Wildcatter

Days 411-412

During the next two days, Seth had to explain it over and over to everyone except JC, who just wanted a sample and a video of the flag being planted. After that, whatever Duddridge might think he had found, Galactic would have to deal with JC. Seth Broderick’s survival was not important—and in fact would be detrimental to the financial bottom line. Remembering how easily the commodore had given in and granted him that extra two-and-a-half percent, Seth wondered if he might have signed his own death warrant.

The others came at him in groups or one at a time. Seth couldn’t see why everyone else was so excited. He even failed to get his point across to Jordan that evening. The captain dragged him into his cabin and produced a bottle of high quality whiskey, potent stuff. Then he tried his damnedest to talk Seth out of going downside at all.

“But this was always the plan,” Seth said. “I’m the prospector, this is my job. Yes, Galactic screwed up. Two women and a man lost, that’s tough. But we can learn from their mistakes. JC is right when he says Cacafuego needs heavier, tougher shuttles. If I can send back a sample with any pharmaceutical promise at all, Mighty Mite will find the money to build them.”

Jordan was more cynical. “JC just wants to score off Galactic. He’ll be all over the media. The multinational run away, but the great JC Lecanard and his little Mighty Mite start-up company persisted. They tamed the killer planet. Triumph of a lifetime.”

“Jordie!” Seth said. That was the name he used when they were in bed together, it came close to insubordination when they were officer and crewmember. “I’m not doing it for JC. I’m doing it for me.”

“You won’t get a mention.”

“I don’t want a mention. I want to be choke-on-it rich. Apart from that, I’m my own audience.”

“You’ll be your own chief mourner, too.” The captain refilled the glasses with a generous hand.

“Stuff it! I thrive on adrenalin with a side order of testosterone. Gives me a hard-on, so I go for it, whatever it is.”

“Reese is right. You’re crazy.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Seth said. “I don’t mean to worry you.” Being worried about was a very strange experience. Unique. “I’ll be all right.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I’d miss you.”

Seth drained his glass just to give himself a coughing fit. It didn’t help. As soon as he got his breath back he found that he had to go on. “Nobody’s ever… I’m not used to… I don’t know how to say this. I know ISLA tested us for claustrophobia and we all rated zero, but I am heartily sick of living in this pill box.”

“We all are.”

“So I dream of all the things I’m going to do when we get home. Even if all we walk away with is two years’ back pay, I feel like I’m going to blow it all and then go back to being a bouncer, if that’s all I can find. Bungee jumping, mountain climbing, scuba caving… the wilder the better… Lordie, Jordie, in my dreams you’re always there with me. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re special. Never met anyone… Oh, balls! Now I’m drowning in clichés. I don’t care what anatomy you’re sporting, you’re the best company I ever known. I get along better with you than anyone else I’ve ever met. I know this will sound absurd in this time and place, but if we both get home alive and rich, then I’ll ask you to marry me.” It sounded so odd, he said, “That’s the truth, Jordie. Mean it.”

Jordan did not look startled, so he must have foreseen this madness. He shook his head sadly.

“Shipboard romances never wear well.”

“This one will, I promise.”

“No one I’d rather shack up than you, Seth. For a while, certainly. Years, maybe, but marriage won’t work. Once in a while a herm and a woman make it, but herm and man never. Men resent being cut off every second month. And sooner or later they want kids. We’re sterile. You know that.”

“So we’ll adopt. I am one hundred percent serious. Marry me!”

Jordan shook himself, or perhaps just shivered violently. “Go and first-foot Cacafuego, Seth. Come back safely, please, please come back safely! Bring the Holy Grail back with you and anything you want in the galaxy will be yours.”

“Including you?”

“If that’s your choice.”

Seth said, “Good.” Then he changed the subject. He could discuss anything with the female Jordan, but man-to-man sentiment made him uncomfortable.

Hanna cornered him in the mess when he’d just sat down to eat breakfast. Her red hair blazed like a warning beacon.

“We have only one shuttle.”

He wanted to say that he’d already noticed that, but his mouth was full of cherry Danish, so he just nodded.

“One landing may be a justifiable risk, but two is tempting fate. If it crashes the second time, you’ll be stranded down there forever.”

Or the first time, ditto. He swallowed and tried yet again to explain that a single grab sample would be very unlikely to provide reliable data on the planet’s pharmaceutical potential. A dozen varied samples gathered over a visit of several hours would be a million times more valuable. He didn’t mention that Control had now confirmed seeing a storm surge reach as far inland as the Apple site. The good news was the sea would have brought in samples for him to pick up. The bad news was that next time it might collect him for its own use.

Hanna was as stubborn as a squeaky floorboard, but she could recognize when she had met her match. “Why are you doing this, Seth?”

“For money.”

“Money to do what, Seth? Buy women? Big houses? You think those will make you happy?”

“Haven’t thought about happy,” he admitted. Happiness was doing crazy things, so he was happier now than he had ever been. “I’m doing this because I signed a contract. I gave my word. It looks dangerous, yes, but it’s doable and while I don’t go to church every week, I do regard my word as sacred.”

“You squeezed more money out of JC.”

“Yes, but if he’d balked and called me on it, I’d have gone down anyway.” He wondered if that might even be true.

“What comes after, Seth?”

“More of the same? You come with me on my next jaunt?”

The Big Nothing was notoriously addictive. Few wildcatters ever readjusted to life downside when they got back. Even those who struck it rich on their first voyage often went back out again to hunt for bigger dreams, for El Dorado or the Fountain of Youth, the jackpot beyond the rainbow. He could, of course, ask Hanna why she was back in space, having made a small fortune on her first trip out. He didn’t. Nor did he explain to her that danger gave him a thrill in his groin.

Hanna sighed. She was a very pretty woman.

“I shall pray for you, Seth.”

“Don’t you always?”

She bristled. “Pray for your safe return, I mean. I always pray that you will see the error of your lecherous ways.”

Lecherous? He? Seth Broderick? He was behaving like any healthy male animal would in the presence of mature mating partners. He was tempted to suggest she go and exchange notes with Reese about sexual peculiarities.

Golden Hind orbited Cacafuego in less than an hour. It rarely passed directly over Sombrero, but the unmanned probes' limited sensing ability contributed some data. Control was gradually building up a picture of tide and weather patterns.

As the forecasts became less erratic—they would never be truly reliable—Seth kept perfecting his plans. He could hope for a minimum stay downside of three hours, but he must allow for eight or nine as more likely. That was half a day for Cacafuego’s nineteen-hour rotation. If the weather turned nasty all bets were off, but he would die of thirst or infection before he starved. His K333 suit would protect him from heat stroke, and the climate was not as extreme at that latitude as it was at the poles.

The main reason for choosing Apple, of course, was that Galactic had chosen it, and their fleet would have had more advanced remote scanning equipment than Golden Hind did. Apple had one of the cryptic “villages” and Maria was offering fifty-fifty odds that there was a pool of open water beside the wrecked shuttle. Pools were always promising collection sites.

The team conferred and chose alternative target sites: Banana, Cherry, and Damson, all selected more because they lay along an extension of the likely flight path to Apple, than because they seemed any better. Cherry offered another of the strange “villages”. Banana and Damson lay in the lea of mountain ranges, which might provide some shelter from storms.

Seth spent hours in the prospector’s storeroom, deciding what he must take with him, adding and subtracting gadgets and equipment. Nobody bothered him there, but the choices did. How many spare breathing filters? He must take a stun gun in case he saw some small fauna that he could capture. Was taking the blazer as well worth the extra weight? In the end he decided to leave out the blazer. Golden Hind’s telescope should detect any animal life larger than a small pony and had not done so. A stun gun would stop anything smaller than that. How much drinking water? How many samples would he be able to carry?

Maria cornered him in the showers that evening while he was cleaning his teeth.

“Seth? Lover boy?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her image in the mirror, admiring the way her nipples stretching the thin fabric. She idled fingers down his bare back.

“Apart from JC,” she said, “everyone aboard is totally opposed to what you’re planning: Jordan, Hanna, Reese, and me.”

“Whittington’s cool. I promised you’ll feed her double while I’m gone.”

“Is there anything we can offer to make you change your mind?” She was wearing a come-on expression, but Maria always wore a come-on expression. She honestly didn’t know that, and never understand why men pestered her so much.

“Nothing. Not a trillion dollars.” What in space would impress Maria? “Even you can’t offer me what Cacafuego offers—fame, immortality! There will be species named after me, chemicals, minerals. And my humble contribution may lead to great scientific discoveries!”

She did not seem impressed. Her fingers slid around to his abs. “You’re such a great stud, Seth, the most exciting man I’ve ever—”

She was interrupted by an announcement from Control.

—Prospector, as requested, this is a four-hour forecast of a window of calm conditions at Site Apple. Launch window is open for next twenty-two minutes.

Seth’s heart leaped. His groin thrilled. He forgot Maria; this was better.

“Control, start loading shuttle fuel. Excuse me, love. That’s my cue.”

He was still pulling on his top when he reached the mess. Everyone else was there, having been playing a four-handed game of 3-D backgammon. Obviously they had heard the forecast, or else they had primed Control to warn them when it warned him, because they all tried to crowd around and speak at once.

“Sorry, can’t stay! Business.” He plowed through them, heading for the elevator. He was stopped at the galley door by JC’s mighty bellow:

“Prospector!”

“Sir?”

“It is traditional that the master names the shuttle.”

Recalling Reese’s sneer about barrels, Seth said, “Niagara.” He stepped through the door and was gone.

Launching a shuttle ought to be a deliberate, meticulous procedure. In this case he and Control had already done everything that could be done in advance. By the time he scrambled into his chair, Control was showing the remaining items of the checklists on the display and proceeded to read them out as they were completed or reached significant marks.

—Fuel loading, sixty percent complete.

—All hatches secured.

—Sixteen minutes left in launch window.

—Battery power ok.

—Fuel loading, seventy percent complete.

—External radiation acceptable.

—Fuel loading, eighty percent complete.

—Ten minutes left in launch window.

—Revised weather forecast: unacceptable.

That was a punch he had not seen coming. For a moment he was tongue-tied. When he found words, they came out in a croak. “What’ja mean ‘unacceptable?’”

—Torrential rain and winds above shuttle specifications are now predicted for Site Apple at estimated time of touchdown.

“How much above spec?”

—Double.

If that were a human voice, he would think it was mocking him.

“Abort launch. Unload fuel.” He was dismayed to realize that he was soaked in sweat and his heart was racing around his chest, beating on his ribs as if trying to escape. Shame on him!

“Tough one,” Jordan’s voice said from the screen. “But the stars will line up again soon.”

About four hours into Day 412, the stars did line up and Seth had to start over, running along the corridor before he was properly awake. That time the launch was aborted even before he reached the cab. He went back to bed happily, knowing that he would have a few hours’ respite now, while Golden Hind’s orbit took it out of shuttle range of Site Apple. When he awoke, the downside weather was worse than ever. Close to noon he was called again and had to abort at T minus three minutes—another hurricane winding up.

Jordan called a conference that evening.

Seth saw no smug faces around the table. They were all feeling the strain, but they all seemed sympathetic, even JC. No one suggested he give up. They knew he wouldn’t.

“You can’t keep on like this,” Jordan said. “I know you’ve got titanium nerves and antifreeze blood, but no one can take this kind of jacking around for long without losing their edge. You’ve got to have some down-time. Ten hours off every night, at least.”

He nodded. It made sense. The planet wouldn’t go away. “I’ll make that change tomorrow, if I’m still here. I’m not starting to crack yet.” He forced a grin. “But I am really getting pissed off!”

Maria said, “We’ve checked Control’s weather records, and there truly are no patterns, as the Galactic commodore said. The Coriolis forces are huge and the temperature gradients enormous. Control’s invented the Category Seven hurricane, and tracked three of them.”

Hanna took over. “The problem is that the weather cannot be predicted more than three hours in advance, at best, which isn’t long enough for your needs. Another strategy would be to launch to an unstable orbit that would take you down slowly, over two or three days. From there you could make a faster approach when the weather looked good.”

But if he missed out on all four targets, he’d have to use fuel to boost his orbit, which in turn meant he would have to return to Golden Hind to refuel, and Hind didn’t carry enough spare for him to start over. So then he’d be limited to the one-shot plan that he’d rejected earlier. His danger bonus would pop like a soap bubble.

“I don’t like it,” Jordan said. “He’d be sitting by himself in that barrel. Here at least he has company. He can eat properly and exercise. There’s no hurry. We can stay here for months if we have to.”

Seth was saved from having to decide right then by Control.

—Prospector, as requested, this is a four-hour forecast of…

Seth emptied his water glass and stood up. “Control, start loading shuttle fuel.” This time he would walk, not run. “Gotta go, friends.”

“Good luck!” Jordan called.

“We’re praying for you.” That was Hanna, of course.

“We’re betting on you.” That was JC.

He scrambled into the cab.

—Fuel loading, seventy percent complete.

—All hatches secured…

He knew it all by heart now; he could sing along if he wanted to. He tried not to watch the fuel gauge. Cacafuego was just rising over the edge of the ship’s disk, blue and white and patches of green. Very beautiful; very deadly. He hunted for Sombrero Island among the white loops and whirls. He was taken by surprise when a tone sounded and the screen flashed green text: Ready to launch.

Gulp.

“Niagara to Golden Hind. Request clearance to launch.”

“You are cleared to launch, Master.” Jordan.

“Bring me back a diamond.” That was Reese, with a joke that must be older than she was.

The START button lit up. Seth pushed it and was on his way.

Niagara rose gently and almost silently, just a slight vibration. Once clear of the ship, it turned to shed orbital velocity. He watched the edge of the disk go by, then the greater mass behind it, in the part they called the tower, the tokamak generators. He watched for signs of damage, but saw none and had not expected to.

In a few minutes he had left the ship behind and was floating over the planetscape of Cacafuego. He felt almost drunk with joy. He had achieved his life’s ambition, to go exploring in the Big Nothing. He could even cling to the illusion that he was alone, although the back of his mind knew that five people were watching his progress very carefully. He hoped—for their sakes almost more than his own—that they wouldn’t have to abandon him the way Commodore Madison Duddridge had deserted his people.

JC’s voice: “Commodore to Master. Don’t forget to plog. Gotta keep the kiddies happy. Commodore out.”

Seth muttered an obscenity. A plog was a prospector’s log, and a valuable part of the expedition record. The contract required him to record a commentary during EVA, and he ought to start now. Traditionally, the rights to the plog belonged to the person who made it, and there were many sly rumors of prospectors who had made more money out of their plogs than their employers had made out of the voyages.

He talked for a while about the view, his lifelong ambition to be a prospector, and the dangers of bad weather. He mentioned that Galactic had lost prospectors but was careful not to hint that they had been marooned. Then he signed off to prepare for landing. He fetched his EVA suit and left it handy. He put his two bags by the rear hatch, where he could kick them out.

“Control, report weather forecast for Site Apple.”

—Calm at estimated touchdown and for one hour thereafter.

“It seems that the weather window is narrowing,” he told his plog. “The ship’s computers cannot predict this planet’s weather more than an hour or two ahead. A strong gale would wreck this shuttle once it’s on the ground, and a Category One hurricane is a mild breeze by local standards. I need a clear two hours’ sampling. As soon as I land, therefore, I will send Niagara back to the mother ship to refuel…”

He was a private, self-contained person and hated this mindless, anonymous chatter.

He was eating a sandwich, which might be his last meal for a long time, when Control announced go-no-go point for an Apple descent. The decision was his, but out of courtesy he called home.

“Niagara to Golden Hind. You see any problems?”

Jordan’s face appeared in the viewer. “Negative. All looks clear to us for a landing and prompt take-off. Good luck, Master.”

“Thanks. Start synthesizing a roast ox for the banquet tomorrow. Niagara out. Control, landing confirmed. Use cold-skin approach.”

The cold-skin approach would waste more fuel, exuding it from pores in the hull to cool it, but he had fuel to spare now that he was committed to the first choice landing site, and the faster his exit from the shuttle, the less time it must sit on the ground and be vulnerable.

A short burst of the rockets began the final descent into the atmosphere. He stripped and put on the EVA suit. It was a marvel of technology and plumbing, light and comfortable, yet strong enough to stop a shark’s bite, airtight, air-conditioned, and able to change color when needed. Cameras on the helmet would send a visual record of anything he looked at back to Golden Hind. His heartbeat and other personal statistics would also be reported. He attached a scoop, knife, water bottle, sample wipes, and the stun gun. By the time he had checked all the circuits and gadgets, Control was warning him to strap in for turbulence. The shuttle had begun final approach, angling down over a blue enamel sea.

“I hope you can make out those whitecaps, and there are some shapes over to starboard that look to be whale-sized. Whether they’re mammals or reptiles or jellyfish we don’t know, and they may be some other type never met anywhere else.” They might just be seaweed, but seaweed wasn’t romantic. “Those misty peaks are the southern coastal range of Sombrero Island, which is our destination. We are approaching from the west, aiming for the site named Apple, on the eastern coast. I am really feeling the gravity now.”

Deceleration, in fact, but he could edit that out of the published version.

He explained how the fog on the wings was fuel being exuded to cool the ship so that he could make a quick exit when it landed. He did not comment on the stall light flickering orange as Control spun out the approach as long as possible.

“A very rocky coast in sight now. Just look at those breakers! Big waves do not necessarily mean strong winds near here, of course. The storm may be a long way away. The swell outruns the wind, and this is a planet-sized ocean. You may think that looks like great surfing, but low-gravity planets offer better. Waves ten stories high were sighted on Pixie.”

The interior plains of Sombrero were green, with meandering rivers, but he was too high to see any detail. The central peaks looked volcanic, but he decided not to say so. He could ask Maria later.

“The eastern sea is just coming into view ahead.” So was a major storm to the south, cloud tops dazzlingly white, ominous lightning flashes underneath. “I’m turning up the magnification on this screen to take a look at that cluster of what we’re calling chimney rocks over there. These are a major mystery, one of the things I have to check out. We don’t know what they are or what makes them.

“Niagara’s coming in about treetop height, except there are no trees, at least not here. Less than fifty meters. The plain is very green, but not grass. You can see it waving in the wind gusts.”

The cabin display was showing wind gusting to sixty klicks. Control wouldn’t try landing in that. Damn! Damn! Damn! Keep hoping.

“The sandy channels are the distributaries in the delta of a great river, mostly dry now because it’s summertime and we’re too far from the equator for glaciers. There’s a bigger arm over there; lots of water in that one; this place gets a lot of rain.” He would edit out all this rubbishy babble. “And that white thing straight ahead in that smaller channel is the wreck of one of Galactic’s shuttles. I am planning to land close to that because… Here we go!”

Niagara tilted to the vertical, jets flashed fire, and… and hovered, drifting.

“It looks like I’m not going to be able to…”

What? Why? The wind gauge had dropped to twenty klicks, just a gentle breeze hereabouts, but the shuttle was floating over the greenery, moving steadily farther away from the wreck.

—Looking for level ground, Prospector.

It all looked level to him, but Control had radar. The vegetation was thrashing in the wash from the jets, as well as in the wind. This hovering ate fuel at a murderous rate. His chatter dried up as he stared in horror at the fuel gauge. Forty-six… forty-five… Forty-one was the point of no return. When the numbers showed that, Control would blast back into orbit… Forty-three…

The shuttle gently settled down in a roiling mass of smoke.

Then came silence—and sheer panic as the shuttle began to tilt. He added some comments that would certainly have to be cut. If the undercarriage could not find a level footing, the engines would fire again and the landing would be aborted.

That almost happened but didn’t. He started breathing again when Niagara came to rest at a Tower of Pisa slant. Even that could be a fatal problem. The ground might be rocky and uneven, but soft goo was far more likely in a flat area with high rainfall. Mud had been known to trap shuttles permanently. Blackadder’s Law: Every world is different, except they’re all out to get you. Which way was the wind blowing? Even a middling gust from the wrong direction would tip him over. Move!

He unbuckled his harness. “Niagara has landed—a little off vertical, but it seems to be stable. I see the wind is clocked at a bracing twenty-five klicks, probably the closest to dead calm we ever get around here. Temperature is forty-one Celsius, humidity ninety-two. My EVA suit will keep me comfortable. I am now starting down the shaft we call the Gut. You will see how Control closes the bulkhead hatches above me as I pass each one. That’s to prevent contamination of the ship when I open the outer hatch. I am really conscious of the high gravity. At my weight it makes me tote an extra sixty kilos or so and I notice it just holding the rungs of the ladder.

“Now I’m at the door, but Control will not open it until the outer skin is cool enough to touch. I expect to find smoke outside there. The landing jets will have fired the vegetation, but my suit is fireproof and my helmet filters the air I breathe. Even the two packs at my feet are fireproof. Ah!”

The clock in his helmet display tipped over to Day 413.

The door fell open.

Outside he saw the triangular shadow of the shuttle, like a giant arrow pointing the way to fortune for Seth Broderick. The nearby vegetation was charred, but it must be too wet to burn well. White smoke was streaming away in the wind, staying close to the ground. He kicked out his packs, noting how they fell as if shot out of a cannon; then he turned and gingerly clambered down the ladder on the inside of the door. Because of the shuttle’s tilt, the last rung was about a meter above the ground. Normally he would have jumped, but the packs made the landing tricky and a twisted ankle could kill him now. He lowered himself by his arms, which was not the easiest thing he had ever done.

Golden Hind opened the circuit just long enough for him to hear them all cheering, but he was too busy looking around at the world to respond.