The Dark Design

by Philip José Farmer

  “Damn right you will!” Tom roared. He did not offer to drag him in, however. Something about the dark little man promised dire results if he were attacked.

  Nur entered. Farrington, glowering, was on his feet.

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why?” Tom said.

  “Because, when you three went to the ship, I could tell from your expressions that something was wrong. Peter was in danger.”

  “Thanks, Nur,” Frigate said.

  Tom Rider closed the door. Martin said, “I need another drink.”

  Nur sat down upon the top of a cabinet. Martin downed two shots of whiskey. Tom said, “You heard everything?”

  Nur nodded.

  Martin shouted, “We might as well stand on a deck with a megaphone and tell the whole world!”

  Tom said, “For Chrissakes! Now we got another problem on our hands!”

  “There’s no more need to kill me than there was to kill Peter,” Nur said. He removed a cigar from his shoulderbag and lit it.

  “I overheard your women saying they’d be coming back soon. We don’t have much time.”

  “He’s a cool one, ain’t he?” Tom said to Martin.

  “Like an experienced agent.”

  Nur laughed, and he said, “No. More like one who’s been chosen by an Ethical!”

  Nur said, “You may well stare. But you should have wondered a long time ago why I joined you from the beginning and have stuck with you through such a wearying journey.”

  Martin and Tom both opened their mouths.

  Nur said, “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. If I were an agent, I’d pretend to be one of the Ethicals’ recruits. Believe me, I am not an agent.”

  “How do we know you’re not? Can you prove it?”

  “How do I know you two aren’t agents? Can you prove it?”

  The captain and the first mate were flabbergasted.

  Frigate said, “When did the mysterious stranger talk to you? And why didn’t he tell Tom that you were in on this?”

  Nur shrugged thin shoulders.

  “He appeared shortly after his visit to Tom. I don’t know exactly when. As for the second question, I don’t know the answer.

  “I do suspect that the Ethical may not be telling the truth. He may be lying in that he is telling us only a part of the real situation. Why, I don’t know. But I am intrigued.”

  Martin said, “Maybe we should just leave these two behind.”

  “If you do,” Nur said, “Peter and I will take the high road, and we’ll be at the tower afore ye.”

  “He’s paraphrasing Bobby Burns’ song, the one you sing so often,” Tom said to Martin.

  Martin grunted, and he said, “They wouldn’t be agents of the enemies of your visitor, Tom. Otherwise, we’d have been turned in long ago. So, we have to believe them. I still don’t understand why the Ethical didn’t tell us about Nur.”

  Tom proposed a toast to their newfound band, and they drank. By then, they heard the women on deck. The men were laughing at one of Martin’s jokes when the women came into the cabin, but they had had time to arrange a meeting later in the hills.

  The next day they met with Podebrad, who introduced them to his engineering staff. They launched at once into the specifications of the blimp.

  Frigate pointed out that what they would build depended on their goal. If they just wished to get near the headwaters, they would need an airship large enough to carry enough fuel to take them there. It wouldn’t have to have a ceiling of more than 4572 meters or 15,000 feet. If they wished to get over the mountains that ringed the polar sea, they’d have to build one which could rise 9144 meters.

  That is, if the stories of their height were true. No one really knew.

  It would take much longer to design and build a rigid dirigible for the longer, higher flight. It would require a much larger crew and, hence, more training. At higher altitudes, the engines would need supercharging. Besides, the winds there would probably be stronger than the lower winds. Too strong. The zeppelin would have to carry oxygen supplies for personnel and engines. That made the load heavier. And there was the problem of the engine freezing.

  It would be nice if they could use jet engines. These, however, were inefficient at low altitudes and speeds. Airships couldn’t use them unless they went to higher altitudes. Unfortunately, the metals needed for jet engines were lacking.

  Podebrad coldly replied that a big rigid dirigible was out. He was interested only in the smaller nonrigid type. This would go over the mountains, keeping at a height of +2.4 meters or 13,000 feet. He understood that the mountains sometimes rose to 6096 meters. The ship would just go along them until it came to those of lesser height.

  “That would require more fuel, because it would make the trip longer,” Frigate said.

  “Obviously,” Podebrad said. “The ship will have to be big enough to be prepared for that.”

  It was clear that Sinjoro Podebrad was the boss.

  The next day Project Airship was started. It was completed in eight months, four less than estimated. Podebrad was a hard driver.

  Nur asked Podebrad how he would find Virolando without charts.

  The Czech replied that he’d talked to several missionaries who’d originated there. According to their accounts, Virolando was near the arctic region in which The River flowed downstream. It was an estimated 50,000 kilometers from the headwaters and shouldn’t be too difficult to identify from the air. Since it was on the shores of a very large lake with a rough hourglass shape, and it contained exactly one hundred tall rock spires, it would be impossible to mistake it for another lake.

  That is, it would be unless it had a duplicate somewhere else.

  Afterward, Frigate said, “I got my doubts about his being a Chancer. Those I’ve met have been very warm, very compassionate. This guy could give a refrigerator lessons in freezing.”

  “Perhaps he is an agent,” Nur said.

  The others went numb at the thought.

  “If he were, however,” Nur said, “wouldn’t he want to build a high-altitude zeppelin to get over the polar mountains?”

  “I don’t think an airship could get that high,” Frigate said.

  Whatever he was, Podebrad was efficient. Though he failed to find any airship pilots, he did have enough engineers to man a dozen vessels. And he decided that the pilots would train themselves.

  Three crews were picked so that if any person dropped out for any reason, there would be enough replacements. It was during the ground training that Frigate, Nur, Farrington, Rider, and Pogaas began to have their doubts. None of them knew much about engines, which meant they’d have to be trained. Why should Podebrad use them when he had experienced engineers and mechanics?

  He planned on a crew of only eight. But, true to his promise, the five from the Razzle Dazzle were assigned to the first crew. Podebrad went along on every trip, though ostensibly only as an observer.

  Frigate was nervous when he took his first flight, but his experience as a balloonist helped him overcome his stage fright.

  One after the other, the crews trained. Then the big, semirigid blimp took several shakedown flights of 600 kilometers roundtrip. It went over the four ranges of mountains, enabling them to see valleys they had never seen before though they were practically next door.

  The night before the flight, the crews attended a big party given in their honor. The crew of the Razzle Dazzle, minus the women of the captain, first mate, and Frigate, were there. The women had gotten angry, understandably so, because they were being forsaken. Though they had already taken other lovers, they hadn’t forgiven their former cabinmates.

  Nur had arrived at New Bohemia without a woman, so he had nothing to feel bad about.

  Shortly before midnight, Podebrad sent everybody home. The ascent was to be made just before dawn, and the crew had to be up even earlier. Farrington’s party bedded down in a hut near the huge bamboo hangar, and, aft
er some chatter, went to sleep. They had expected Podebrad to announce his resignation and departure at the party. But it was obvious now that he intended to wait until he was in the ship.

  “Maybe he thought he’d be lynched,” Martin said.

  Frigate was the last to fall asleep, or, at least, he supposed he was. Martin might be faking slumber. Though he had not shown any fear, he still did not like being aloft.

  Frigate tossed and turned, too high strung to relax. Sleep always came hard before important events, just as it had the nights before he played football or ran in a track meet. Too often, the insomnia had resulted in fatigue the next day, and so he had not been up to his full potential. The very worry about not being good enough had ensured that he would not be.

  Besides, having flown airplanes in the U.S. Army Air Corps when young and balloons in his middle age, he knew the dangers they could encounter.

  He awoke from a light sleep to hear motors roaring, propellers spinning.

  He rolled out of bed and opened the door and looked out. Though he could see only fog, he knew that there could be only one source of the noise.

  It took a minute to rouse the others. Clad only in kilts and wearing long, thick towels over their backs, they dashed toward the hangar. Several times, they ran headlong into huts, and many times stumbled. Finally, as they came up the slope of the plains, their heads were above the fog.

  In the bright starlight, they saw what they had feared.

  Men and women stood around on the ground, sleepily cheering. These had hauled out the big blimp on ropes. Now, their work done, they were watching the ship rise slowly. Suddenly, water ballast was discharged, drenching many of them. More swiftly now, the cigar shape rose, its nose turned upRiver. Lights in the cabin, set below the long, triangular keel that ran beneath the vessel, blazed. They could see Podebrad’s profile through a port.

  Howling, cursing, they ran toward the dirigible. But they knew they could do nothing to prevent its departure.

  Farrington grabbed a spear leaning against the side of the hangar and threw it. It fell far short and almost hit a woman. He threw himself on the ground and beat the grass with his fists.

  Rider jumped and yelled and shook his fists.

  Nur shook his head.

  Pogaas howled curses in his native language.

  Frigate wept. Because of him, the others had wasted nine months. If only he had not thought of the blimp, they would be 50,000 kilometers or so farther along on their voyage.

  The worst of it was that the Razzle Dazzle had been sold. Not for a song. For five hundred cigarettes and much booze and some personal favors.

  Later, they sat gloomily around near a grailstone, waiting for it to erupt and fill their grails. The New Bohemians around them were a noisy crowd, discussing and cursing their late chief. The ex-crew of the Razzle Dazzle and the airship were silent. Finally, Martin Farrington said, “Well, we can always steal my ship back.”

  “That wouldn’t be honest,” Nur said.

  “What do you mean, not honest? I wasn’t thinking of just taking it without paying for it. We’d leave them just what they paid for it.”

  “They’d never agree to the deal,” Tom said.

  “What could they do about it?”

  There was a flurry of activity, silencing them for a moment. A man had announced that the council had elected a new head of state. He was Podebrad’s second-in-command, Karel Novak. There was some cheering, but most people felt too depressed to work up much emotion.

  “Why do you suppose he shafted us?” Martin said. “We were as good blimp men as anybody else, and he promised us.”

  Frigate said, his voice near breaking, “The truth is, I wasn’t as good a pilot as Hronov and Zeleny. Podebrad knew that if he rejected me, you’d all raise hell. So he just took off without us.”

  “The dirty sneak!” Tom said. “Naw. That isn’t it. Besides, you’re good enough.”

  “We’ll never know,” Martin said. “Say, do you think Podebrad could be an agent? And he somehow found out about us and so left us behind, our thumbs up our tochises?”

  “I doubt it,” Nur said. “He could be one. Perhaps he originally intended to build a fast steamboat to get up The River. Then we came along and put a bee in his bonnet: the blimp. But we’re the ones who got stung.”

  “If he was an agent, how’d he find out about us?”

  Frigate raised his head. “That’s it! Maybe one of the women we sloughed off overheard you two talking. You did get pretty loud when you were talking in your cabin sometimes. Maybe Eloise or Nadja heard you talking in your sleep. For revenge, they told Podebrad all, and he decided he didn’t want us along.”

  “Neither one of them could keep their mouths shut about it,” Tom said. “They’d have spilled the beans to us long ago.”

  “We’ll never know,” Martin said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah?” Tom said. “Well, if I ever catch up with Podebrad, I’ll break his neck.”

  Farrington said, “First, I’ll break his legs.”

  “No, I want to build a six-story house,” Frigate said. “With only one window in it, in the top story. Then we’ll execute him by a method peculiarly Czech. Defenestration.”

  “What?” Tom said.

  “Throw him out the window.”

  Nur said, “Fantasy revenge is a good method of relieving anger. It’s better, however, not to feel the need for revenge. What we must do is to act, not blow off steam.”

  Frigate got swiftly to his feet. “I got an idea! Nur, will you take care of my grail for me? I’m going off to see Novak.”

  “You and your ideas!” Farrington shouted. “They’ve got us in enough trouble! Come back here!”

  Frigate kept on walking.

  Slowly, majestically, the Parseval moved above the chasm. Its nose was up, and it’s propellers were angled upward. The wind that ripped out of the hole dipped down when it hit the edge of the canyon top, and the dirigible had to keep from being gripped by the downdraft. Cyrano had to calculate the force exactly, keeping the airship at the same altitude, aimed at the center of the arch-shaped hole. A slight error could result in the great craft’s being dashed down against the edge of the canyon and broken in two.

  Jill thought that, if she were the captain, she would not have risked this entrance. It would be better to circle the mountain, to search for another gateway. However, that meant using much more fuel. Battling such strong winds, the motors could burn up so much that there would not be enough left to return to Parolando. Perhaps the ship could not even get to the Mark Twain.

  Cyrano was sweating, but his eyes were bright and his expression eager. If he was scared, he did not look so. She had to admit to herself that he was, after all, the best one in this situation. His reflexes were the swiftest, and he would not freeze with panic. To him, this must be much like a duel with swords. The wind thrust; he parried; the wind riposted; he counterriposted.

  Now they were in the thick clouds raging from the hole.

  Suddenly, they were through.

  Though still blinded by fog, they could read the radar-scopes. Before them was a sea, 1 kilometer below. Around it circled the mountain. And ahead, in the center of the sea, 48.5 kilometers away, a little over 30 miles, was an object which reared high above the water, though still dwarfed by the mountain.

  Cyrano, looking at the CRT on the panel, said, “Behold the tower!”

  The radarman, seated before his equipment on the port side, confirmed the sighting.

  Firebrass ordered that the ship be taken to 3050 meters altitude, somewhat over 10,000 feet. The propellers could not be swiveled horizontally to lift the ship faster because it had to fight the wind.

  However, as they rose, they found that the wind lessened. By the time the ship had reached the desired altitude, it could proceed straight ahead. Now its estimated ground speed was 80.50km/h, over 50 mph. As it neared the tower, it picked up more velocity.

  The sky was brighter than at dusk,
lit by both the weak sun and the clustered stellar masses.

  Now the radars could sweep the entire sea and touch the top of the most distant wall. The nearly circular body of water was 97 kilometers across or somewhat over 60 miles in diameter. The opposite wall was the same height as the nearer one.

  “The tower!” Firebrass exploded. “It’s 1.7 kilometers tall! And 16 kilometers wide!”

  In old-style measurements, that would have been slightly over a mile high and almost 10 miles in diameter.

  There was an interruption. The chief engineer, Hakkonen, reported that the hull was collecting ice. It was not, however, on the windscreens of the control room, since they were made of an ice-resistant plastic.

  Firebrass said, “Take her down to 1530 meters, Cyrano. The air’s warmer there.”

  The River, entering the sea, still carried much heat even after its passage through the arctic regions. In this deep, cold cup the waters surrendered warmth, so much that the temperature at 1524 meters or 5000 feet was 2 degrees above Centigrade. But higher up, the moisture-heavy air was an ice trap.

  While the dirigible was lowered, the radar operator reported that the interior of the mountain was not as smooth as the exterior. There were innumerable holes and bulges, as if the makers of the mountain had not thought it necessary to finish off the inside.

  The narrow ledge described by Joe Miller had been detected by the radar. It led from the top of the mountain to the bottom. There was another narrow ledge leading along the base of the sea, ending at a hole about 3 meters wide and 2 meters high.

  No one commented on this. But Jill did wonder aloud why the big hole through which the dirigible had entered had been made.

  “Maybe it’s for their aerial craft, if they have any,” Firebrass said. “It could be used to keep from having to fly over the mountain.”

  That seemed as good a reason as any.

  Piscator said, “Perhaps. However, the flash of light that startled Joe Miller so much could not have come from the sun’s rays going through the hole. In the first place, the hole is darkened by that cloud stream. In the second place, even if the sun’s rays had flashed through, they would not have illuminated the top of the tower. Joe did say that the fog was momentarily blown aside. But even so, the rays would not have reached the top of the tower. And if they had, he would have had to be in a straight line with the rays and the tower.