The Great Hydration

CHAPTER NINE

“O’Rourke calling Castaneda.”

Resting in the cool of the tent, Roncie answered, “Northrop here. Castaneda is at the site.”

O’Rourke’s voice became distinctly frosty as he recognised the would-be ship-jumper. “Tell Castaneda the partners are in a position to strike a deal. Is the surveying complete?”

“Just about.”

Three teams had been hopping about the planet for the past few days, carrying out seismic tests. Eight catastrophe fracture zones had been mapped in detail. If they got the go-ahead, the teams could start drilling.

“The negotiating is to take place in the natives’ main dome,” O’Rourke went on. “The partners want Shelley present, and also Castaneda. The lobsters are asking for technical details. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“I’m sending a lighter down. Meantime you can put the drilling rigs in place. No point wasting time.”

“Right.” Northrop hesitated. “One other thing. Did the partners beam up language translation?”

“What if they did?”

“Pass it on to us, will you?”

“What for?” Northrop asked suspiciously.

“We’ve spotted bands of dehydrate natives roaming around. We might need to talk to them.”

There was an ominous pause before O’Rourke replied. “There’s a security issue here. On no account must the dehydrate species gain any hint of what is being planned. Request denied.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Tenacity dehydrates have a traditional warrior culture. They’ll attack us if we can’t talk to them.”

“You are a bond jumper,” O’Rourke said, with no attempt to hide his hostility. “Any request like that must come from Castaneda.”

He cut the connection. Northrop turned as Castaneda entered the tent. The team leader’s skin was a bright green in hue. He was wearing several layers of radpaint.

“The show’s on,” Northrop informed him, and relayed what O’Rourke had said about the negotiation and drilling. “By the way,” he added, “could you ask him for the partners’ translation package? He got sticky when I asked him for it. Seemed to think I’d blab to the dehydrates.”

With a tired air Castaneda keyed the communicator and got O’Rourke back.

“Are the shock tubes assembled yet?” he asked him.

“They’ll be ready when you need them,” O’Rourke told him.

“Drawing up a legally binding agreement with the lobsters is going to take some time yet. The lighter is leaving now. You’ll need a geological map of the faultline and also a map of the projected new ocean. The natives should be warned if they’ll need to evacuate any of their refuges.”

“I doubt if that will be necessary. The new ocean will lie on the bed of the old one.”

Northrop nudged him. Castaneda grunted in bewilderment, then said, “Oh yes. We want the language package. Might need to talk to the locals if we’re to continue operation down here.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Castaneda said testily, “why do you think I’m asking?”

“All right. Get ready to cop.”

After a warning bleep, the language translation package was dumped into the communicator’s memory.

Castaneda rummaged about the tent. He found a scroll-screen with his charts stored on it. “Wonder if the lobsters have decent eyesight?” he wondered. “Bet I’m down to drawing maps in the sand.”

“It’ll be all right. Shelley has the harder job.”

Castaneda snorted. “Have you never seen the partners in a negotiation? Shelley has practically nothing to do. Krabbe and Bouche will do nearly all the talking. Shelley’s job is to make what comes out legally watertight. It’s vital the lobsters can’t claim they weren’t party to the agreement if it comes to a fight in the courts.”

Naturally Northrop was familiar with this aspect of a gogetter’s fortunes. The laws dealing with contracts drawn up with aliens were extensive. Understandably, they leaned heavily in favour of the human party.

He followed Castaneda out of the tent. Tenacity’s endlessly rolling dunes stretched in all directions. The sand was the colour of sulfur and would probably induce sand blindness if one were left in it for too long. Some of the team had taken to wearing dark goggles, both for that reason and so the fine sand itself would not irritate their eyes.

The three others on the team were tinkering with the squat bulk of the drilling rig, which had the seismic detector beside it. The rig’s energy beam would slice its way through ten kilometers of shale and basalt in only a few days, leaving a shaft wide enough to lower a shock tube down. The only problem would be if the shaft filled with water. Then the tube might have to be forced to its proper depth.

“I never heard of this ocean-draining phenomenon before,” Northrop said. “Is it common?”

The geologist shook his head. “As far as I know it’s unique. In my view it’s a cusp event related to the exact magnitude of Tenacity’s mass. Rock porosity is perfectly common, of course. It’s caused by vulcanism. Volcanoes result from the melting of a planet’s basaltic mantle. The melt is never uniform: it occurs at dihedral angles between rock crystals. The melt regions then join up to create a network, and in effect the rock becomes a sponge filled with molten material, which pressure forces to the surface and you have an eruption. Normally the sponge is then filled up with more mantle rock, acting elastically over long periods of time.

“What seems to have happened on Tenacity is that the interstices left by vulcanism were never filled up. If the planet had been only slightly smaller there would have been little vulcanism and so no giant porous regions. Any larger and pressure from below would certainly have filled up the interstices, instead of leaving a layer of sponge ready to soak up all the surface water.”

“So it all hangs on a fine balance, eh?”

Northrop had followed the explanation absent-mindedly. He glanced overhead. The lighter dispatched by O’Rourke was descending at reckless speed, optical distortion from its inertial field resembling heat haze. Like a thrown cushion, it plumped down on the yellow sand.

“See you, Roncie. Wish me luck.”

“Sure.”

Castaneda climbed into the lighter. Northrop watched it fling itself into the air and streak into the distance, swiftly disappearing.

A movement on the near horizon, in the direction of the small, bright sun, caught his attention. The terrain rose somewhat there, forming a low ridge. Northrop took out a magnifier and pointed the scope.

On the small screen, two vehicles were sliding down the ridge, piling sand in front of them. One was boat-like, lacking any wheels that he could see, and ploughed through the sand as though through water.

The other was larger, an ungainly contraption with big wheels which flashed as they revolved. Both craft seemed to be moving with haste, and the large one was having trouble negotiating the slope at such speed. Once, it nearly turned over.

Soon, Northrop saw the reason for such hurry. The vehicles were fleeing from pursuers which sought to cut them off, large flat hovercraft—or so it seemed—which blew up sand around their edges. Three of them soared over the ridge.

All five vehicles were heading this way.

For day after day Hrityu and Kurwer had followed their Artaxan ally across the desert. The Artaxan camp, he promised them, was now not far off.

It was as the sun was descending on the third day that the blowcraft found then. In them were both Crome and Gamintes—a combination of sinister import to the Analane.

Karvass immediately turned his vehicle aside, followed by the Analane. They were attempting to lose themselves among the dunes before being spotted. The hope was futile: the three blowcraft came surging over the sand in pursuit. The blowcraft, which travelled by lifting themselves off the ground by means of a blast of air, were little more than moving platforms surrounded by balustrades. They were packed with gesticulating, yelling warriors. A carelessly aimed flenching blade whirred over Hrityu’s head. Kurwer grabbed his own flinger ready to retaliate, but it was clear the three travellers could not hold their own and would quickly be overwhelmed.

“Follow me!” Karvass called out.

Again he turned his vehicle and went coursing at full speed towards a long ridge in the middle distance. Hrityu placed his own vehicle’s outer wheels on maximum gearing. Briefly they slid on the sand before the craft picked up speed. He could see what the Artaxan’s strategy was. He was counting on the blowcraft being unable to mount the ridge, allowing time to make an escape.

This was one of their disadvantages. Otherwise blowcraft were favoured by raiders roaming the desert looking for prey, as on level ground they were capable of quick bursts of speed. The war whoops grew louder as the pursuers gained on their victims. By now Karvass had reached the foot of the ridge and the prow of his craft heaved itself on to the slope, hurtling straight up it with ease. The Analane were not far behind; but their own vehicle could not climb nearly as swiftly. Hrityu turned first left then right so that the big wheels could bite into the hillside, mounting zigzag fashion.

Atop the ridge he paused and looked down. All three blowcraft had launched themselves on to the slope. The curtains holding in the cushions of air on which they floated flapped and bulged with the effort. But after mounting so far, they all began to slide back down.

Kurwer laughed. “So much for them!”

His glee was short-lived. Once again the blowcraft attempted the slope, adopting a zigzag tactic of their own and attacking the hillside slantwise. Slowly, slipping as rotating, the occupants hanging on to the balustrades, they were approaching the summit.

Hrityu hastily put the wheelcraft in motion again, hurtling down the other side of the ridge and nearly overturning in his hurry. Suddenly Kurwer pointed.

“Look!”

As he struggled to control the wheelcraft Hrityu glanced sidelong in the direction Kurwer indicated. Not too far off, there was a camp of some sort. There were pavilions—though only small ones—and what looked like big machines.

Only the Tlixix erected pavilions, but they were very big ones, and anyway it was inconceivable to find Tlixix out here in the wilderness. The machines, too, were unfamiliar.

Nevertheless the unknown camp presented an opportunity which the quick-thinking Karvass immediately seized. He made for the camp, followed by the Analane. Depending on whoever was in the camp, they might find allies or at least disconcert their pursuers.

On the other hand, Hrityu admitted to himself, the camp might contain yet more enemies.

Once having heaved themselves over the ridge the blowcraft slid down it with alacrity and shot across the desert, fanning out.

On the edge of the strange camp, the two fleeing craft found themselves caught in a deadly triangle.

All five vehicles now came to a stop. Gamintes and Crome clambered from their craft. They stood waving their flingers, jeering and laughing.

“We are lost,” Kurwer muttered. “What aid will there be for our tribe now?”

Hrityu took time to notice the inhabitants of the camp. They were humanoid, but their bodies were clad in material of some kind. They were pale green in colour, and lacked head crests. Three stood by one or the big machines. Another had just emerged from one of the little pavilions.

Suddenly Hrityu realized where he had seen their like before—in the Pavilion of Audience, where members of a strange tribe had been accused of stealing the radiator.

And, incredibly, had swallowed water.

A Crome voice floated across the air. “Ho, Analane! Do you see our Gaminte brothers with us? They know that we have requested a war of extermination, and say the Tlixix are certain to agree. They are here to join us in the sport. We allow you the honour of being the first to face death!”

“So that is why the Gamintes are travelling with our enemies,” Hrityu said grimly to his friend. “The Tlixix want us out of the way quickly. I wonder why?”

“It was ever their way,” Kurwer replied dolefully. “They see some advantage in cultivating the Crome. Perhaps they wish to use them as they use the Gamintes.”

“Let us hope they all perish together when the Artaxan alliance strike!”

Hrityu picked up his flinger. They stepped down from the wheelcraft and crouched beside it for what cover it gave. Flenching blades clanged against the side of the vehicle. Uttering ululating cries, a group of Crome charged.

Suddenly Kurwer sprang to his feet, head-crest rigid with anger.

“Come, Hrityu! Let us not die like lizards in a hole!”

He ran from cover, directly at the Crome. “Crome filth! You have eaten your last prickle stalk!”

A blade hurled itself from the shaft of his flinger. The group of Crome threw themselves to the ground, so that it whirred harmlessly above them and fell into the sand.

Before he could reload, one of the Crome had raised himself, taken aim and released his own blade.

And the aim was true.

On seeing the landcraft coming towards him, Northrop ducked back into the tent to get the two essentials when meeting aliens for the first time: a means of communication, and a weapon. He thrust a DE beamer in his belt, then spent a few seconds dumping the language conversion into an interpreter set, fastening it round his neck and putting the plugs in his ears.

Outside, the drama was developing. The hovercraft had surrounded their prey and come to a stop on the edge of the camp, appearing to ignore its existence. Two types of dehydrate were clambering from them, waving weapons and shouting insults.

One type was coal black and bore wiry silver hair. The other was quite different: a vivid green, with exaggeratedly wide shoulders, and several crests sweeping over their skulls.

Nervously the bondmen at the drilling rig were watching events, staying close to its bulk. Northrop turned his attention to the other two vehicles, those which were boxed in. The occupant of the boat-like craft was also green, but a much lighter hue. Once again a different species, he thought. From the wheeled vehicle two slight humanoids descended and crouched beside it for cover. They were an almost glowing blue. A memory stirred in Northrop’s mind. He had watched observations made through the interferometric telescope, and on them he had seen an identical wheeled vehicle with two blue dehydrates. It had been in the parking lot of the world market run by the lobster creatures. The vehicle was quite striking: it had inner wheels which continued to turn even when the craft was stationary. This could, supposed, be the same vehicle and the same two humanoids.

That most fleeting, most distant of acquaintanceships was perhaps what irrationally influenced Northrop’s next act. The impending fight was hopelessly one-sided. The three defenders stood little chance. All the warriors carried some or other version of the standard weapon on Tenacity—a sort of spring-loaded gun which shot rotating blades. He saw two or three of these go shimmering towards the wheeled vehicle, clanging against its side.

A group of greenskins charged.

Suddenly one of the blueskins leaped from the cover of the vehicle with a shout of defiance. He projected a blade, but this flew over the heads of the attackers as they threw themselves to the ground.

A greenskin then raised himself and let fly with a return shot. The shining golden metal of the blade flashed in the sunlight as it hurled itself towards its mark.

So it was that Northrop was able to see the effect of a flenching blade. Its cunning law in its curvature, which caused it to twist and turn within its target, and also to slide against bone, slicing the flesh from it. Gelatinous gobbets, a sickly green in colour, flew in all directions as it tore into the body of the blue dehydrate, seeming to strip him to the skeleton.

What remained toppled to the sand. The second blue dehydrate leaped to his feet with a cry of grief.

It was then that Northrop, without really thinking about it, drew the DE beamer from his belt and began firing. He took out the greenskin whose whirling blade had done such terrible work. Then he put the beamer on continuous and sent a swathe of death among the black and green warriors who had piled out of the hovercraft.

He stepped behind the tent as flenching blades whirred towards him. He heard them skirling against its metal skin. He circled the tent and began firing from the other side, targeting each hovercraft in turn.

Abruptly he held his fire. Sand was blowing up around the skirts of the vehicles. The hovercraft swayed, rotated and surged away, black and green warriors running after them to clamber aboard as best they could.

They were quickly out of sight. Northrop emerged from behind the tent and walked towards where the surviving blue dehydrate was standing over the butchered body of his companion.

“Kurwer! My friend! My friend!”

The slim humanoid turned as Roncie approached.

Hrityu, of the Analane, and Roncie Reaul Northrop, bondman of the firm of Krabbe & Bouche, stared at one another.