Fifth Planet

by Fred Hoyle

  In the West things had been managed differently, but equally effectively. All round the preimeter, in fact all round the outer three miles of the asphalt area, stands were being erected. The stands would rise gradually, tier by tier, from ground-level at the front to a height of four hundred feet behind. It would be a stadium of vast proportions with the latest and most up-to-date loudspeaker system. The central region, some twenty-five square miles in area, would be entirely carpeted. Although it was not known at the time, the carpet was of substandard quality and the Corporation involved would undoubtedly have found itself in legal difficulties if it had not been for the events that were to follow the landing of the rocket. Tickets for a seat in the prepared

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  stands were originally issued at an average price of fifty dollars apiece, but only a lucky few managed to acquire them at this low figure. By the 'time Conway and Cathy left London for New York the scalpers’ price had risen to almost five hundred dollars.

  It can well be imagined that 'the news from the incoming ship filled the corridors of power in Moscow with dismay. The mere notion that their ship had pooped was enough in itself, but the information that two of its crew were being brought back like sacks of rye by the Western vice maniacs, was just too much to swallow. In the West, on the other hand, the propaganda weather appeared rosier. Their ship had made it, and the squat Russian craft had not. The propaganda advantages of the situation would outweigh the fact that two boys had been lost. After all, boys had been lost before, in one way or another. Still there was a lot of explaining to be done, and the men of Washington, of Paris, Berlin and of the Rand Corporation smacked their lips, especially those whose job it was, or whose pleasure it was, to evaluate the conflicting tensions of the human psyche.

  Conway had remembered the beach bungalow to the north of Miami. Fifteen months earlier he and Cathy had spent the three weeks following the departure of the Achilles ship there, and things had gone perhaps better than at any other time in their marriage before or since. He had a futile idea that perhaps if they were to go there again, now before the ship made its landing, perhaps the same thing would happen again. So he’d moved heaven and earth to get a place, and spent the best part of ten thousand dollars in renting a bungalow for the critical month. He felt he was moving into the top bracket.

  But Cathy was living in a sort of trance, like a sleepwalking princess. There was no friction between them - there was just nothing. Conway felt as if he had been reduced to the status of an equerry. He knew that Cathy had come with him because by doing so she avoided all the tangles concerning tickets, passes, schedules, hotel bookings and the

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  like, into which she inevitably fell every few hours. She spent two days in the beauty salons of New York, which was ridiculous because she didn’t need it.

  At the bungalow she didn’t actually complain but it was clear she thought the Sun was destroying her complexion. Naturally she 'had her own room and Conway had his. Conway estimated that it was just about fifty-fifty, taken over the eleven years, the time they’d spent in a room together and the time they’d spent in different rooms. There wasn’t any particular pattern about it, it wasn’t as if they’d started off together and finished apart. It was all jumbled up, higgledy-piggledy, in a way just like all Cathy’s arrangements. Later he was quite sure they’d be back on the single arrangement. He calculated that the Fawsett business would last for about two weeks.

  Forty-eight hours before the estimated time of landing every road into Florida was choked with traffic, the American Automobile Association estimated that the mean rate of flow was less than ten miles an hour. The trouble was that the blockage wasn’t quite complete. If it had been the drivers could have quitted their cars, they could have got out their cots and slept for a while by the roadside, but because every few minutes they were able to move a mile or two this was not possible. So the drivers had to keep awake right round the clock, and beyond that. You couldn’t even pull off the highway into a roadside diner, because every place was always full. It just went on for ever, or more accurately for six or seven hundred miles. It was the traffic pile-up of the century.

  Conway had expected it, that was why he’d come in to Miami by air. It was hopeless to get a hire-car, of course, but he had friends. They were good ones because they managed to get him a vehicle of sorts. It reminded 'him of the ancient Cadillacs in the museums, the sort of things that looked like travelling saloon bars. They had been in vogue at about the turn of the century. When he heard the highway statistics on the radio he was glad he’d also had the

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  foresight to get a permit to use one of the official ferries.

  It took him and Cathy nearly a couple of hours to get from the beach to the airport, but once they were there things went very smoothly. A boy in uniform drove the car into a waiting plane, they followed themselves, and within a few moments they were in the air. The short trip was quite terrifying. In the usual commercial plane you couldn’t see very much of what was going on around you, but in these ferries it was possible to see out over a wide arc. There seemed to be planes everywhere; it was like being in the middle of a huge ball of flies. The crew made nothing of it so Conway supposed that it was more or less normal. Cathy didn’t even notice 'it. Once again they got the car off very quickly and they drove along the side-road to the main highway. It took them twenty-five minutes before Conway could find a place to turn out into the main stream of traffic. It was unbelievably nerve-racking, but since they had only ten miles to go it didn’t take them more than another couple of hours. Conway calculated that there were about fifty lanes of traffic, crawling ever onwards like beetles.

  His official passes took them on to the carpeted area. For the moment they had to keep to the outside because nobody could be sure that the rocket would manage to land at the exact centre. It had to be given room to manoeuvre. So even the most privileged, and there were many of these, had for the moment to stay on the outside, although, of course, on the carpet. Later, after the landing, they would be allowed to move forward to within a few hundred yards of the ship. The President and other Heads of State, and Generals from four stars upwards, would be driven, the rest of them would have to walk. Comfortable pullman-like chairs had been provided for them to sit, and there were large umbrellas under which they could shelter from the sun. Trucks toured around the carpeted arena, staffed by uniformed waiters who dispensed the coldest of Martinis, mixed with the approved ratio of four-point-seven-five. Conway ordered a consignment and motioned Cathy to sit down.

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  ‘Why have we to come so early?’ she asked.

  ‘Because 'two hours from now everything in here is going to be closed, except to the top brass.’

  This seemed to satisfy her. It was basically true, although Conway had an idea that he could have managed to get in later if he had really wanted to. They had some thirteen hours to wait. He felt that sitting around throughout the late afternoon and the night would take a little of the gloss off Fawsett’s return.

  It all looked rather like a gargantuan ball game. The outer bleachers with their infinity of seats were beginning to fill up. In fact over an angle of more than 120° away on the right the stands were pretty solid. Popular music played incessantly on the loudspeaker system. At dusk the lights came on. They bought dinner and more drinks from the travelling trucks. A monstrous massed band, there must have been many tens of thousands of them, marched into the arena, plumes flying and trumpets braying. This was something that Conway hadn’t bargained for, especially the girls dressed in scanties, who wheeled past in line abreast. Their flimsy garments were covered in sequins that winked knowingly in the blazing lights. Every now and then the girls simultaneously threw short silver-coloured sticks high in the air, and whenever they did so the crowd let out an enormous whoop.

 
In spite of it all, Cathy fell sound asleep at about eleven o’clock. Conway felt that this was her best performance to date. Even with her head thrown back at an awkward angle she was still dangerously beautiful. In fact the submission implied by the sleep, the submission to life as it were, made her more dangerous in repose than when she was awake. The sequined girls, during interludes in their antics, looked Cathy over with obvious disapproval.

  Some of them came and sat at his table. They talked and he bought them drinks and still Cathy went on sleeping. It was obvious that everything about her was irrelevant to the vision.

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  The festivities and the music died away about three hours before dawn. Conway dozed off fitfully and woke up with a taste in his mouth at the first light. The band and the girls had apparently brought cots with them, they could be seen stretched out in little plots right into the distance. Some of the plots were of mixed sexes, but he noticed that for the most part the girls slept together, as if to give themselves mutual protection from invaders. A little clump had gathered around his table, perhaps because Cathy’s presence guaranteed safety. It wasn’t long before Cathy herself awoke. She went through her usual routine of lazy stretching. Then she ran her hands repeatedly through her hair, massaging her scalp as she did so. After these preparatory manoeuvres she got up and looked around her. When she had taken in the little crowd around them her nose wrinkled, ‘You collect them, don’tyou?’

  ‘I should have thought I rated a modicum of comfort,’ he answered.

  This was a mistake, for it caused Cathy’s mind to click into focus. She remembered now what she had come for, and with the returning memory she retired into herself once more. By the time she had finished her toilet and had visited one of the mushroom-shaped buildings, apparently constructed of bamboo, that had sprung up overnight, breakfast was being served from the trucks.

  The girls were waking up now, they were sitting up and grunting to each other, and examining their feet - a gesture which Conway could appreciate, for all this tramping around on the asphalt base could not have improved their condition. The girls bought a strange variety of foodstuffs from an, exceptionally large truck that drew itself to a screeching halt almost on top of Conway’s chair. With ungrudging amazement he watched them consume hot dogs and pop, bits of hamburger on a skewer like a shish kebab, and milk shakes thick with ice-cream. One girl had brought a stove on which she boiled water. Fascinated, Conway watched her add the steaming water to a dehydrated bacon

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  and egg melange. It started by being quite small, and then it grew and grew. She took a quite spherical piece of bread and separated it into two 'halves. The interior was hollow and into this she fitted the stuff, clamped both pieces of bread together with her hands, gave it a powerful squeeze, and began eating.

  Two hours later a large flotilla drove into the arena. Out came firstly the brass, then a large group of Russian Army Officers, and lastly the Heads of State. Conway could see Lee Kipling and Vladimir Kaluga, and he knew that the end was near.

  It came incredibly quickly. The masters of ceremony, most astute of mortals, must 'have kept a road open, they must have held back the flotilla till the last possible moment, and then in the very nick of time they must have sped at breakneck pace to the appointed spot. For although those at the top may be kept waiting, they must not seem to be kept waiting.

  It was all incredibly well managed. The band was now in formation, and the girls had taken their places. Mysteriously the cots, the stoves and the mushroom bamboo buildings had vanished, and at this exact moment there came a roar from the sky.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dulce Domum

  Fiske had never brought a ship in to land before, for he had never been the captain or vice-captain of a crew, although of course he had made thousands of dummy landings on the equipment at space-school. He knew that he must trust the instruments implicitly, and forget all about the ground below. A day before the landing he made careful study of a list of the order in which he must make all the settings. He checked his list carefully against the manuals. During the last hour he went over each of the items one by one for the third time. Finally he checked that Fawsett and the two Russians were properly secured. Then he went to his own bunk, fastened himself in, and waited.

  The retro action began and the pressure built up. Just as he felt he couldn’t stand any more, it miraculously began to ease off, as it always did. That was the way the ship was designed, to take advantage of the maximum you could stand. Now the motion was so gentle that he couldn’t tell whether they were still moving or whether they’d landed already.

  The indicators above his bunk, now the Captain’s bunk, were on, and he saw that they were almost at a complete shut down. They had made it. This was the end.

  He waited for a while, as the manuals told him to do, so that the circulation would return to normal, and then pressed the automatic release button. His harness became free and he was able to climb to his feet. Ilyana was up almost immediately and Pitoyan seemed to be all right. Fawsett didn’t seem too good, but he was alive and that was something. It would be up to the medicos to deal with him now.

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  Outside, the ground engineers were bringing up the great steps, which they only used on special occasions such as this. The steps ran on great wheels and they were powered by their own motor. The height was adjustable, today it would be raised to four hundred feet. The crew would assemble on the spacious top platform, and then they would be brought to ground level by the lift. The contraption was at last magnetically clamped to the side of the rocket and the moment that everyone had waited for had arrived.

  With rapidly-beating heart Fiske pressed the button that opened the main door. He saw daylight stream in through the gap. He saw the platform in position, and motioned to Ilyana to lead the way.

  The crowd outside saw the fair-haired girl appear. No professional stage manager could have managed the effect better. A moment later she was joined by Fiske and then by Pitoyan. The master of the band, assembled close by below, sensed that the moment had come and gave the long-awaited signal. The strains of their National Anthem ‘God Save the West’ filled the clear morning air. Nobody except the grimfaced Russian officers seemed to mind that two of the three above were Russians.

  From afar off Cathy sensed that something was wrong. Mike should have been up there among the returning heroes. Her heart sank with the lift as it descended to the ground. She saw the three astronauts being congratulated by the Heads of State. Then the lift went up again, this time with four members of the ground staff. The music began again. With amplification at full volume on the speakers the din was appalling. Minute followed minute until at last two men appeared with a stretcher.

  ‘It’s Mike,’ she cried wildly to Conway. Then, shouting ‘Mike!’ she began to run towards the rocket. Conway tried to follow her but they were separated in the crowd. He knew that Cathy could never make it through the press of people. A way would be cleared for the stretcher party and Fawsett would be carried off long before Cathy could reach him.

  Fifth Planet

  Conway stood there for a long time and there were tears in his eyes, not so much for Cathy as for the whole human race. This seemed to be the way with all their aspirations.

  Conway found a chair and sat down. There was nothing to be done until the crowd had gone. Conway calculated that it wouldn’t be more than five or six hours before the place emptied. The vast herd would stream out of the arena and fill to bursting points the roads leading north. It was impossible for him to find Cathy until this happened. He knew she would be moving somewhere with the crowd, backwards and forwards with its surges, without the smallest idea of what to do. He knew she would just stand around aimlessly waiting, without the slightest semblance of a coordinated plan. He knew she would be still there at the end.

  And so it
proved to be. At last he found her, streaked and utterly weary, but not until the sun was low in the sky. Without a word he took her arm and guided her gently in the direction of the car park. It was a very long walk and the air was hot and steamy, but at last they found their mobile saloon bar.

  Conway thought about getting something to eat but decided against it. It would be better to wait until Cathy became too hungry to refuse. By the time they reached their beach place she would certainly be hungry all right, it was almost a hundred miles, and at the speed that Conway estimated the traffic would be moving he reckoned on a six- or a seven-hour trip.

  In the event the roads were surprisingly clear, and they made it by close on midnight. He started to take off his clothes and said, ‘Better take a shower.’ She began slowly to follow his example. Later he put her to bed and went off to the kitchenette. He made them each a plate of fruit salad and cheese and stiff drinks with plenty of ice and carried the tray to the bedroom.

  Cathy ate for a little while and then said, ‘I tried to find out where they’d taken him. But nobody would tell me. Can you find out, Hugh?’

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  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Why not tonight?’

  ‘Because everything’s in confusion. Something has happened that wasn’t according to plan. It’s like a battle. Nobody knows what anybody else is doing.’

  ‘He must be somewhere.’

  ‘Of course he’s somewhere, somewhere in America or in Europe. It’s impossible to know where they might have taken him. Nobody I can get in touch with would know.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Wait. By tomorrow things will have begun to ease out. By the day after, or the day after that, it will be simple enough.’