The Spheres of Heaven

33: ASHORE AGAIN

By dawn, Chan and Deb were ready and waiting. They would have left, preferring to wait on the beach for Friday Indigo rather than pent up and restless on the seabed. But Dag Korin vetoed any such move.

“Smash on the rocks trying to get ashore, and then how much use would you be to anybody?” Korin was red-eyed and pale. He went on, “You take your marching orders from Dr. Siry. She’s been monitoring weather and sea state all night long. When she says the breakers are down to a reasonable size and it’s safe to walk through them, you leave. We’re all willing to take risks, but I won’t lose people if I don’t have to.”

It was a logical order, though not an easy one to follow. Chan and Deb donned their suits and went to the airlock; and there they stayed, hour after endless hour, listening to Elke Siry’s ominous pronouncements on surface weather.

Two hours before noon, Chan placed a call to the ship’s main control area. “General Korin,” he said, as soon as the General’s image appeared, “Friday Indigo was quite specific with us. We have to meet him at midday. He didn’t say what would happen if we weren’t there, but the Mallies can probably destroy this ship any time they want to.”

Korin sniffed and traced with his forefinger the pattern of scattered droplets of water that beaded the desk in front of him. “This place is doing a pretty good job of disintegrating without any help from anybody. What’s your point, Dalton?”

“Deb Bisson and I ought not to wait any longer. The wind has dropped and the waves are less. We should risk a landing.”

“Dr. Siry?” Korin turned to someone out of the camera’s field of view.

“Wind velocity is close to zero,” said Elke Siry’s voice.

“So why not—”

“But there’s still a strong sea-swell. I would estimate that the breakers are well over two meters.”

“Everywhere on the shoreline?”

“No. I am referring to the place where our party is to meet Captain Indigo. It’s better farther south, on the inlet where the Mood Indigo was lifted ashore.”

“Very good.” Korin turned back to Chan and Deb. “Give it a shot. Try to the south if you have to, and if it’s too rough—”

“General.” Elke Siry’s voice broke in. “I recommend against any such attempt. The chance of being caught in an undertow—”

“Thank you, my dear,” Korin said mildly. “Not your call, I’m afraid.” He spoke again to Chan and Deb. “I don’t need to tell you what to do. You’re no use to anyone dead. If it’s too rough, wait in deeper water, head more to the south, or come back. I’m not going to second-guess you.”

“Yes, sir.” Chan cut the connection at once. Deb was already heading for the lock. She said, “Once we’re in the water, if he changes his mind he won’t be able to tell us about it. Come on.”

They waited impatiently while the lock filled, then opened the outer hatch and dropped together to the seabed. Their landing stirred the fine bottom silt into an opaque cloud.

Deb’s voice carried faintly to Chan’s helmet. “Set your suit’s inertial guidance unit for fifty meters due east. The sediment will die down by then. We’ll be able to see each other, and I’ll take us from there.”

Chan paced steadily forward into darkness, keeping the yellow arrow in his helmet display exactly in line with the green one. When the guidance unit had reduced to zero distance, he halted. He turned on his helmet lamp, and saw only gray opacity.

“Deb?” His voice vanished to nothing, as though he stood alone in an empty universe. “Deb, I can’t see a thing.”

“Nor can I.” She sounded close by. “Visibility was fine when I brought Friday Indigo to the Hero’s Return.”

“It must be the storm. The wind has died down, but the water here is shallow enough for the swell to disturb the bottom mud. How far are we from the shore?”

“Three to four kilometers. We’re on the coastal shelf so it will be shallow all the way in. We can’t be far apart now, but if we keep moving independently we’ll get separated. Stand still. I’m going to walk in a spiral pattern until we meet.”

Chan waited. It seemed a long time, standing rigid and hearing only the sound of his own breath, until Deb’s hand was grasping his arm. His helmet display told him that it had been less than three minutes.

Deb said, “So far so good,” and without releasing her grip she moved until they were visor to visor. “We hang on to each other and use just my suit’s inertial navigator. I’m going to angle us south of east. That will bring us ashore too far to the right, but Elke says the waves will be less there. Once we’re on land we can walk back north to meet Indigo.”

“Let’s go.” Almost before he spoke, Deb was moving away across the sea floor. She didn’t need Chan to tell her that Friday Indigo’s deadline was less than an hour and a half away.

It was difficult to walk fast across the silty seabed. Chan had reset his own helmet distance indicator, and before they had moved half a kilometer he knew they were in trouble. He held Deb’s arm and forced her to halt.

“This won’t do. We’ll never make it in time.”

“I know. But there’s nothing we can do about it. We have to keep going and hope that Indigo won’t mind that we’re late.”

“There’s another answer. I talked to Liddy Morse, and when they first went ashore they rose up to the surface and used their suit jets from there.”

“That was in a calm sea. If we try that close to shore we’ll be smashed to pieces.”

“Not if we wait for the right wave, and ride in on it.”

“We’re lost in the multiverse, and you want to go surfing ? All right. Tell me what to do first — and don’t let go of me.”

“Increase your suit’s internal pressure by ten percent. That will inflate you enough to carry you up.”

Chan followed his own advice. His ears popped as the pressure increased, and a few seconds later he felt his feet lift clear of the bottom ooze. As he rose the water became clearer. Faint green light bled in from above. He could see Deb at his side, her suit bulging larger than usual. Their heads broke the surface at the same time.

It was full daylight under a yellow-green overcast of cloud. In Limbo’s low gravity the heavy-water sea heaved slow and sluggish, like thick, dark oil. Chan and Deb had emerged in the trough of a long, smooth wave which slowly lifted them until they could see across the whole expanse of rolling water. Before they started the descent into another trough they saw, a few kilometers to the east, the white breakers that marked the presence of an invisible shore.

“Low thrust at first,” Chan said. “Otherwise you’ll tend to drive yourself under. Bony told me that it’s better to push too soft than too hard.”

He released his hold on Deb and they began to experiment. It took a few tries to reach a setting of suit jets that carried them up and down the watery slopes rather than plunging straight into and through them. Then the time for experiment was over. Life became a roller-coaster ride across the heaving surface, with one eye on the clock and the other on the approaching shore.

Just outside the line of breakers they halted in unison and stared at the beach. Chan said, “Elke was an optimist. Three-meter waves or more. I’ll give it a try first.”

“Did you ever do this before?”

“No.”

“Well, I did. Legacy of a wasted youth. And Indigo wants to talk to you, not me. My job was to bring you ashore. If I get hurt it’s no big deal to him. Watch closely.”

Before Chan could argue she was away, driving her hard-inflated suit across the water like a giant surfboard. Beyond the line of the first breaking wave, she paused. Five waves passed. As the sixth wave began to arch and build, she turned and flew laterally across the weft, riding along and into the curl for what seemed like minutes. At the last moment she vanished into the foam. She must have deflated her suit in that same instant, because after a hair-raising delay Chan saw her rise from the spray and walk forward to the dry shingle.

It looked easy. Chan did his best to imitate her. He jetted to a point close to where the waves began to swell, and waited. For what? He wasn’t sure, but Deb must have seen something different in each one. Five waves swelled, reared, and broke. Finally he became impatient and drove into and along the curl of the sixth one.

At first it was smooth and simple. He was skimming along sideways and forwards at a vast speed, under the curving crest of the advancing wave. Then suddenly the breaker arched right over his head, and he was speeding down a dark, narrowing tunnel. He felt himself turn until he was upside down. Before he could use the suit jets to right himself, a mountain of water dropped on his back and drove him onto the unyielding shingle. Even with his padded suit, the impact hurt. He rolled over and over as surf erupted around him. Then another force was dragging at his body, pulling him back toward the sea. He grabbed at the shore with his gloved hands and scrabbled desperately forward. As the wave’s suction lessened he managed to heave himself a few yards farther toward the shore. He was still in the water, but clear of the danger zone.

Deb was sitting on the beach in front of him, beyond the reach of the waves. She said, “Well, that was really elegant. Any bones broken?”

Chan had just enough strength to shake his head.

She reached out a helping hand to lift him to his feet. “Come on, then. According to my suit’s inertial guidance we’re a bit too far south and it’s only ten minutes to midday. Don’t want to keep Captain Indigo waiting.”

She led Chan away along the beach. As he recovered his breath and equilibrium he was able to take notice of their surroundings. The strip of pebbles along which they walked was much narrower than on the satellite images. Because of either storm or tides, the dark, surging water and sterile black rock were now no more than twenty meters away from each other. The thin strip of gray beach dwindled into the distance. Where it vanished and rock and sea appeared to merge, a suited figure stood like a crooked statue. It was facing seaward, the face hidden by the open helmet.

The statue remained motionless until they were only a few paces away. Then it turned, and Chan saw Friday Indigo’s dead eyes and fish-white countenance.

“Very foolish.” Indigo ignored Chan’s gesture of greeting. “A very unwise move. Did you know of it?”

“Know of what?”

“The escape. That was The One’s conclusion, that you could not know of it. Lucky for you. If it had been otherwise, there would have been no point in meeting. The One believes that there is still a purpose to be served in speaking with you, but had she thought that you knew of the escape, you and your ship would have been destroyed. However, The One makes it clear that this is your final chance.”

“Who escaped?” Chan wondered what effect this might have. The trouble with all desperate plans was that they were at the mercy of chance events.

“The two humans who were captured yesterday. They escaped during the night. Do not concern yourself, they can do no harm and for the moment The One is ignoring them. They’ll be recaptured, of course, as soon as it’s convenient. But evidence that humans cannot be trusted leads to changes in our procedure. You.” He turned to face Deb. “Since we know nothing of your loyalty, you cannot be allowed to remain ashore. You will return to your ship.”

“In seas like that?” Chan pointed to the breaking waves.

Indigo turned to him, slowly and painfully. “She came ashore. She can also leave. Now.”

Chan tried again. “Be reasonable. She’ll be killed.”

“I do not think so. The sea is becoming steadily more calm. And this is not subject to negotiation. She must go.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Deb said. “I’ll manage.” She sealed her helmet at once and waded into the sea until she was up to her mid-thighs. As the next wave broke she dived forward into it. Chan watched and waited for many seconds, but she did not reappear.

“And you.” Indigo showed no interest in Deb from the moment when she vanished into the wave. “Are you the chosen negotiator for your party?”

“Obviously. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“You will probably be acceptable, but you are not The One’s preferred choice. The senior member of the party, the General, would have been better.”

“I have General Korin’s full authority to negotiate.”

“We will have to hope so. For all your sakes. Come on.” Friday Indigo limped away inland. Chan, following, thought that the man looked in worse condition than on the day before. How much longer would Friday Indigo be able to operate without medical treatment — and who would the replacement “translation unit” be when Indigo became too decrepit to serve that purpose?

Ten kilometers to the west, Chrissie and Tarbush were doing their best to make nonsense of Friday Indigo’s confident prediction. As Chrissie put it, “Anybody who catches us will have to work at it.”

The first hour offered few choices. The dry gully they followed led steadily upward, first turning north and west, then curving back southward. Either they followed it, or they must hack their way through the tough scrub on either side.

Tarbush insisted on carrying the big supply case by himself, along with every container of water they could find. Even in Limbo’s weak gravity that was a heavy load. As the sun rose, fierce blue light penetrated the canopy of leaves. The air became intolerably hot. As they ascended farther the floor of the gully gradually turned from dry gravel to black, glutinous mud. Tarbush trudged on in silence, back bowed and face dripping sweat.

Twice he refused an offer of help from Chrissie. She was ready to repeat it for a third time when she noticed the way that he responded to every rustle in the bushes around them. His expression was hopeful, not wary. She did not volunteer assistance again. Carrying the awkward load was Tarbush’s chosen penance, an expression of guilt for abandoning Scruffy. Chrissie knew it was no use trying to tell him that they’d had no choice.

She fell back a few steps to the rear, making her own survey of the dense vegetation on either side. She thought she glimpsed the purple-black wings of a Tinker, just one component, but before she could be sure it vanished into the shadows. When she turned her eyes again to the way ahead, Tarbush seemed to have shrunk. She heard him say, “Damn mud.” Then, “Chrissie, stay back!” He suddenly lost another foot of height.

They had been plowing through the black mud for ten minutes, and what Tarbush was standing on now looked no different; but he was sinking into it, slowly and steadily. Already it was above his knees.

Chrissie ignored his cry, jumped forward, and grabbed at the bulky supply case he carried on his back. She shouted, “Tarb, let go the straps — the weight is pushing you down.”

She heaved at the pack, falling over backwards as it came loose. When she was on her feet again, Tarbush had sunk farther. The mud was already to his mid-thighs. He had done the right thing, leaning far backward to spread his weight. Chrissie flattened herself and crawled forward until she felt herself beginning to sink. The mud was more liquid than solid. She reached as far as she could and gripped his outstretched hands.

“I’ve got you, Tarb. Can you ease yourself out?”

“Dunno. Let me give it a try.”

Chrissie braced herself. Tarb gripped her hands and began to pull. He was enormously strong, and he seemed to move a few inches toward her. But then she was slipping forward.

“Not so hard, Tarb, or I’ll be in with you.”

The pressure eased. They lay still, he on his back and she facedown in the mud.

“Seems like we got us a little problem,” he said after a few moments. “If I don’t pull hard on you, I don’t come out. If I do pull hard, you come in. Maybe we’re worrying too much about nothing. Maybe this quicksand stuff isn’t all that deep, and if I let myself go I’ll stop at my waist.”

“And suppose you don’t stop? You’re not going to try anything like that. Are you sinking now?”

“Don’t seem to be. I’d say I’m right about where I started. Question is, where do we go from here?”

“Tarb, can you let go with one hand without sinking?”

“Only one way to find out.” He released his left-hand grip, increasing the force on Chrissie’s other arm until she could feel her shoulder socket creak. “Seems all right. Don’t seem to be moving.”

“Good. Can you work your suit controls one-handed?”

“I can.” He lay in silence for a few seconds, his actions invisible to Chrissie as she sprawled at full length. “There we are. I’ve got the gauntlet pad working. Now what?”

“Use the controls to seal your suit at the waist, so the top and bottom halves can be independently pressurized. Then inflate below the waist — hard.”

“Will do.” After a few seconds of silence he said, “Ouch. That hurts. How hard?”

“As hard as you can stand. We want the lower half to inflate like a balloon. Then its natural buoyancy might help lift you out.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. But I’m inside that balloon, and there’s things down there below my waist that I’m very fond of.”

“I’m fond of them, too. But I value what’s in the upper half of your suit a whole lot more. Increase the pressure, Tarb. The suit can take it, so can you.”

“The suit doesn’t feel it like I do.” He gave a series of grunts, then a final, “I’m going to pull now. If that isn’t enough, I’m stuck here forever.”

Chrissie flattened her face into the mud for extra traction, gritted her teeth, and hung on. Tarbush had her hands in his. He gave a monstrous heave that had her skidding forward, and then suddenly the force on her arms was less.

She raised her head. In front of her she could see Tarbush, flat on his back. Beyond him, rising up beyond his waist, was a great misshapen hemisphere of mud. It was his suit, grossly inflated below the waist.

“I’m half out,” he said. “But what now? I can’t move my legs, and I can’t look any way but up.”

“Hang on.” Chrissie wriggled backwards a few inches. She pulled, as hard as she could. After a moment when nothing happened, Tarbush’s inflated figure slid a few inches toward her. She did the same thing over and over, until she could see from her own boot marks that they were past the danger point.

“You’re all right,” she said. “You can deflate the suit if you want to.”

“If I want to!” There was a huge hiss of escaping air. After a few seconds Tarbush gave a matching sigh and sat up. Chrissie crawled to his side. Together they stared at the innocent-looking stretch of mud in front of them.

“I guess that we won’t be using the gully any more,” Chrissie said. She stood up and stretched high, trying to peer over the edge of the bank. “So what’s our alternative?”

Tarbush remained seated. He stretched over to the pack and pulled out Elke Siry’s map. “We do it the hard way. We go due east. It won’t be fun. The land is all ups and downs, a mixture of steep cliffs and deep valleys, plus some things that Elke couldn’t identify at all from the space images. Hmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing we can do anything about. But I notice that according to Elke’s notes on the map, we’re still a kilometer short of the area that she marked as Badlands.”