CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
As dawn approached, they were still on the ridge leading down from the plateau, following the same route that the Scout had taken on the first contact journey, but having covered less than half the distance that Keene had estimated. With the runabout’s fuel cells almost exhausted and its yellow-black marking designed for easy visibility, they couldn’t afford to stay up on such exposed ground any longer. It was imperative to find some kind of concealment where the diesel generator could be fitted without inviting detection from search probes.
The ridge ran roughly north-south, and consisted for the most part of heavy flood deposits laid over the scarp of a tilted crustal block falling gradually in the westward direction toward the coastal plains of the newly forming African Sea. Naarmegen’s plan had been to head that way, seeking some kind of temporary haven in the valleys lower down. The eastern side, by contrast, formed the edge of the uplift and was steep and rugged, with faces shaped by immense fractures marking the line of the fault, and breaking lower down into a chaos of rock falls, fissures, and volcanic extrusions. But Joburg lay that way, farther south among the hills beyond the end of the ridge.
As the first light began filtering through the overcast, Keene steered toward the east, looking for a way down. “Why don’t we give that a try?” He waved his hand, indicating ahead and to the left. From the shelf that they were following, a ramp of loose rock and shale, with a steep drop on one side, sloped down toward a broad, gravely basin. The far side of the basin was lost in banks of early mist, and whether or not it offered any continuation on down was anyone’s guess.
“Looks pretty slippery and flaky,” Charlie said.
“It’s probably the last chance we’re going to get before the power runs out.”
“I guess that decides it, then. Go for it.”
Charlie’s caution about the descent being slippery turned out to be too true. The rocks were covered in an algal slime, which with the morning condensation turned them into skating skids. Before they were a quarter of the way down, the runabout was sliding and swerving on a moving wave of scree, its steering alternating between intermittent and nonexistent. The ramp narrowed alarmingly between the drop to the left and a bulge above, but they were carried on through by the tide of rocks converging into a funnel, while Keene wrestled the wheel without effect. Then the ramp widened but tipped outward, sweeping them toward the edge. Keene had lost all control and could do nothing but hold on and let whatever was going to happen, happen. But at the last moment the wheels grounded on the solid rock forming the rim of the drop, and he was able to crash to a juddering halt, slamming the heavy generator set into the rear of the cab behind them. Charlie let go of the hand grips to wipe his palms on the thighs of his jump suit, emitted a long, shaky breath, and managed, magnificently, to say nothing. Keene licked his lips, reengaged drive, and kicked them off back toward the ramp’s inner side.
They reached the basin to find it cut into a maze-like confusion of sandy ridges and fissures, causing frequent changes of direction and doubling back. Some parts of the depression became miniature canyons, with slopes of greasy clay giving treacherous passage past pools of oily sludge, and cracks of unknown depth. By this time Keene was watching the charge indicator anxiously. If they had to, they could have tried rigging the generator here, but the whole area was a trap for sulfurous fumes venting from belowground, stinging in the nose and eyes, and catching the back of the throat. It wasn’t a place to stop, so long as there was any choice.
By now, the ridge they had come down from was no more than a darkening of the mists behind them. The general incline of the basin floor was increasing, but more rapidly in the center which fell toward what turned out to be the head coomb of a valley. The lower reaches narrowed to a chute, while the sides rose to become walls, depositing them finally in a long, sloping amphitheater that ended in a pool fringed by banks of rocks, reeds, and mud. Keene steered gingerly along one side of the pool and halted. Before them, the pool emptied as a waterfall between rock shoulders into a boulder-choked ravine falling away below. There was clearly no way farther down from here. The only course would be back up to the basin, and to try for another route from there.
“We’ll probably be better off out on the ridges than trying to follow the streams, anyway,” Keene said. “Water takes the steepest way down.”
“As long as the ridges don’t end in cliffs,” Charlie agreed.
But for the time being, it was as good a place as any to stop and mount the generator—not that there was much option in any case, since the cells were about done.
In fact, this place was better than many they might have picked. An updraft from below the waterfall played against the vapors drifting down from the basin to create an enhanced haze above, which also helped keep the air around the pool breathable; and in its position between the rock walls, the runabout would only be visible from directly overhead. But before they would be in a condition to do anything, they needed to rest. They snacked from the supplies they had brought with them and a flask of coffee, still refreshingly warm, and then settled down to doze in the cramped cab as best they could, improvising padding and pillows from packs and folded parkas.
“A fraction more to the right… Okay, hold it right there.” Keene tapped the last bolt through the lug in the mounting frame and the hole he had drilled in the bed of the truck, while Charlie applied pressure to keep them aligned, and checked that it was sitting squarely. The generator set looked okay, although it had dented the rear wall of the cab enough to tear the metal when it had been flung forward. “That’ll do it.”
Charlie relaxed his grip. “You know, Lan, it’s as well we brought that extra drum of fuel. The way we’ve been zigzagging about and backing up already, I’m beginning to think we might need it.”
“Well, see, that’s what you get from being an engineer, not a scientist, Charlie. Scientists straddle their best guesses with error bars. Engineers assume worst-case.”
“But you were both, right? Didn’t you do theoretical work on plasma physics at Harvard?”
Keene straightened up and heaved a leg over the edge of the truck, feeling with his foot for a step to climb down. “Can you pass down the wrench and the nuts for the outside?”
“Here.”
“That’s right. But science had become an intolerant religion more concerned with putting down heresies that challenged its theories than finding out how things really were.”
“I know. I’ve seen the list. It’s been a long road from JPL to Kronia.”
“There—in that box. I’ll need the locking washers too… . At one time I used to say that science was the only area of human activity in which it actually mattered whether or not what you believed was true. In just about everything else, what was important was that you believed, not what you believed. Then I decided that scientists were no different. So I changed it to ‘engineering.’ You can fool yourself if you want, but you can’t fool nature. If you get the wings wrong, your plane won’t fly.”
Keene ducked down to locate the first of the bolt ends protruding through the truck bed. An ugly, lizard-like creature was staring with huge, unblinking eyes from a muddy niche between the rocks. Keene didn’t like the look of it. He waved the wrench at it threateningly, and it vanished between some clumps of moss. He threaded on the nut, semi-tightened it, and rose back up to collect the next.
“What’s your take on this Kronian belief in a higher power?” Charlie asked.
“The only answer I can see is that you can’t rule it out.”
Charlie nodded, but, it seemed, reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to agree but could find no alternative.
Keene went back down below the truck bed, raising his voice to continue. The air down off the ridge was heavy and muggy, making him perspire. Serengeti was well placed up on the plateau. “It’s tough readjusting when the only thing you’ve been told all your life is that the nuts and bolts are all there is to it, for no reason.”
“It doesn’t seem to have bothered you too much,” Charlie commented.
“Oh, I’ve always gotten fun out of tilting against the orthodoxy… . And anyway, a lot of it rubs off from Vicki. You’ll need to talk to her some more after the Aztec gets here.”
“I already know. She was terrific when Sariena and I visited her on Dione, with Emil Farzhin.”
There was a silence until Keene came out from under again. “Do you really think there’s still much chance of getting through in time?” Charlie asked.
“Whatever it is, it isn’t something I can change,” Keene replied.
Charlie eyed him curiously. “Have you ever given up on anything in your life, Lan?” he asked.
Keene paused to think about it. “I don’t think so, not really… . I guess I’ve always been too scared to.”
“Scared?” Charlie looked surprised. “How come?”
“It seems like one of those things where once you start, it could too easily become a habit,” Keene said.
Charlie filled the tank for the diesel, while Keene secured the electrical connections to the runabout’s drive system and set the transformer taps and rectifier control. The diesel started after a few seconds of coughing and spluttering. Keene checked the generator output, and after a couple of adjustments the motors were responding with all power indicators reading correctly. The last thing they did was camouflage the vehicle by smearing on a layer of mud, paying special attention to the bright yellow stripes, and adding some leafy sprigs and clods of grass for good measure. Keene was quite pleased with the result. “That’s it. We’re ready to go,” he announced.
But they were far from where they had planned to be by this time of day. And having to detour back up into the basin would set them back more. They agreed they would try to force a way through without going all the way back up the scree ramp to the ridge—which was probably impractical anyway. Instead, they would try to leave the basin over the shallower rise on its south side, beyond which what looked like a descending spur seemed to extend in roughly the direction they needed to take.
Jorff reported to Zeigler from Joburg that the fifteen native males of fighting age that Rakki had supplied were proving to be quick and efficient learners. Leisha was working with Rakki and Yobu to produce a map, based on their recollections of the journey they had made, showing the region where the larger cave and swamp clans lived. When they had made the best job of it they could, Zeigler would order a probe reconnaissance of the area to pinpoint the locations. From Yobu’s accounts, and allowing for growth in numbers since the exodus of Rakki and his followers, Zeigler though it might be possible to increase his force by at least a couple of hundred. And then there was the new band of survivors on the far coast to be investigated.
He had just cleared down from Jorff’s call, when the message indicator flashed again. This time it was Kelm, from the new hangar that had begun operating ground-launched probes. “We’ve found them,” he informed Zeigler.
“The Scout?”
“Right. It’s about sixty-five miles west, following the river, making for the coastal plains.”
“That was fast work. Did we get a break in the weather for once?”
“Even easier. Something on board has got a locator transponder that they didn’t turn off. I sent a probe there to confirm visually—from long range.”
“Good.” There was no point in tipping them off. “Just keep them under observation for now.”
“And there’s another thing,” Kelm said.
“What?”
“Apparently, no one’s been able to raise Keene this morning. The people who deal closest with him are vague. I have a hunch that maybe he changed his mind and went too.”
“How vulnerable are we if they have any more trouble with the power system?” Zeigler asked after a pause. “Is that second of his still here, Shayle?”
“Yes, she’s here. I checked.”
Zeigler pondered for a while. Maybe they would have to institute more stringent measures to make sure that key personnel stayed around. That was something he’d hoped to avoid until the new recruits began arriving. He couldn’t afford to have his credibility put to the test and found lacking. Hence, at this stage, letting the people in the Scout go had been preferable to trying to stop them. The risk now, on the other hand, was that it would send a message to all the rest.
“We can’t be seen not to react,” he said finally. “Have all vehicles either locked in the depot overnight, or parked on the near side of the pad area, under lights and guarded.” Kelm nodded, but his expression said that he wasn’t satisfied with it either. With all the activity going on around the base, it would be impossible to guarantee policing against one slipping away even in daylight. What was needed was an effective deterrent.
“When we decided to let them go, we said that if they got into trouble, it would act as a warning to the rest,” Zeigler went on. “It would be very convenient if something like that were to happen.”
“An accident? . . . I don’t really see a ready way of arranging one,” Kelm answered. “And an overt attack on it could hardly be disguised.”
Zeigler leaned back, rubbing his chin. “An attack by us,” he agreed.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Have you forgotten those natives out there? Violent, savagely disposed. Wouldn’t a handful of people camped out in that wilderness with all those pickings be an obvious target? Think of the effect it would have here, when we go out to intervene but are too late, and bring back the bodies. What better way could there be to convince everyone else at Serengeti to stay put? You get my point now, Kelm?”