Rocket to Limbo Page 11

  No food, no warmth. No hope of repairing engines

  smashed into fragments and buried under centuries of silt.

  Nothing there but the half-buried skeleton of a ship long despaired of, almost forgotten.

  They dragged Klein out of the wreckage laughing and giggling and screaming and fighting them with hysterical fury until Fox struck him hard across the face. He sagged, then, and crumpled into the snow, and sat staring dully at nothing and shaking his head.

  When Fox turned to the others tears were streaming down his face. “Get those sick men on their feet, and get back on the rope again. Were going to go on.”

  Numbly, Lars and Lambert went back across the snowfield to the half-delirious Kennedy and Mars torn. Their ship on the ridge had been a mirage, even worse than a mirage, for it had indeed existed, taunting them and drawing them on to the last moment. No one had dreamed that it could be the wrong ship. But now they knew that it was. Somehow, missing its course in that valiant journey so long ago, the Argonaut had found another star, another planet, and a grave. What had happened? How long had the journey taken? Only the decaying wreckage could hint at the answer.

  The group of men who had labored up the mountain to find the lost Planetfall with its food and generators and its hope of escape from this gray death-planet had found a tomb instead.

  They grouped around Walter Fox, Lars and Lambert supporting the sick men. Jerry Klein sat like a statue as a film of snow gathered on his arms and hands. Tom Lorry stood huddled near the wreckage, still staring, his face blank with exhaustion and despair.

  “There’s nothing here,” Marstom said dully.

  “No, there’s not,” Fox said.

  “No food. No medicine.” “Nothing.”

  “No hope of salvaging this—” Marstom’s lips curled bitterly “—this pile of trash.”

  “None.”

  “But there’s got to be!” Marstom choked. “You said it was up here, the Planetfall. You said there’d be food, that we could get warm.”

  “This isn t the Planetfall,” Fox snapped. “We were wrong.”

  “You mean we were fools,” Tom Lorry growled. “If this isn’t the Planetfall, then where is it? We know it was here. You found the food bag. If it didn’t crash here, what happened to it?” !

  “I don’t know.”

  “Or our ship, what about it? Where did it go?”

  “That’s what we’ve got to find out,” said Fox. “We’ll never find out sitting here and freezing. We’ve got to move on.”

  “What’s the use?” said Marstom. He broke into a paroxysm of coughing, his thin shoulders shaking. “This is as good a place to freeze as any.”

  “You’ve forgotten the thing in the valley,” Fox said fiercely, “the thing Kennedy saw. That valley is just over the ridge here. Kennedy saw something.”

  “There’s nothing there,” Marstom snarled. “Kennedy was sick, we’ve all been sick, crazy. There’s nothing to go on for. This is the end right here.”

  “Get up,” said Fox. “We’re going up there. Get on your feet and get moving.”

  Nobody moved. Lars stared at the ground, his fingers numb, his whole body deathly tired. Marstom was right, something whispered in his ear. It was a lie, a delusion, that thing in the valley beyond the ridge. This was the end, right here.

  And then, like a fury, Walter Fox was on his feet, cursing and shouting at them, his voice cutting like a whiplash, his face white, his eyes glittering like gray diamonds. “You idiots!” he shouted. “Are you going to just lie down and die?” He leaped on Jerry Klein, grabbed him by the collar and jerked him up to his feet. “Get up, do you hear me? Up, on your feet. You see the way up there, up over that saddle there—get going!” He gave Jerry a shove, and turned to jerk Tom Lorry’s shoulder, dragging him by physical force as the second officer shook his head. “I’m in command here,” Fox shouted, “and as long as I’m in command when I say we go on, we go on! You think you’re just quitting on me? I’ll drag you on my back first! Come on, move—nobody’s ever quit a mission on me before, and you’re not going to start a trend now!”

  He whirled on Lars and Lambert. “What are you doing just standing there? Get those two men. Carry them, drag them, I don’t care what, but get moving. We’re going to find that ship if we have to walk every mile of this miserable planet.”

  Slowly, numbly, they began to move. Fox ran back and forth on the line, shouting at them, pounding them on the back, dragging Klein to his feet when he stumbled and pushing him forward again as they moved out and away from the wreck. Lars threw Kennedy’s arm around his neck, half-supported the little man’s body with his right arm, and they started forward. Every muscle in Lars’ body ached, but the Commander’s voice burned raw in his mind. He caught a bitter tongue-lashing as he paused to resettle his grip, and felt bitter anger flare, warming him, quickening his step. But mostly there was weariness, and wonder. How could Fox do it? How could he find this bottomless resource of burning energy, to drive and drive to the point of hopelessness, and then drive more? What miracle of strength and vitality could that man have? There were no answers, yet dimly a flicker of understanding flared in Lars’ mind. This was why he could lead, because he had strength where strength failed.

  They moved, a sorry beaten line, past the wrecked ship, on up the snowfield toward the low saddle of the pass before them. They didn’t care what was beyond it now. All they cared was to get it over, to cross beyond, somehow. The wind was whipping the snow into a blizzard now, and darkness was falling rapidly; the rocks were becoming hazy and indistinct, even the expanse of white above and beyond grew gray, grayer. Lars stopped once and looked back, peering through the gloom to see the fantastic wreck they had left behind them, but he could see. nothing but a wall of white.

  Had it really been there? Could it have been there? Or had it been a feverish dream, a weird nightmare to torment them? Perhaps a vicious twist of their imaginations, a wraith, like the thing in the valley that Kennedy had thought he had seen. But it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was one foot ahead, another, climb, stumble, climb some more, on up the ridge.

  Until finally, imperceptibly in the darkness, they were moving down instead of up, and the ragged shadows of twisted trees were appearing below them, the timber line, high on this side of the pass, and the wind dying as they slid down into a protective cut in the rock and dragged wood up, wood that meant warmth at last, a place to rest in safety.

  They were over the pass. Below them the valley lay, dark and imponderable before them.

  Dawn came silent and windless and gray. The snow had stopped, and a wall of fog had descended, hiding all but the first lines of trees below the camping place. It was still cold, and there was no food, but the men felt at least half alive as light began to show grayly from over the pass.

  They had thrown caution to the winds when they had reached that sheltering place, and built up a huge fire, warming themselves, drying their underclothes, drawing some element of life and hope from the yellow flames. And then they had slept, for the first time in days. Fox, Lorry, Lambert and Lars had split watches while the others slept like the rocks they were sleeping on. When Lars’ turn came, he hardly felt the hard ground beneath him before he was in oblivion.

  But with morning came some degree of orientation. They could not see the valley below them except for a few yards of gray slope downward because of the fog, but they knew that this was the valley where Kennedy had seen, or thought he had seen a city. A city that human hands could not have made, Kennedy had said. It sobered their faces as they warmed themselves around the refurbished fire.

  “We’ve got to go down there,” Lambert was saying. “There’s nothing to go back for.”

  “What about Kennedy and Marstom? Do you think they can travel?” Fox showed his weariness now, but his voice was firm. “We could hold up here another day, if necessary. There’s protection here, and fuel.”

  “The sleep did them good,” Lambert said. “The
y need food, and medicine, as well as rest, and they won’t find those things here.”

  “You think we’ll find them—” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder—“down there?”

  “We won’t know until we try it.”

  So it was decided. Marstom’s cough was noticeably better, and Lars no longer felt the feverish heat in his cheeks; his eyes felt sore, and his bones ached, but he decided that mostly he felt hungry, and dirty, and tired.

  They moved down the valley. Jerry Klein was himself again, a little shame-faced as he picked the lead down the rocky slope and stopped to help the sick men. There was a faint trail through the scrub trees, and after two or three hours of trudging downward, they found the forest gave way to a grassy meadow.

  Above and below them the fog grew thinner, breaking in patches to let the orange light down. More and more frequently Fox signaled a stop as he studied the gray mists below with field glasses. There was no sound but the scrape of their boots, yet the air seemed charged with tension as they moved on. And then they saw Jerry Klein stop, wave his hand violently and peer down the slope.

  They froze in their tracks. The fog below had broken, momentarily, and something had appeared, far below them, for the barest instant. At least they thought they saw something.

  “Did you see it?” Lambert asked Lars.

  “Something—I couldn’t tell what.”

  “We’ll stop here,” Fox said. “Stay down. That fog bank is breaking. There’s something down there.”

  Even as he spoke, Lars felt a breeze pass down the valley, ruffling the grass, and quite suddenly the fog was gone, sunlight streamed down, and they saw the whole valley revealed before them.

  They stared, unbelieving, wordless.

  When Lars described it later, he knew exactly the impression he got that first strange moment when the fog passed. It was as though they had been standing in a darkened theater, and suddenly the curtain had been raised to reveal an incredible stage, a fantastic wonderland. But now he stood rooted like the rest, not thinking, hardly able to comprehend the thing in the valley below them.

  It was a city—there was no doubt of that. Towers and spires rose one above the other, wildly, higgledy-piggledy, in utter defiance of gravity. The place was a blaze of flickering color, a confusing, shifting, changing assembly of buildings, arches, spires, bridges—tier upon tier of buildings rising with no semblance of order or harmony, a colorful, incredible riot of architecture.

  And as they watched it, it changed.

  A glistening tower of blue shifted to glowing pink, became misty, spread and sank, and in its place was a needle-pointed spire. Suddenly a great curving bridgeway sprung up from one side, moved swiftly in a graceful arch to the top of the spire. There was constant movement, constant change. Lars rubbed his eyes, and heard Commander Fox’s hoarse voice saying, “It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.”

  Lars knew what he meant. The colors, the spires, the shifting buildings, the tiny moving figures they could see on the bridges and causeways were only a part of the unbelievable scene before them. A city, yes; even a strange city they could have believed, but this city in the valley was beyond credibility.

  Because the entire city, with no visible support of any kind, was floating gently two hundred feet off the ground.

  Once when Lars had been very small, he had seen a traveling magician draw yard upon yard of brightly colored silk from a tiny vase the size of a thimble in his hand. He remembered the day very clearly, and he remembered how frightened he had been, for his reason had told him that that much silk could not possibly come from so small a space, yet his eyes insisted that it had. Years later he understood that both his eyes and his reason had been right. The silks had only appeared to come from the tiny vase, but understanding had never restored his broken faith in traveling magicians.

  That was the feeling he had now as he stared at the incredible city floating high above the valley floor. It couldn’t be true, yet he was seeing it. It was there before his eyes. When he closed his eyes and reopened them, it was still there.

  He saw now why Kennedy had been so confused. He understood why Kennedy had said that nothing human could have built that city.

  “So these are your aliens,” Lambert said as Fox pulled

  the field glasses from his eyes. “The messages from the Planetfall were right. They did contact an alien race here.”

  Fox said nothing. His eyes were very bright as he stared at the city in the valley.

  “But whatever they contacted destroyed their ship,” Lambert continued.

  “We don’t know that!” Fox snapped. “We haven’t found it but we don’t know these—creatures—are hostile.” He looked from man to man. “We have to know that. That means we have to go down there. But not all at once. I’ll go down alone, while the rest of you keep under cover.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Lambert.

  “Suppose they simply destroy anything that comes near?” Tom Lorry cautioned.

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Keep covered.” Fox nodded to Lambert. “Let’s go.”

  Slowly, Fox and Lambert started down the slope. The sun was high, burning away the last vestiges of fog. Lars sat stone-like, gripping his knees as the two men disappeared behind a knoll of rock, reappeared farther, moving toward the city.

  Then, suddenly they stopped, appeared to be conferring; they took a few more steps, and stopped again.

  Something was wrong. Their steps seemed to be labored, as though they were wading through knee-deep mud.

  “Can you see anything?” Marstom whispered.

  Lars shook his head. “Something’s holding them back. They’re trying to hail the city.”

  “They’re fools! They could be wiped out like—”

  “But nothing’s wiping them out. They just aren’t moving ahead any more.”

  The men had turned back, moving more easily. They turned again down the valley, starting at a run, and again their footsteps slowed. Through the glasses Lars saw Fox bend down, examine the ground minutely. Then the Commander moved forward alone, struggling to drag his feet, until he came to a complete halt, panting. He stood stock-still, facing the city for a long moment; then he turned back, rejoined Lambert, and they trudged back up the slope to the party.

  They were still panting when they reached the waiting group. “Can’t do it,” Fox said. “There’s some sort of energy field; it’s like slogging through waist-deep mud.”

  “Could you see anything?” Lorry asked.

  “No sign that they’ve spotted us.”

  “Maybe I should try,” said Lorry.

  “Listen,” Lambert said quietly.

  There was silence as they blinked at him.

  “Didn’t you hear it?”

  “I—I heard something,” said Lars suddenly. “Not a sound, but something—almost in my head.”

  “Yes, yes!” Lambert nodded. “I heard it down there, clearly —something I couldn’t understand.”

  “ ‘Let the boy come forth,’ ” Walter Fox said slowly.

  “That was it! I’m sure of it.”

  “I heard it too,” said Fox. “I can hear it now. ‘Let the boy come forth.’ ”

  “What boy?” Lorry asked. Then his eyes rested on Lars.

  Lars felt it now, deep within him, a frightening sensation, as if something were calling him, drawing him. “They want me,” he said. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but they want me.”

  “This is impossible,” Fox snapped. “There’s no sound.”

  “I’d better go,” Lars said. “Somebody’s got to contact them. If they want me, I’ll go.”

  He shifted his pack from his shoulders, straightened up to his full height. He was frightened, but the thing in his mind that was calling him was not threatening. It was urgent, and powerful, and yet curiously gentle. He didn’t even look at the men. He started down the path.

  “Lars!” Walter Fox ran after him, gripped his arm. “Do you know what yo
u’re doing, son?”

  Lars blinked down at the Commander’s weary face. Fox’s voice was hoarse, his gray eyes pleading. It seemed to Lars that he had never really seen Walter Fox before. The iron-and-steel facade had melted away, and a small and humble man stood there, gripping his arm, begging him to listen.

  “I’ve wanted this all my life,” Fox was saying. “I knew we’d find it sometime, I’ve wanted so badly to find it—”

  “Find it?” Lars shook his head in confusion.

  “Other life, other creatures than men, intelligent creatures,” Fox cried. “Men couldn’t be alone in all this endless universe. Can you see that? There had to be other creatures, good creatures.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “If you find them, down there, don’t spoil it for us. If they are good, trust them. Make them know that we are good, too. Offer them friendship. This is not the time for hate or fear or mistrust.”

  Lars nodded. “I know,” he said. “I’ll try not to spoil it.”

  He started down the slope, leaving Fox and the others watching. His eyes were fixed on the city as the towering buildings grew larger. He reached the valley floor, and stopped, as the urging deep in his mind increased. They were watching him, waiting for him, eagerly. He stepped out again as a cold edge of fear gnawed at his stomach. He clenched his fists at his side as he moved closer.

  At first he thought that the buildings were growing larger, but then he saw that the city was dropping down to meet him. Gently, like a feather, it settled to the ground, and he could see bridges and buildings lined with tiny figures watching him. Ahead was a gate, high and luminous, shimmering as he drew nearer, until he was standing before it.

  The gate opened before him, noiselessly, and the “sounds” in his mind seemed to swell, excitedly, as he walked through, like the babble of a thousand voices.

  And then, inside, he heard a voice in his ear, a real voice so familiar that he whirled with a cry when he heard it, and stopped face to face with Peter Brigham.