Genellan: Planetfall Part 15

"Yes," Jook said, "but in the meantime, we should not overlook other opportunities. Let us return to this matter of the aliens. Our Minister of Internal Affairs believes the second invasion was different-"

"Yes, we were prepared," Gorruk interrupted. "We intercepted and destroyed the alien invaders before they came close enough to attack."

"But who were they, General?" Jook asked. "How come they to fly between the stars? Were they the same race that attacked out planet four hundred years ago? Who knows? But we should pay heed to Et Kala.s.s' s activities. Our n.o.ble friends have even gone to the expense of funding a expedition to Genellan."

"I have heard of this alien mystery ship!" Gorruk said. "A waste of time and money. Even if true-which I doubt-any alien ship-wrecked on that ice planet is long dead. We can ill afford to expend energy sniffing about for alien bones. We have a war to plan and execute."

"Where is your curiosity, General?" Jook asked.

"I am a soldier.. .not a scientist," Gorruk answered.

"Nevertheless, General," Jook said, "Old Kala.s.s is up to something. I desire you to watch our good minister's actions. Let us not discount Genellan too readily. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is something there. It would be wise to have an agent on the scene. You can do something, can you not?"

"I always send the best," Gorruk snarled.

Chapter 19.

Exploration "Everyone's talking about your argument, Sharl," Hudson said, plopping down next to her on the lake beach. "You went thermal."

"d.a.m.ned difficult to have a confidential discussion around here," she replied.

"Sorry I b.u.t.ted in, but we heard you yelling and thought you were in trouble. You were about as confidential as a collision alarm."

"Sound carries up in those rocks," she said.

"Particularly swear words," Hudson mumbled.

"I got pretty cranked up, eh?" She laughed. "Well, I'm not sorry."

"The commander looked angry. Very angry."

"He'll get over it," she said, her smile fading. "I had to get him to stop moping about his wife. To start making decisions. And if he wasn't going to start exploring for a better place to settle, then I sure as s.h.i.t was. MacArthur says there's a valley down the river that has everything we need, and MacArthur knows what he's talking about. This plateau is going to be frozen h.e.l.l in less than three months."

"Everyone's with you, Sharl. They know you're right," Hudson said, "but nuking the commander sure made them nervous. Thought Shannon was going to wet his skivvies when you ordered both of them on patrol."

She chuckled and lay backwards, stretching out in the firm sand. A fleet of wooly clouds pa.s.sed in review, highlighting the dark clarity of the stark blueness. Two stars twinkled dimly at the zenith. Unseen, a jumping fish made a noise like a hollow barrel being thumped. A flock of tiny gray birds, common now with the maturing summer, flitted low over the sh.o.r.e, swerving to avoid the earthlings. A flower moaned somewhere.

"I wonder if it will make any difference?" she said presently. "What? Shannon wetting his-?" Hudson turned to face her. "This planet's longer day and year. Will we live longer, too?" "Why should that make any difference?" Hudson answered, bending over to pick up another rock.

"Why not?" Buccari mused. "Our bodies might adjust to the daily and annual cycles. Our bodies may choose to live the same number of days, or maybe the same number of winters. That could mean we might live ten or twenty percent longer in absolute time."

"Nice dream, but I don't think so," Hudson replied, walking to the water's edge. "The body won't know the difference."

"I'm not so sure. It may take a few generations to make a difference. If nothing else, we're sleeping the same six to eight hours every day, so we get an extra two point two three hours of waking time. The percentage of time we sleep has gone down."

Hudson contemplated her logic. "You might have a point, Sharl. But I bet we have to pay it back somehow. You don't get something for nothing."

"Even the months are longer," Buccari remarked, "a.s.suming you use the big moon as the reference. It takes thirty-two days between full moons."

"Actually the little moon might be more convenient," Hudson said, throwing the rock into the lake. "Takes fourteen days to cycle. We double the period and have a twenty-eight day moon month just like on Earth. Whatever, it's sure nice to have long summer days."

"Let's see how we feel after spending a winter here. A winter like we've never seen. We need to get off this plateau."

The patrol halted at the rise next to the cliff edge. MacArthur wiped perspiration from his forehead and looked up to see cliff dwellers soaring across the cloudless sky. Two creatures glided much lower than the others. He slipped off his pack, unzipped a side pocket, and pulled out a small notebook.

"Now what do we do?" Pet.i.t asked.

"We leave this," MacArthur said. "Gotta' find the mailbox." "Let me see the book, corporal," Quinn ordered.

"Yes, sir," MacArthur said as he handed it over. He watched the commander carefully. The skipper had been moody since leaving the camp. "Lieutenant Buccari and Mr. Hudson did a really good job, sir."

"Looks like a comic book," Pet.i.t said, looking over Quinn's shoulder.

"From the mouth of an expert." MacArthur laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Pet.i.t snarled.

"Just a joke," MacArthur said, smiling.

"Why ain't I laugh-?"

"Cut it out, you two," Shannon ordered, walking back from the plateau's edge. Shannon's moodiness since leaving camp had been no less heavy than the commander's.

"That's about what it is-a comic book," Quinn said, breaking the tension. "Lieutenant Buccari doesn't think we'll ever be able to speak their language, or they ours, so she prepared this notebook of icons and cartoons as a first step in communications."

"It looks like they aren't accepting deliveries," Shannon remarked.

"Lieutenant Buccari said we should put up a cairn of rocks, seal the book in a utility pouch, and leave it," MacArthur said. "What do you think, Commander?"

"Do it," Quinn replied, handing the book back. "Let's get going. I'm anxious to see this valley you and Chastain keep talking about."

Their task completed, the patrol moved along the jumbled cliffside, stopping to fill their canteens in the river.

"Trail starts over here," MacArthur said, looking out over the dizzy traverse. The river crashed over the precipice behind them. They descended the narrow ledge, hugging the cliff wall for the rest of the day. At last the trail flattened and mercifully turned away from the river gorge, providing a place to make camp. In the twilight MacArthur looked out across the plains to the twin volcanoes in the distance, still far below his elevation.

Morning came quickly and was pleasantly warmer than the frosty plateau mornings, promising a hot day. After a long morning of dusty, downhill hiking, the patrol came to a thinly forested tree line; there the trail switched back to the northwest, descending sharply to the river. MacArthur noticed a narrow valley on the opposite bank. Below them the powerful watercourse jogged sharply to the north, necking down to a turbulent constriction.

"Chastain and I intercepted the trail up higher," he said, relaxing in the spa.r.s.e shade of some firs. "I haven't seen any of this."

"Options?" Quinn asked, looking down the steep trail.

"The valley is three days from here, downstream," MacArthur said. "If we stay high, it's downhill all the way. If we go down this trail to the river, we'll have some serious climbing later on."

"What do you think, Sergeant?" Quinn asked. "Do we follow this path and see if it tells us anything, or do we head for MacArthur' s valley?"

"We should check out the neighborhood," Shannon said.

Quinn pointed downhill. MacArthur pushed off without further discussion. As he made his way down the steep path the corporal glanced into the blue skies and saw two motes circling high overhead.

"We're being watched," he said, pointing out the flyers.

"You think they got Lieutenant Buccari's book?" Shannon asked.

"You think they can really read?" Pet.i.t asked. "They're stupid animals."

"You can read, can't you?" MacArthur chuckled. "Sort of?" "Bite my-"

"I told you to cut it out," Shannon snapped. "Especially you, Mac."

"Sorry, Pet.i.t," MacArthur apologized. "But someone patched me up, and if it ain't those ugly b.u.g.g.e.rs, then something else lives up there."

Pet.i.t grumbled an acknowledgment.

"Let's move," Quinn ordered, taking the lead.

The rocky trail fell precipitously as it reached toward the river, switching back and forth across the face of the gorge. MacArthur saw the bridge long before the patrol reached it. Shrouded in river mist, the bridge spanned the river at its darkest and narrowest point, reaching almost two hundred meters in length. At its lowest point the bridge was fifty meters above the frothing white torrent. Upstream, at a level higher than the bridge, the river crashed over tall cataracts, throwing thick mists into the air, obscuring the view and making conversation impossible. Downstream, swirling waters careened between the gorge walls, swinging to the north and out of sight.

The immensity of the plateau was even more spectacular from this lowest of vantage points. Rock walls mounted vertically, their imperceptible slant exaggerating a sense of infinity with incredible perspectives. The sun, just past its zenith, was already setting behind towering cliffs, and river mists fractured the rays of light, sending improbable rainbows across the chasm.

MacArthur again detected two cliff dwellers gliding through the mists, heading for wet rocks above the bridgehead on the opposite side.

"Suspension...chain link...!" shouted Quinn over the river's roar.

MacArthur examined the fist-sized links and followed the converging and diverging catenaries of the support cables as they swooped down from the cliffs on either side of the river. Parallel chains came out of the bedrock at his feet, forming a narrow bridge bed. Wooden treads, slick with moisture, were firmly attached at half-pace intervals, presenting more open s.p.a.ce then floor. The view of the roiled water through the bottom of the bridge was unnerving.

MacArthur checked the chain cables for corrosion but found only traces of oxidation. Some of the mist-chilled and dripping links appeared newer than their neighbors, as if they had been replaced. The workmanship was rough and unpolished, but the individual links were well forged and continuous. He placed a foot on the first tread and tentatively tested his weight. The bridge was solid. MacArthur walked across, gingerly avoiding a misstep into the tread gaps. The others followed, one at a time. The river below served notice of its power, not that MacArthur needed reminding.

Once across there was no place to go but to follow the trail. It tracked upstream along the steep cliffside of the opposite bank for a hundred paces and then climbed sharply to a point where the rock wall of cliff plunged sharply to meet it. Reaching the bottom of the vee, they found themselves in the narrow valley observed from the heights of opposite bank. The trail leveled and meandered upward, traversing the valley's steeply sloping sides, making for a distant point at the head of the valley. Small stands of yellow-barked fir sprinkled the vale, but for the most part, the rock-strewn valley was devoid of vegetation.

They walked through the afternoon, stopping next to a rock-bottomed brook that defined the fall line. The trail leveled, and intermittent patches of taiga prairie grew larger and more continuous. Behind them the plateau was undiminished-a ziggurat hanging high over their heads. Craning his neck, MacArthur turned to scan the ma.s.sif, subconsciously taking a step rearward. Upstream, the face of the plateau curved gracefully away until it presented its profile, revealing the irregularity of its surface. Terraces, overhangs, prominences and craggy pinnacles ranged along the silhouetted granite.

Flows of steam emanated from the river, climbing in snaky streamers from the base of the cliff. The thick tendrils ascended on humid air currents and merged with other wisps and vapors appearing to vent from the cliffs themselves. As the afternoon breezes died and the temperatures dropped, the veils of steam visibly thickened and grew more persistent, approaching and occasionally ascending past the crest of the cliffs-thin, black wisps against the yellow gold of the evening sky. The shadowed cliff face turned gray and flowed upwards.

MacArthur forced his gaze from the steam-faced colossus. The rivulet they had been following had diminished to a trickling, flower-shrouded seep. MacArthur stood erect and sniffed. "You smell it?"

"Smell what?" Pet.i.t asked. "All I can smell are my own armpits."

"Animals, millions of them," MacArthur replied. "Musk oxen or buffalo, or something. When we get to the top you'll see them, and, man, will you ever smell them."

"Commander," Shannon said, biting at the air like a big dog. "We should make camp for the night as soon as we get to the top. I don't see much benefit in hiking out on the plains. We're totally exposed. No campfires tonight."

"You call the shots out here, Sergeant," Quinn answered.

Daylight retreated. The insidious pressures of the spreading openness nagged at the men, their discomfiture exacerbated by the looming presence of the plateau at their backs. They finally walked upon the spreading prairie, and as they walked the smell took on a metallic palpability, a foreboding essence. The patrol topped a tundra-covered hillock and the distant herd of musk-buffalo came dimly into view. The humans studied the serenely grazing animals.

"Phew!" Pet.i.t moaned. "We ain't going to camp in the middle of this s.h.i.t stink are we?"

"Stow it, Pet.i.t," Shannon said.

"I gotta' agree with Pet.i.t on this one, Sarge," MacArthur said. "Why don't we head back to the spring and make camp. The smell wasn't too bad back there. Shouldn't take us more than a half hour. Tomorrow we go back and pick up the trail to the valley."

"Sounds good to me," Quinn agreed. "What do you think, Sarge?"

"I just want to get off this open ground," Shannon said. He took one last look at the musk-buffalo, turned about, and started walking toward the river; the others followed. The horizon line formed by the plateau was high above them, a starkly black silhouette against the last deep red tints of twilight. A thick flight of first magnitude stars already sparkled overhead. Darkness descended, and the rolling hills of the taiga plains lost their definition in the dusk.

"What's that?" Shannon gasped. "Look! Up there! And there-"

"Yeah!" Pet.i.t whispered. "I see 'em. Lights, all over the cliff."

The men stood as statues, staring at the solid blackness rising before them. Faint lights, subdued glows, flickered intermittently along the face of the cliff. The yellow-tinted emanations faded and returned, screened by the currents of steam wafting vertically. Faint, almost imperceptible lights, were sprinkled across the face of the plateau, lending it a magical, ephemeral quality. The face of the plateau ceased to be rock but instead became a galaxy of stars, embedded with shifting constellations.

"That's worth the walk," Quinn whispered.

Braan listened to the long-legs' exclamations and understood their awe. The lights of the cliff had been a source of strength and a beacon of safety for countless hunters returning from the limitless plains.

"What are you thinking?" Craag asked.

"They have seen our homes," Braan said. "We have little left to hide."

"Goldberg's pregnant," Lee said quietly, matter-of-factly. "She's what?" Buccari asked, a little too loudly. "Pregnant, sir."

Buccari looked at Lee with wonderment, as if the medic had two heads. "But, how?" she blurted, immediately feeling as stupid as her question.

"Cruise implants don't last forever, sir," Lee sighed patiently, "especially in full planetary gravity. Goldberg was due for overhaul last month. Mine's due in six months, Dawson in about three. If memory serves, yours is due in less than a year. With this much gravity, who knows?"

"d.a.m.n!" Buccari whispered. "Who's the father?"

Lee glanced into the bright blue skies and rolled her large almond eyes back into her head. The cool breeze teased her growth of shiny black hair. "Might be easier to say who isn't," she replied, raising well-formed eyebrows. "We'll have to wait for family resemblances to tell us, or a DNA test if we ever get back to civilization. She thinks Tatum."

"Good grief!" Buccari said. "Commander Quinn will be p.i.s.sed...when and if his d.a.m.n patrol ever returns." She looked up and scanned the rim of the plateau. The men were three days overdue.

"Well, I wouldn't be too hard on her," Lee said meekly.

"What? I'd think you'd be the angriest," Buccari responded. "Or at least the most worried. You're the one that has to deliver the baby. Or can you..."

"An abortion?" Lee asked, as if she had not even considered the option. "Too risky. I wouldn't know what to do. Too risky." "What will Commander Quinn say?"