by Andre Norton
And in that same instant a dark object swept by, so close that Dane leaped back, certain it was going to graze the ramp. The beat of the motor was loud, then it thinned, to grow into a roar once more as the shadow appeared for a second time, circling closer to the ground.
It landed with an audible, smacking grind which suggested that the fog spoiled distance judgment. And to the foot of the ramp came three figures which continued to be muffled shapes until they were nearly at the hatch.
“Man—oh, man!” Rip’s rich voice came to the ears of the watchers as he halted to pat the side of the ship. “It’s good to see the old girl again—Lordy, it’s good !”
“How did you make it back through this?” Dane asked.
“We had to,” the astrogator-apprentice told him simply. “There was no place back in the ranges to set down. Those mountains are straight up and down—or they look that way. We got on the beam—except when—say, what’s the cause of that interference? We were thrown off twice by it. Couldn’t cut it out—”
Steen Wilcox and Tau followed him at a slower pace. The Medic moved wearily, his emergency kit in his hand. And Wilcox had only a grunt for the reception party, pushing past them to climb to control. But Rip lingered to ask another question.
“Ali—?”
Dane retold the story of what they had discovered in the valley clearing.
“But how—?” was Rip’s second puzzled question.
“We don’t know. Unless they went straight up. And it wasn’t space enough to hold a flitter. But look how those crawler tracks ran straight into the cliff. Rip, there’s something queer about Limbo—”
“How far was that valley from the ruins?” the astrogator-apprentice’s voice lost much of its warmth, it was quieter, with a new crispness.
“We were nearer to those than to the Queen. But the fog hit us on the way back and we didn’t see them—if we did pass over the location.”
“And you couldn’t raise Ali on the com-unit after that one interrupted signal?”
“Tang’s been trying. And we kept open all the time we were out.”
“They might have stripped that off him at once,” Rip conceded. “It would be a wise move for them. He could give us a fix otherwise—”
“But could we get a fix on a com-unit? On one which no one was using—” Dane began to see a thin chance. “That is if its power was still working?”
“I don’t know. But the range would be pretty limited. We could ask Tang—” Rip was already on his way up the ladder to where the com-tech was on duty.
Dane glanced at his watch, making a swift calculation squaring ship time with hours measured on Limbo. It was night. Suppose Tang was able to pick up a call from Ali’s com-unit— they could not trace it now.
They did not find the com-tech alone. All the officers of the Queen were there and again Tang was holding the earphones well away from his head so that they could hear the discordance which beat out from some hidden point in the fog-bound world.
Wilcox spoke as the two younger men came in. “That’s it! Cut right across the rider beam. I got two fixes on it. But,” he shrugged, “with the atmospherics what they are and this soup covering everything, how accurate those are is a big question. It comes from the mountains—”
“Not just some form of static?” Captain Jellico appealed to Tang.
“Decidedly not! I don’t think it’s a signal—though it may be a rider beam. More like a big installation—”
“What kind of installation would produce a broadcast such as that?” Van Rycke wanted to know.
Tang put the earphones down on the snap desk at his elbow. “A good sized one—about as big as the HG computer on Terra!”
There was a moment of startled silence. An installation with the same force as HG on this deserted world! They had to have time to assimilate that. But, Dane noted, not one of them questioned Tang’s statement.
“What is it doing here?” Van Rycke’s voice held a note of real wonder. “What could it be used for—?”
“It might be well,” Tang warned, “to know who is running it. Remember, Kamil has been picked up. They probably know a lot about us while we’re still in the dark—”
“Poachers—” that was Jellico but he advanced the suggestion as if he didn’t really believe in it himself.
“With something as big as an HG com under their control? Maybe—” but Van Rycke was plainly dubious. “Anyway we can’t get out and look around until the fog clears—”
The ramp was drawn in, the ship put under regular routine once more. But Dane wondered how many of the crew were able to sleep. He hadn’t expected to, until the fatigue produced from the adventures of the past twenty-four hours of duty pushed him under and he spun from one dream to another, always pursuing Ali through crooked valleys and finally between the towering banks of the HG computer, unable to catch the speeding engineer-apprentice.
His watch registered nine the next morning when he approached the hatch open once more on Limbo. But it might have been the depths of night—save that the grey of the mist was three or four shades lighter than it had been when he had seen it last. To his eyes however it was as thick as in the hour when they had returned to the ship.
Rip stood halfway down the ramp, wiping his hand on his thigh as he lifted it from the dripping guide rope where the moisture condensed in large oily drops. He raised a worried face to Dane as the other edged along the slippery surface to join him.
“It doesn’t seem to be clearing any,” Dane stated the obvious.
“Tang thinks he got a fix—a fix on Ali’s unit!” Shannon burst out. He reached once more for the guide rope and faced west, staring out into those cottony swirls hungrily as if by will alone he could force the stuff away from his line of vision.
“From where—north?”
“No, west!”
From the west where the ruins lay—where Rich’s party were encamped! Then they were right, Rich had something to do with Limbo’s mystery.
“That interference was cut out sometimes early this morning,” Rip continued. “Conditions must have been better for about ten minutes. Tang won’t swear to it, but he’s sure himself that he caught the buzz of a live helmet com.”
“Pretty far—the ruins,” Dane made the one objection. But he was as certain as Rip that if the com-tech mentioned it at all, it was because he had been nine-tenths sure he was right. Tang was not given to wild guesses.
“What are we going to do about it?” the cargo-apprentice added.
Rip twisted his big hands about the rope. “What can we do?” he wanted to know helplessly. “We can’t just go off and hope to come up against the ruins. If they had a caster on it would be different—”
“What about that? Aren’t they supposed to keep in touch with the ship? Couldn’t a flitter get to them riding in on their caster beam?” Dane asked.
“It could—if there were a beam,” Rip returned. “They went off the air when the fog came in. Tang has been calling them at ten minute intervals all night—had the emergency frequency in use so they’d be sure and answer. Only they haven’t!”
And, without any caster beam to guide it, no flitter could pierce this murk and be sure of landing at the ruins. Yet a com-unit had registered there—perhaps Ali’s—and that only a short time ago.
“I’ve been out there,” Rip pointed to the ground they could not see from the ramp. “If I hadn’t had a line fastened I’d been lost before I got four feet away—”
Dane could believe that. But he knew the restlessness which must be needling Rip now. To be kept prisoner here just when they had their first clue as to where Kamil might be—! It was maddening in a way. He edged down the slippery ramp, found the cord Rip had left looped there, and took an end firmly in hand, venturing out into the grey cloud.
The mist condensed in droplets on his tunic, trickled down his face, left an odd metallic taint on his lips. He walked on, taking one cautious step at a time, using the rope to keep him orient
ed.
A dark object loomed out of the grey and he neared it warily, only to recognize it with an embarrassed laugh as one of the crawlers—the one which had made the journey back and forth to deliver Rich’s material to his chosen camp site.
Back and forth—!
Dane’s hand closed on the tread. What if—? They couldn’t be sure—they could only hope—
He used the cord to haul himself back to the ramp, the need for haste making him stumble. If what he hoped was true—then they had the answer to their problem. They could find the camp, make a surprise descent upon the archaeologist, a descent which the other might not be prepared to meet.
There was the ramp and Rip waiting. The astrogator-apprentice must have guessed from Dane’s expression that he had discovered something, but he asked no questions, only fell in behind as the other hurried into the ship.
“Where’s Van Rycke—Captain Jellico?”
“Captain’s asleep—Tau made him take a rest,” Rip answered. “Van Rycke is in his cabin, I think.”
So Dane made his way to his own superior officer. If only what he hoped was true ! It would be a stroke of luck—the best luck they had had since that auction had brought them this headache which was Limbo.
The cargo-master was stretched out on his bunk, his hands behind his head. Dane hesitated in the doorway but Van Rycke’s blue eyes were not closed and they did roll in his direction. He asked a question first:
“Have you used the crawler in the past two days, sir?”
“To my knowledge no one has—why?”
“Then it was only used for one purpose here,” Dane’s excitement grew, “and that was to carry Dr. Rich’s supplies to his camp—”
Van Rycke sat up. Not only sat up, but reached for his boots and pulled them on his feet.
“’And you think that the fix has been left on that camp. It might just be, son, it might just be.” He was tugging on his tunic now.
Rip caught on. “A guide all ready to go!” he exulted.
“We hope,” Van Rycke applied a cautious warning.
It was the cargo-master who led the way out of the Queen once more, back to the parked crawler. The low slung cargo shifter was standing just as Dane had left it in the shelter of the Queen’s fins, its blunt nose pointing forward, out of the enclosure of the fins, to make a quarter turn to the west! The auto-fix was still on the camp. Dane took a running jump for the slow moving vehicle and brought it to a stop. But it was on a line which would take it, fog or no fog, straight to the camp where it had carried supplies two days before. And it would provide an unerring guide for men roped to it. They had a chance now to locate Ali.
The cargo-master made no comment but started towards the Queen, the others following. Dance glanced over his shoulder at the crawler.
“If we had one of those portable flamers—” he muttered and Rip caught him up on that.
”A sonic screamer would be more to the point!”
Dane was startled. A flamer could be used as a threat or a tool with which to force one’s way into a fortification. It need not be a weapon. But a sonic screamer—there was no protection against the unseen waves which could literally tear a man apart. If Rip wanted a screamer he must fear real trouble. Since the Queen was a law abiding ship and carried neither fitting the point must remain purely academic.
Van Rycke climbed to control. And as he rapped at the Captain’s private cabin they could hear the screaming of the Hoobat. Jellico opened the panel, his face wearing a weary frown. Before he greeted the cargo-master he slapped the cage of the blue creature, setting it to oscillating crazily, but the shaking up did nothing to discourage the throat splitting squalls.
The cargo-master watched the frenzied Hoobat. “How long has Queex been acting that way, Captain?”
Jellico gave the caged captive a baneful glare and then stepped into the corridor away from the din.
“Most of the night. The thing’s gone mad, I think.” He shut the panel and the shrieks were muffled. “I can’t see what sets it off like that.”
“Its hearing range goes into the super-sonic, doesn’t it?” Van Rycke persisted.
“Four points, But what—” the Captain bit off that “what” and his eyes narrowed. “That blasted interference! Do you suppose that’s sonic?”
“Could be. Does Queex howl when it cuts out?”
“We can see—” Jellico made as if to return to his cabin but Van Rycke caught his arm.
“Something more important on the launching cradle now, Captain.”
“Such as what?”
“We’ve found a guide to take us to Rich’s camp.” Van Rycke explained about the crawler. Jellico leaned against the wall of the corridor, his face impassive. Van Rycke might have been reciting the table of cargo stowing.
“Could just work,” was his only comment when the cargo-master concluded. But he did not appear in any hurry to put it to the proof.
Once more the crew assembled by order in the mess room— without Tang, who stayed by the com. When Jellico came in he was holding a small silver rod, fastened to a chain locked on his belt.
“We’ve discovered,” he began without preliminaries, “that the supply crawler is still on auto-beam to Rich’s camp. It can act as a guide—”
He was answered by a murmur which separated into individual demands to know when they could start. But these died as Jellico hammered the rod on the table top for their attention.
“Lots—” he said.
Mura had them ready, slips of white straw he dropped into a bowl and stirred about with his finger.
“Tang has to stay with the com,” Jellico reminded them. “That leaves ten of us—the five with short straws go—”
The steward passed around, holding the bowl above eye level of the seated men. Each, Dane noticed, palmed his choice, not even looking at it. When all had one they opened their hands together displaying their luck.
Short straw! Dane felt a thrill—was it of pleasure or apprehension. He looked around to see who would be his companions on the trip. Rip—Rip’s straw was also short! And so was the one between Kosti’s grimed fingers. Steen Wilcox showed the next, and the last was Mura’s.
Wilcox would be in command—that was good. Dane had every confidence in the taciturn astrogator. And it was odd how luck had ruled. In a way, those whom fate had chosen were the most expendable of the crew. Should disaster strike, the Queen could safely lift from Limbo. Dane tried not to think of that.
Jellico grunted when he found himself ruled out of the expedition. He got to his feet and crossed to the wall on the right. There he applied the rod, unsealing some concealed panel. There was a grating sound as if some catch had not been activated for a long time.
Then a rack was revealed—a rack of hand blasters! And below them holster belts swung on pegs, full refills glinting evilly in the light. The arsenal of the Queen, which could only be opened when the Captain deemed the situation highly serious.
One by one Jellico lifted out blasters, passing each in turn to Stotz who inspected it closely, flipping the charge slot open and shut before putting it down on the table. Five blasters, five belts complete with recharges. It appeared that Jellico expected war.
The Captain closed the panel and locked it with that master control rod which by Federation law could not leave his person day or night. Now he returned to the table, facing the five who had been chosen. He gestured to the arms. By training they knew how to use blasters, but a Trader might not have to carry one more than once in a lifetime among the stars.
“They’re all yours, boys,” he said. And he needed to add nothing to impress upon them just how bad he considered their task to be.
CHAPTER NINE:
BLIND HUNT
Once more Dane put on his field equipment, making a fervid promise to himself as he adjusted his helmet that this time his com would be on—all the time. No one had said anything to him about his slip-up in the valley. He had thought that his carelessness would conde
mn him to the side-lines. Yet here he was being given a second chance, merely because he had been lucky in the drawing. And no one had challenged his right to go out. So it was up to him to prove that their confidence was not misplaced.
Since the fog was as heavy as ever there was no day or night outside. They ate a hot and nourishing meal before they tramped into a gloom which their watches told them was mid-afternoon.
With the weight of the blaster resting unfamiliarly against his thigh, Dane followed Rip as Shannon tagged Wilcox’s heels down the ramp. Kosti and Mura were already busy at the crawler.
There was room for one man, two if they crowded, on the flat surface of the small vehicle. But since the platform had no sides and there was nothing to cling to in order to keep from sliding from its fog-slick surface on the rough terrain, the party was content to be infantry, attaching themselves to the guide by lengths of rope.
Kosti triggered the starter and the crawler ground forward, its treads crushing gravel and bits of porous stone. The pace was that of a walk and none of them had any difficulty keeping up.
Dane looked back. Already the Queen had vanished. Only a radiance high in the mist marked the searchlight which under ordinary conditions could be seen for miles. It was then that he realized what it would mean to lose touch with the crawler, and his hand tugged the rope which tied them together, testing its safety.
Luckily the ground was fairly even and only once did they have to slip and scramble over one of the rivers of slag. The man who had piloted the crawler across the waste on its first trip to the ruins had chosen the best path he could find.
But they became aware now of another peculiarity of the fog—the noises. Whether those were the sounds they made, flung back and magnified, or some other natural change, they could not tell. But several times they paused, Kosti snapping off the crawler, and listened, sure that they were surrounded by another party moving confidently through the murk, that they were about to be the focus of an attack. But when they so halted the sounds ceased, and it was only when they plodded on once more that the sensation of being dogged by unseen travellers grew strong again. After those two stops, by mutual and unspoken consent, they ignored the noises and pushed on, seeing each other as shadows, the ground under their boots visible only for inches.