seas, directly into the large green area on whose fringe they were encamped.
The division of the personnel was Larson, Bakovsky, and Ilyana in the seaward party, Fiske and Reinbach in the landward one. They set off to a good deal of shouting and to a good deal of ribaldry addressed to Larson, which Bakovsky did not understand. Fawsett felt like stretching his legs. He took a ride with Reinbach and Fiske for about five miles and began to stroll back towards the rocket. Eventually the din of pounding machinery faded, and he was left to swish his way along, calf-deep in the grass.
He sat down not because he needed to rest but to take it in better. He plucked several stalks of grass and made a crude, dissection of them with his fingers. He couldn’t have told that it wasn’t terrestrial grass unless he’d known. He fancied there were some differences but he wasn’t sure. He plucked several flowers and did the same thing. They’d take plenty of specimens back and give the botanists a ball. He lay back, cradling the back of his head in 'his hands, and lazily allowed his eyes to wander over the thin streaks of clouds, thirty thousand feet up they must be. Then his eyes caught the green sward rising and falling in front of him. Just like a golf course he thought. What a hell of a time a golfer would have in this place. An idea struck him and he
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realized it should have occulted to him before. It might have done if they hadn’t all been so busy working on the rocket. How fast did this grass grow?
It obviously did grow. The thickness and softness of its pile showed that. It didn’t seem to have changed much whilst they had been there, maybe it was an inch or so higher than it had been when they landed. He couldn’t even be sure of that. The colour of the planet, observed over the long months of their journey, had scarcely changed either. It had stayed a steady light-green; it hadn’t shown the same sort of seasonal changes that take place on Earth. There couldn’t be any seasons here on Achilles.
Forty miles away Fiske and Reinbach stopped for a mid- morning break and a cup of coffee.
‘It’s queer but that thar grass doesn’t seem to grow,’ observed Reinbach. ‘Maybe somebody keeps it cut.’
They laughed at this of course.
‘God, think what it would he like to be a cow. Sort of cow’s paradise, isn’t it?’
‘Funny there ain’t no flies and no beetles.’
‘And no ’quitoes. Makes me feel creepy.’
They lolled down in the grass and smoked. Reinbach’s cigarette hung from a comer of his mouth, ‘Did I ever tell you about ’Frisco and the Golden Gate?’
‘Did you ever stop telling me about it?’
‘I had a swell time for the three months I was there. Used to get in twice a week from Palo Alto. Used to eat on Fisherman’s Wharf. They said it was the same as it had been two hundred years ago, but that was a lot of damn lies. It was full of big modern restaurants. You used to sit in there and drink highballs. You could look out over the bay, and sometimes it was clear and sometimes it was misty. Sometimes the water was as blue as that thar sky. And they brought you whacking great plates of fish. Outside in the harbour you could see the boats they used to catch ’em in.’
‘You’re making me hungry again,’ said Fiske.
‘I used to look down at the little bastards, oysters, and
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scallops, and bits of halibut, and wonder where they’d all been a month ago.’
Fiske yawned. ‘Swimming around thinking fishy thoughts.’
‘Yeah, one of ’em might have been up as far north as Seattle, some of ’em right there just outside the Bay, and others - like abalone - right down south.’
They watched little funnels of smoke rising and dissipating. ‘Kind of funny,’ went on Reinbach, ‘all those fish swimming around.’
‘So what’s funny about that? It’d be real funny if they weren’t swimming around.’
‘I mean swimming around and not knowing anything about us.’
‘Not until you’d chawed ’em up. Then I expect they knowed all about you. Time we was moving.’
‘Yeah, time we was moving. Otherwise I’ll be getting bugs.’
Fiske looked up at the bright sky and along the grassy ridge on which they were standing. ‘You going crazy or something? There’s nothing wrong here.’
‘No, there's nothing wrong here. It’s just a funny idea I had.’
‘Nuts. Let’s get started.’
‘I was just thinking what if it’s the same with us.’
Fiske started the motors. The roar crackled out and startled even their noise-trained ears.
‘What’s that?’
‘I got to thinking,’ shouted Reinbach in return, ‘what if it’s the same with us.’
Fiske leaned over and cut the motors. ‘What if what’s the same with us?’ he asked.
‘Well, what if we’re like those bloody fish, swimming about our own little pond, and not knowing something else is very near us.’
Mike Fawsett woke and realized that he must have dozed off for a little while. He opened his eyes, focused on a cloud,
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and then raised himself to a sitting position. He saw Cathy walking towards him from the grass. She was dressed in the sam
e flimsy negligee she had worn the last week in New York. Instantly he knew it was a ghost and he wasn’t particularly frightened. He scrambled to his feet expecting to see it disappear. But it didn’t. It kept straight on walking towards him. He tried to shout or to speak but somehow or other words wouldn’t come. When she was ten yards away she smiled and said, quietly but very clearly:
‘Hello, Mike. You don’t look very pleased to see me.’
‘How did you get here?’ His voice sounded unnaturally hard.
‘Oh, I’ve been here all the time, ever since you landed.’
‘But how did you get here?’ His voice was stronger now, although his heart thudded furiously in his ears.
‘I came with you.’
It was Cathy to the life, voice inflections and all. But it couldn’t be. It had to be a ghost. A thought occurred to him.
‘You’re dead, aren’t you ?’
The old smile, exactly the old smile, came over Cathy’s face. Her hand undid the two buttons of the coat, ‘I’ll show you if I am dead. It’s beautifully quiet here, isn’t it?’
For a second he thought he’d found the explanation. They’d used the reserve rocket. But then he realized that this was grotesquely absurd. How could they have caught them up, why should Cathy be in it, and how had she managed to find him here. The sweat was streaming down his forehead. With a tremendous effort of will he stepped towards her and lifted his hand to take hold of her. She had to be a ghost. She had to vanish now. Convulsively he moved his hands to grip her shoulders - they were met by solid flesh.
‘Now are you satisfied?’ she said. And she flung her arms around his neck. Her lips were on his, fierce and possessive, and he could feel her body through the flimsy coat. Something snapped. It was all wrong, madly wrong. With a wild cry he broke away from the clutching arms and began to
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run. But he was little faster than a drunken man and she easily caught up with him. In a moment they were down on the grass and she was on top of him, her face very close to his, ‘You can’t get away. I’ve got you completely now.’ His mental resistance weakened and as it did so his physical strength returned. It just had to be Cathy, he could feel every bit of her. With an exultant cry he flung his arms around her and pulled her towards him. There was a wild moment, different from anything he had experienced before. Then he seemed to be falling, endlessly falling.
Twenty minutes later Pitoyan found him. He was holding convulsively to the grass, his fingers dug into its roots, and he was sobbing helplessly.
Fiske brought their machine to a clattering halt.
‘We’ve been at this place before. I wish you’d watched those gyros.’ He looked at Reinbach accusingly. ‘You and your bloody fish.’
Reinbach was indignant. ‘I have been watching the bastards. Are you thinking I’m bugs ?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, only watch ’em this time.’
‘Why don’t you let me do the driving. Then you could set the course.’
This seemed like a good idea, so Reinbach moved over to the driver’s seat. Within an hour they were back at the same spot.
‘Who’s not been watching the mockers now?’ asked Reinbach.
‘But it can’t be,’ protested Tom Fiske. ‘I haven’t taken my eyes off ’em.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, look where we are! ’
They decided to stop for a spot of lunch and to cool off a bit. When they started again Reinbach was still in the driver’s seat. This time things seemed to go better, it seemed as if new country was opening before them all the time. It was the same sort of country, the everlasting rise and fall of the green slopes, but they had a feeling that in spite of
Exploration
the downs they were gaining height steadily. In fact the altimeter showed they were. It was clearly a high point they were approaching. When they reached what they thought to be the top there were about two horns to go before Helios would dip below the horizon. Reinbach cut the engine and they got out to stretch their legs. Within fifty yards was the can they had thrown away at lunch-time.
‘We’re in it. Don’t you see, Tom, we’re in it, we’re in a groove, we’ll never get out, we’re just going to go on round and round for ever. Remember what I told you - about maybe there being something close that you and me didn’t know about?’
Reinbach’s chatter was wild and it annoyed Tom.
‘Shut up, or I’ll fix you.’
Fiske didn’t like it but he still had a full grip on himself. ‘We’ll kip down here until after the shiner’s down,’ he said, indicating Helios, ‘Then we’ll go by the stars. There can’t be anything wrong with them. It’s the gyros that are wrong.’
They walked away from the machine, just to get away from the smell of gasoline. They sprawled down in the grass and set themselves to wait. For a time Reinbach kept glancing back nervously to the machine as if he expected it to vanish. But it was always there, solid and reassuring, and after a while he calmed down and felt better. Of course it must be the bloody gyros.
They waited until Helios was down and the stars came out, the old familiar stars. It was as if the strange world about them had suddenly dissolved and they were back home among their own people. They set off in good spirits. It couldn’t be more than three hours’ drive back to the rocket and, after retanking and replacing the bloody mockers, they’d start out again tomorrow.
They drove for practically four hours and they still couldn’t see the signal beacon that must be burning on top of the rocket. Fiske had an idea. They tried the radio, but they couldn’t raise the rocket with that either.
‘We must have overshot somehow,’ muttered Reinbach.
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“Yeah, I reckon that’s it.*
‘What do we do now ?’
‘We’ll just lay up till dawn. It’s a goddamned nuisance to lose time like this but I reckon that’s the best thing to do.’
They got out their sleeping-bags and cots. It was pleasantly warm inside the bags, there was a gentle breeze blowing, and within an hour both men were asleep. Helios was already twenty degrees up into the sky when they awoke.
‘Jeez, we’ve overslept.’ As Fiske wrenched himself quickly out of his bag something caught his attention. Sickened he stared away down the ridge. Reinbach joined him and they both stared for a long time. They walked towards the thing. It was the can again. Reinback was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Fiske looked at him and saw that nothing could be done. Reinbach would break up quickly from here on. He walked alone for about a hundred yards feeling very near to breaking point himself. It seemed to him that the whisper in the grass had grown louder.
Larson drove his vehicle hard the first day out. He had brought Bakovsky along because back there in camp he’d felt it would be better not to make a pass at the Russian girl. Now he wished he’d sent Bakovsky with Fiske’s party. It began to seem a bit ridiculous to worry about the complications that could arise when you got back home, if you got back home. Perhaps he’d manage to find some way to get rid of the fellow.
The sand began before they got to the water and before the grass stopped. In fact there seemed to be a strip of about twenty miles where the sand and grass overlapped each other. This was why they hadn’t been able to see any clear line of demarcation between the green and the orange regions from above. They were graded into each other — you could almost say, carefully graded into each other. Before dark the first day they reached a long sandy beach. It stretched away as far as they could see. The machine made about fifteen miles an hour along it, grinding its
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rows of feet smoothly and systematically as it went along. They actually drove out into the water and found that it deepened very slowly indeed, as Larson had expected it would.
They made camp by the water’s edge. It was real good that there were no insects, no
mosquitoes, but it was rather a pity there were no sea birds. The water was salt as they’d expected.
It wasn’t until they were in their cots that a thought occurred to Larson, a point he should have noticed days ago. It was queer that they’d seen no rivers. The grassland must absorb all the rain. That must be the way of it. And it must be a question of soil. The sand wouldn’t grow anything, so the water accumulated there. At least it formed sheets of water. The whole surface of the planet must obviously be controlled by different soil conditions. Larson wondered how the grass and the flowers in it managed to fix nitrogen from the air if there were no bugs in the soil. Or perhaps there were some bugs. So far they hadn’t really made a thorough examination. It was one of the things they’d better look carefully into, or they’d get into trouble whep they got back home. He found himself looking over towards Ilyana.
They drove on the next day, still following the margin of the sea. It continued exactly as it had begun. The second night Larson decided they’d gone far enough and maybe they’d better turn round in the morning. But when the morning came he decided to push on a bit farther, with the idea that the important things always lie just around the comer. When by midday nothing new had appeared they unanimously agreed to retreat. That night they used the same camping spot as they had the previous night. Nothing was changed, there were still the same light ripples on the surface of the water.
They had made perhaps forty miles back along their tracks the following morning when Bakovsky raised his arm and pointed in excitement.
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‘He says he can see something over there,’ translated Uyana.
Straining his eyes Larson thought he caught a flash of light. Through their glasses he saw that indeed something was shining. It was situated in a direction away from the water, perhaps ten miles away. Perhaps even more, for the air was very clear.
‘We must have been blind to have missed it.’
‘I think we might have missed it now but for Bakovsky’s keenness of eye.’
‘Yeah, that’s right sweetheart.’