Summertide

CHAPTER 13 Summertide minus ten

…the orange glow on the horizon was continuous, the burning ground reflecting from high dust clouds. As they watched, a new burst of crimson arose, no more than a kilometer from where they stood. It developed smoky tendrils and grew taller. Soon it stretched from earth to sky. As the lava bubbled to the summit of the crater he turned to Amy.

In spite of his warning she still stood outside the car. When the flash of the explosion was replaced by a glow of red-hot lava she clapped her hands, entranced by the colors and the shapes. Shock waves of sound rolled and echoed from the hills behind. The stream of fire crested the cone and began to roll toward them, as easy-flowing and fast as running water. Where it touched the cooler earth, white flux sputtered and sparked.

Max stared at her face. He saw no fear, only the rapt entrancement of a child at a birthday party.

That was what it was. She saw it all as a fireworks display. Caution had to come from him. He leaned forward from the car seat to pluck at her sleeve.

“Get in.” He was forced to shout to be heard. “We have to start back for the Stalk. You know it’s a five-hour journey.”

She glared at him and pulled away. He knew the pout very well. “Not now, Max.” He read the words from her lips, but he could not hear her. “I want to wait until the lava reaches the water.”

“No!” He was yelling. “Absolutely not. I’ll take no more risks! It’s boiling hot out there, and it’s getting nearly as bad in the car.”

She was walking away, not listening to him. He felt tight-chested and overheated despite the air curtain that held a sheath of cooler air at the open hatch. It was mostly in his mind, he knew that — the fiery furnace of his own worries that consumed him. And yet the outside heat was real enough. He stumbled out of the car and followed her across the steaming surface.

“Stop pestering me. I’ll come in a minute.” Amy had turned around to look at the whole infernal scene. There was — thank God! — no sign yet of another eruption, but one could happen at any second.

“Max, you have to relax.” She came close, shouting right into his ear. “Learn to have fun. All the time we’ve been here, you’ve sat like a lump of Sling underside. Let yourself go — get into the swing of things.”

He took her hand and began to pull her toward the car. After a moment of resistance she allowed herself to be steered along. With her eyes still on the volcano’s bright fury, she did not look where they were going.

And then, when they were no more than a few meters from the car, she broke loose and ran laughing across the flat, steaming surface of heat-baked rock. She was ten paces ahead of him before he could start after her. By then it was too late.

Graves and Perry made it sound simple. Rebka argued it was impossible.

“Look at the arithmetic,” he said as the Umbilical’s capsule lowered them gently to the surface of Quake. “We have a planetary radius of fifty-one hundred kilometers, and a surface that’s less than three percent covered by water. That gives over three hundred million square kilometers of land. Three hundred million! Think how long it can take to search one square kilometer. We could look for years and never find them.”

“We don’t have years,” Perry said. “And I know it’s a big area. But you seem to assume we’ll do a random search, and of course we won’t. I can rule out most areas before we start.”

“And I know that the Carmel twins will avoid all open spaces,” Graves added.

“How can you possibly know that?” Rebka was being the pessimist.

“Because Quake is usually cloud-free.” Graves was unmoved by the other’s skepticism. “Their homeworld of Shasta has a high-resolution spaceborne system that gives continuous surveillance of the surface.”

“But Quake doesn’t.”

“Ah, but the twins don’t know that. They’ll assume that if they’re out on the open surface, they’ll be spotted and picked up. They’ll have run for deep cover and stayed there.”

“And I can tell you now,” Perry said, “that cuts the problem way down. There are only three places that a sane human would take refuge on Quake. We’ll start with these three areas — and we’ll have to finish with them, too.”

“But if we don’t find them there,” Graves began, “we can broaden—”

“No, we can’t,” Perry said, cutting him off. “Summertide, Councilor. It will hit maximum strength in less than eighty hours. We’d better not be here then, not you, not me, and not the twins.”

Max Perry listed the three most likely areas: in the high forests of the Morgenstern Uplands; upon — or probably within — one of the Thousand Lakes; or in the deep vegetation pockets of the Pentacline Depression.

“Which reduces the area to be searched by a factor of thousands,” he said.

“And still leaves ten of thousands of square kilometers to be examined,” Rebka replied. “In detail. And don’t forget, this isn’t your standard search-and-rescue problem. Usually, the missing persons want to be found. They cooperate, as best they can. But the twins won’t send distress signals until conditions are intolerable. If they signal then, it will probably be too late.”

If his arguments impressed Julius Graves, no one would have known it from the other’s grinning face. While Max Perry was busy checking the aircars, Graves dragged Rebka away in the direction of the smoke-edged line of volcanic hills.

“I need a quiet word with you, Captain,” he said confidentially. “Just for a moment or two.”

Warm ash drifted down like pale-gray snow, settling onto their heads and shoulders. The ground was already covered a centimeter deep. Of the low-growing plants and the peaceful herbivores of Rebka’s first visit to Quake there was no sign. Even the lake itself had vanished, hidden beneath a scummy layer of volcanic ash. Instead of the predicted rumble and roar of seismic violence, the planet held a hot, brooding silence.

“You realize,” Graves continued, “that we don’t need to stay together? There are aircars here to spare.”

“I know we could cover three times as much ground if we split up,” Rebka replied. “But I’m not sure I want to do it. Perry has unique knowledge of Quake, while you have never been here before.”

“Aha! Your thoughts parallel my own.” Graves brushed a flake of ash from the end of his nose. “The logical course of action is quite clear: Perry has identified three areas of Quake where fugitives will naturally seek to hide. Those regions are widely separated; but there are enough aircars for each of us to tackle one of them. Therefore, we can all go separately, and examine one area each. That’s what logic says. But I say, phooey, who wants logic? Not you, and not me. We want results.”

He leaned closer to Rebka. “And frankly, I worry about the stability of Commander Perry. Say ‘Quake’ and ‘Summertide’ to him, and his eyes almost roll out of his head. We can’t let him go off on his own. What do you think?”

I think that you and Perry both need keepers, is what I think, but I don’t want to come right out and say it. Rebka knew what was on the way. He was going to be saddled with Perry — the same stupid assignment that had brought him to Dobelle — while Graves charged off uncontrolled into the Quake wilderness and probably killed himself.

“I agree, Councilor, Perry should not go alone. But I don’t want to waste—”

“Then we agree that I must go with Perry,” Graves went on, ignoring Rebka. “You see, if he gets into trouble, I can help him. No one else is able to do that. So he and I will tackle the Morgenstern Uplands, while you do the Thousand Lakes — Perry says that’s the quickest and easiest. And if neither of us finds the twins, then whoever gets through first takes on the Pentacline Depression.”

What does one do when a madman suggests an appealing course of action? One worries — but probably goes along with it. In any case, Graves was in no mood to listen to an argument. When Rebka pointed out again how low the chances were that they would find the twins at all, the councilor snapped his fingers.

“Piffle. I know we’ll find them. Think positive, Captain Rebka. Be an optimist! It’s the only way to live.”

And a likely way to die, Rebka thought. But he gave up. Graves would not be dissuaded, and maybe he and Perry deserved each other.

It was also one of the first rules of life, something Rebka had learned as a six-year-old in the hot saline caverns of Teufel. When someone gives you what you want, leave — before he has time to think again and take it back.

“Very well, Councilor. As soon as a car is ready I’ll be on my way.”

Rebka had half an hour’s start on the other two. The cargo space of the fastest aircars was not designed to carry large and heavy cases, and Julius Graves dithered over his luggage for a long time before he finally left behind everything except a little bag. The rest he put back in an Umbilical capsule. At last he pronounced himself ready to leave.

After takeoff Max Perry set the craft to cruise on autopilot and headed for the Morgenstern Uplands. When they were within scanning range, both men crouched over the displays.

“Primitive equipment,” Graves said. He was grimacing and twitching with concentration as he pored over images. Checking the displays was a long and tedious process. “If this were an Alliance car, we wouldn’t have to watch — we’d sit back and wait for the system to tell us when it found the twins. As it is it’s the other way round. I have to sit and peer at this thing and tell it what it’s seeing. Primitive!”

“It’s the best we have on Opal or Quake.”

“I believe you. But do you ever ask yourself why all the worlds of the spiral arm are not as wealthy as Earth and the other old regions of Crawlspace? Why isn’t every planet using the latest technology? Why don’t all worlds have more service robots than people, like Earth? Why aren’t they all rich, everyone on every colony? We know how to make advanced equipment. Why doesn’t every planet have it, instead of just a few?”

Perry had no answers, but he grunted to show that he was listening.

He was not. With Julius Graves busy looking at images, that had to be Steven chattering on. And Perry was busy himself, with the radio receiving equipment. Graves did not believe that the Carmel twins would send a distress call. Perry disagreed. As Summertide came closer the twins ought to be more than ready to be arrested and rescued.

“It’s a simple reason,” Graves continued, “the cause of Dobelle’s poverty. It is built into the basic nature of humanity. A rational species would make sure that one world was fully developed and perfect for humans before going on to another. But we don’t know how to do that! We have the outward urge. Before a planet is half settled, off go the new ships, ready to explore the next one. And very few people say, wait a moment, let’s get this one right before we go on.”

He took a closer look at a couple of false alarms on the image, then shook his head in dismissal.

“We’re just too nosy, Commander,” he went on. “Most humans have their patience level set a little too low, and their curiosity a bit too high. The Cecropians are as bad as we are. So almost all the wealth of the spiral arm — and all the luxury — finds its way into the hands of the stay-at-homes. It’s the old paradox, one that predates the Expansion: the groups that do nothing to create wealth manage to gain possession of most of it. Whereas the ones that do all the work finish up with very few possessions. Perhaps one day that will change. Maybe in another ten thousand years—”

“Radio beacon,” Perry interrupted. “A weak one, but it’s there.”

Graves froze in position and did not look up. “Impossible.” His voice was sharp. Julius Graves was back in charge. “They would not advertise their presence on Quake. Not after running so far and for so long.”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Graves slid across the seat. “How far away is it?”

“Long way.” Perry studied the range and vector settings. “In fact, too far. That signal isn’t coming from anywhere within the Morgenstern Uplands. The source is at least four thousand kilometers beyond the edge. We’re getting ionospheric bounce, or we wouldn’t hear them at all.”

“How about the Thousand Lakes?”

“Could be. The vector isn’t quite right, but there’s a lot of noise in the signal. And the range is spot on.”

“Then it’s Rebka.” Graves slapped his hand flat on the table. “It must be. He goes off to look, and no sooner do we get down to work than he’s in trouble. Before we even—”

“Not Rebka.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s not his aircar.” Perry was running comparisons with his signal templates. “Not any of ours. Wrong frequency, wrong signal format. Looks like a portable send unit, low power.”

“Then it’s the Carmel twins! And they must be in terrible trouble, if they’re willing to ask for help. Can you take us there?”

“Easy. We just home on the beacon.”

“How long from here?”

“Six or seven hours, top speed.”

As he spoke Perry was looking at the car’s chronometer.

“How long?” Graves had followed his look.

“A bit more than eight Quake days to Summertide; say, sixty-seven hours from now.”

“Seven hours to Thousand Lakes, eight more back to the Umbilical. Then up and away. Plenty of time. We’ll escape from Quake long before the worst.”

Perry shook his head. “You don’t understand. Quake is inhomogeneous, with a variable internal structure. The earthquakes can pop up anywhere, long before Summertide. We’re not seeing much activity here in the Uplands, but the Thousand Lakes area could be a nightmare.”

“Come on, man, you’re as bad as Rebka. It can’t be all that unpleasant, if the Carmel twins are still alive there.”

“You said it right. If they’re still alive there.” Perry was at the controls, and already the car was turning. “There’s one thing you’re forgetting, Councilor. Radio beacons are made tough — a whole lot tougher than human beings.”