Cycle of Fire Page 9

  Usually they could see the coast for miles behind them, and oftener than not one of Dar’s eyes was turned in that direction, but the only moving things he ever saw were wild animals, usually quite unconcerned with the travelers.

  The trip became a monotony of walking in steaming heat or unpleasantly warm rain. Occasionally Kruger interrupted the traveling with a bath in the sea; warm though the water was, the refreshment resulting from the swim made him feel the risk was worth while. He did this only when Dar wanted to rest, since the Abyormenite had no use for swimming and seemed to think of little except the amount of time they were spending en route.

  They had no precise means of measuring the distance they traveled, so that not even Dar could guess when the islands they were seeking would appear; but appear they eventually did. Dar gave a grunt of relief when the first of the little humps appeared far out on the horizon.

  “Fifteen years to go. We’ll make it yet.” His confidence may have been a trifle misplaced, but Kruger’s ignorance of the scale of the maps he had seen kept him from realizing that the island chain by which Dar meant to proceed led across eight hundred miles of ocean, and that almost as much land lay between its end and the point on the ice cap which was their goal. He assumed the native’s judgment to be sound and almost relaxed.

  “How do we get across the sea?” he contented himself with asking.

  “We float.” And Dar Lang Ahn meant it.

  This worried Kruger, and his worry did not grow less as time went on. It became increasingly evident that Dar intended to make his trip on a raft, which was the only sort of craft their tools would allow them to build; and even his ignorance of the distance to be covered did not make the boy any happier at the prospect. There was no provision being made for sails; when Kruger mentioned this and finally managed to explain what sails were the pilot explained that the wind always blew against them anyway. They would have to paddle.

  “Does the wind never change?” Kruger asked in dismay as he considered the task of moving by muscle power the unwieldy thing that was beginning to take shape on the beach.

  “Not enough to matter.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I have been flying this route all my life, and a glider cannot be flown by one who does not know what the currents are doing.”

  “Didn’t you say that this island chain marked the air route your gliders always take to the Ice Ramparts?” Kruger asked suddenly.

  “Those coming from Kwarr, yes.”

  “Then why haven’t we seen any?”

  “You have not been looking up. I have seen three since we reached this spot. If your eyes were only on the sides of your head and stuck out a little more…”

  “Never mind my optical deficiencies! Why didn’t you signal them?”

  “How?”

  “You were going to reflect sunlight from your belt buckles when I found you; or we could light a fire.”

  “Your fire-lighter is in the keeping of our friends whom we have left behind, and even if we lighted one you should know by now that one of my people would not approach a fire. If the pilot saw the smoke he would avoid it and more than likely report it as a new center of volcanic activity.”

  “But how about the reflection? Your buckles are still shiny!”

  “How does one aim a beam of light from a mirror? I was using the method when you found me because it was the only possible one; I would have been as dead, had you not appeared, as I shall be less than fifteen years from now.”

  “Can’t you see the beam of light that the buckle reflects?”

  “No. I once saw a mirror so perfectly flat that one could see the ray of sunlight coming from it if there were a little haze in the air, but my buckles are not in that class.”

  “Then if they spread the beam it should be that much easier to hit something with it. Why do you not try, at least?”

  “I think it would be a waste of time, but if you can suggest a way of pointing the beam reasonably closely you may try the next time a glider comes in sight.”

  “Let me see the buckles, please.”

  Dar complied with the air of one amusing a rather dull child. Kruger examined the plates of metal carefully. They were more nearly flat than Dar’s words had led him to hope, rectangular in shape, about two inches wide and four long. Two holes about an inch square were present in each one, and between these a single small circular hole which in service held a peg for securing the leather straps threaded through the larger openings. Kruger smiled as he finished his examination, but handed them back to their owner without any comment except, “I’ll take you up on that offer. Let me know when another glider appears, if I don’t see it myself.”

  Dar went back to work with little interest in Kruger’s idea, whatever it might be, but he obediently kept one eye roving about the horizon. He was a little annoyed that Kruger was now constantly lifting his head to do the same thing, but was fair-minded enough to admit that the poor creature couldn’t help it. He was even more annoyed when Kruger proved the first to spot an approaching aircraft, but watched with interest as the boy prepared to use the buckles in signaling.

  All he saw, however, was that a buckle was held before one of the small eyes, which apparently sighted through the center hole at the approaching glider. Dar could see no reason why this should give any assistance in aiming the reflected beam. He did see the spot of light shining through the same central opening on Kruger’s face, but had no means of telling that the boy had so placed the mirror that the reflection of his own features in its back had taken a definite position — one which brought the spot of sunlight on the reflected face directly on the hole through which he was looking at the glider. Holding himself as motionless as possible, he spoke.

  “Do you have any special signal that depends on flashes of light — something the pilot would definitely recognize?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll just have to hope that he’ll be curious about a constant blink.” Kruger began rocking the mirror back and forth as he spoke.

  Dar Lang Ahn was astonished when the actions of the aircraft showed plainly that its occupant had seen the flashes and he made no secret of the fact. Kruger passed it off as an everyday occurrence. He was still young, after all.

  VIII. TRANSPORTATION

  THE GLIDER did not land; its pilot was too cautious for that. Whatever might be making the flashes on the beach below was almost certainly not a launching catapult and if he touched the ground he would stay there. He had books of his own and had no intention of risking them. Nevertheless he skimmed low enough to make out the figures of Dar and Kruger and to be as puzzled by the latter as Dar had been.

  One advantage of a glider is its silence. This characteristic, combined with the hyper-acute hearing of the Abyormenites, enabled a conversation to take place between Dar and the glider pilot. It was carried out in snatches as the aircraft swooped over and interrupted until it had passed on, turned into the updraft at the edge of the forest, picked up the altitude it had lost, and returned for another pass. Eventually, however, Dar got across the fact which he considered most important — the whereabouts of his books.

  “I understand,” the pilot called down at length. “I will go on, turn in my load, and give your report. You had better stay where you are. Is there anything else that should be known by the Teachers?”

  “Yes. My companion. You can see he is not a person. He knows much that is not in the books; he should go to the Teachers himself.”

  “Does he speak?”

  “Yes, though not well. He has words of his own, which are different from ours, and has not learned all ours yet.”

  “Do you know any of his?”

  “Some, yes.”

  “Then perhaps it would be best if we brought you along, too. It will save time and there is not too much more of that.”

  “I am not sure, but I get the impression that he does not die at the proper time; he expects to live longer. There may be no need of h
aste.”

  One of the frequent interruptions to regain altitude allowed this information to sink into the pilot’s mind. When he swung past again:

  “In any case remain with him. I will report all you have told me and someone will return to give you the decision of the Teachers. If you could improvise a catapult capable of launching a four-man glider it might expedite matters, since the portable ones are probably dismantled by now.” He passed on and began to circle in determined fashion for altitude, while Dar turned to Kruger to answer his questions about the numerous parts of the conversation the boy had either not heard or not understood.

  “I had suspected, but found it hard to believe,” Kruger said at the end.

  “What?”

  “That this ‘time’ you have mentioned so often means the end of your life. How can it be that you know when you are going to die?”

  “I have known it all my life; it is part of the knowledge in the books. Life starts, and continues for a measured time, and ends. That is why the books must go to the Ice Ramparts, so that the Teachers may use them to help instruct the people who come after.”

  “You mean everyone dies at the same time?”

  “Of course. Practically all lives started at the same time — except the few who have had accidents and had to start over.”

  “How do you die?”

  “We do not know, though the Teachers may. They have always told us the time but never the manner.”

  “What sort of people are these Teachers?”

  “Why, they are not people. They are — they are Teachers. That is, they look like people but are much bigger — bigger even than you.”

  “Do they look more like your people than I do, or are there other differences like those between you and me?”

  “They are exactly like me except for size — and the fact that they know so much, of course.”

  “And they live on from one generation to the next — that is, through the time of one group of people and into that of the next — while all ordinary people die when the time comes?”

  “So they, and the books, say.”

  “How long is the time that you normally live?”

  “Eight hundred and thirty years. We are now in the eight hundred and sixteenth.” Kruger thought this over and did a little mental arithmetic, and tried to imagine how he would feel knowing that he had just under nine months to live. He knew it would bother him; Dar Lang Ahn seemed to take it as a matter of course. Kruger could not help wondering whether his little friend had any secret washes concerned with a longer life span. He did not quite dare ask; it seemed to have the possibility of being a very touchy subject. He allowed the conversation to drift in the direction Dar was leading it. The little pilot seemed actually to pity him, Kruger finally realized, for not knowing when his own life was due to end; while he did not have the precise words to express his feelings, and they were a little too abstract to explain clearly, the boy got a definite impression that Dar considered the suspense of such a situation to be something he would not care to face.

  “But enough of that.” Dar, too, seemed to feel that he was verging on what might prove an uncomfortable subject for his companion. “The pilot suggested that we try to set up a catapult so that they can take you off. We should at least be able to get it started before they come back. All we really need is the stakes; they will certainly bring the cables when they come.”

  “How does the catapult work?”

  Dar gave an explanation. Apparently it was simply an overgrown slingshot. The complication in its construction lay first in the need for placing it so that it could hurl the glider into a reasonably dependable updraft, and second in making sure that the supporting structure to which the cable was hooked could stand the strain — a flimsily assembled mass of timber suddenly coming loose and snapping back toward the glider could be decidedly embarrassing. The first requirement was not difficult to satisfy on the seashore; the second was a matter of experience. The work was actually easier than the raft building had been, since the pieces of wood used were much thinner. Kruger cut most of them with his knife to Dar’s specifications; the little native placed them and propped them with speed and skill.

  Arren, circling lazily above the horizon, marked the passage of time, but neither workman noticed it particularly. They stopped to hunt and eat or for necessary rest, but Kruger never knew just how long it took the glider they had seen to complete its journey to the ice I cap, and for the relief expedition to be organized and make the return. It was certainly less than a year — they never saw Theer at all between the two events — but when the first of the gliders skimmed in from over the sea the catapult was ready.

  The machine settled reasonably close to the catapult. Two others followed it within the next half hour, and a single pilot climbed from each. Dar performed the introductions; all three were acquaintances of his. Neither then nor later was Kruger able to tell them apart, and he was embarrassed to find that he could not distinguish Dar from the others except by familiar stains, nicks, and scratches on his friend’s leather harness and the iron buckles he had used for signaling. The others had bits of metal about them, but not serving the same functions; their harness buckles appeared to be of something like horn.

  Their names were Dar En Vay, Ree San Soh, and Dar Too Ken. Kruger was bothered by the multiplicity of Dars, realizing that he could no longer indulge his habit of shortening his friend’s name for convenience. He wondered if the names connoted any sort of family connection — though from what Dar Lang Ahn had been telling him that seemed unlikely.

  One of the gliders was considerably larger than the other two; Kruger supposed it was the “four-man” machine the other pilot had mentioned. Dar Lang Ahn called him over to it and the whole party went into consultation as to the best way of accommodating the relatively huge human body. The control seat, of course, had to be left in place for the pilot; if the three others were simply removed it left nothing to support Kruger except the frail envelope of the fuselage. No one of the seats was large enough to hold him, of course, though they were quite reasonably shaped from the human point of view. The final solution was an improvised support of slender branches, more like a mattress than a seat, which appeared to be strong enough to keep Kruger from going through to the fabric and light enough to meet the rather exacting balance requirements of the glider — requirements which were already being strained a trifle by the boy’s physical characteristics.

  Kruger gathered that some time elapsed between the dying off of one race and the appearance of the next, but when he put the question to the group no one was able to answer him. The three newcomers were startled at the question and from then on seemed to regard him as more of a freak than even his admittedly strange appearance warranted. The pilot of the large glider made no objection when it was suggested that Dar Lang Ahn fly it as long as Kruger was aboard.

  With this arrangement completed Dar asked where the rest of the fleet might be, or whether a group this size was expected to raid the village where his books were held. Ree San Soh answered him.

  “We are not going to that village yet. The Teachers wanted to get a more complete report on the situation, which could only be obtained from you, and they also want to see your companion Kruger. You said that he knew more than was in the books, so they feel that it is more important to get him to the Ice Ramparts, particularly if he suffers from heat.”

  Dar Lang Ahn admitted the force of this reasoning, although a lifetime of habit prevented his being completely easy on the subject of his lost cargo. Kruger applauded the decision; every time he heard the word which he had decided must mean “ice,” he felt homesick. A Turkish bath is all right now and then, but he had been in one for the best part of a terrestrial year.

  There was no difficulty with the launching. Each glider in turn was anchored at the proper distance, the cable hooked to its nose, and a light, non-stretching line run up to the bracket, through a pulley, and back to a capstan. The latter was wound
up until the stretching portion of the line reached the bracket, then the first line was detached and stowed and the glider was released. As it lunged forward over the bracket the hook disengaged from its nose and fell free, leaving the performance to be repeated with the next glider.

  The only variation was with the last aircraft, which was the one used by Dar Lang Ahn and Kruger. In this case the detachable hook was fastened to the bracket instead of the craft, the capstan was installed on a support in the cockpit, and the glider was anchored by a slip knot that could be released by the pilot from his station. As a result the cable rode into the air along with them and was wound up by Kruger when they were safely airborne. Not until after this was finished did Dar comment on the consequences which would have ensued had the hook fouled in the launching bracket.

  “But don’t you have some means of releasing this end of the cable if that happens?” asked Kruger.

  “It’s been tried but usually the pilot doesn’t react fast enough to get any good out of it. You don’t know it’s fouled until the cable jerks your nose down and breaks you out of your safety belt.” Kruger gulped and was silent.

  The flight was interesting but relatively uneventful. It was slow, of course, by Kruger’s standards; Dar could scarcely ever head straight toward an objective. He had to coast from one rising air current to the next and Kruger was by no means always sure just how he found his up-drafts. Dar, of course, could not always explain his knowledge; it had taken him a lifetime of about forty terrestrial years to pick it up and he could hardly impart it all in one flight.

  One thing was certain: Dar Lang Ahn could have walked away with any sailplane prize ever offered on Earth without even realizing that he had been in a competition. The mere fact that the present flight covered over fifteen hundred miles was not the principal reason for this; rather it was the fact that he should take such a flight as a matter of course, with no more concern about the possibility of failure than a man considers when he starts to drive from Honolulu to New York. As the hours passed with no sign of the further shore Kruger began gradually to appreciate some of this.