Resurgence (38 page)

"I think so."

"Do it now. Tally, Rebka, can you help? We need to turn him over. The back of his suit is smoother than the front."

With his suit stiffened, Ben felt no pressure on his limbs or body. A few moments later he was on his back, staring upward. Tiny flakes of ice, hard as sand grains, pelted his faceplate. He found his body moving, head forward. The others were pushing him like a human sled toward the
Have-It-All
. Except that it must be far harder than pushing a sled. In this temperature, the pressure of his suit on the snow would not cause the melting that made a sled's movement so easy. His progress was a series of unpleasant bumps and jumps.

How much farther?

Ben gritted his teeth and told himself that it was much easier for him than for the ones who were half-pushing, half-carrying his body. He knew he had reached the
Have-It-All
only when one of Archimedes's great tentacles coiled around his body and lifted him slowly and carefully through the hatch.

The Zardalu had to be freezing. He wore no suit. The whole entrance chamber was covered in snow, and it was almost as cold here as it was outside. Archimedes held his position, hoisting humans and aliens one by one from the frozen surface of the planet and into the ship.

When Louis Nenda, the last one, was lifted in, Kallik slammed the hatch closed. Archimedes, shivering all over and with his great body puckered into midnight-blue goosebumps, headed rapidly for the ship's interior.

Nenda said, "Archie has the right idea. Come on, everyone will fit into the main conference room, provided Archie lies down along one of the walls. We can all take our suits off and sit in comfort."

This time Ben was going to walk if it killed him. He didn't know who to thank for getting him this far, but he moved with the others to the
Have-It-All
's luxurious conference room. And if everyone's suit was coming off, so was his. It took him three times as long as anyone else, but finally he was done and could ease himself into a seat.

He was sitting opposite Darya Lang. She gave him one look and said to Louis Nenda, "Medical treatment." Then, to Ben, "You have as much right as anyone else to know what's going on. But right after this meeting, that arm and those ribs receive expert attention."

Fixing me up so we can all die together?
Ben saw Nenda's grim look as the other man sat down at the end of the table.

Nenda began, "Conditions are bad out there, an' I can't see 'em gettin' anythin' but worse. You may think it's no problem, we'll be up an' out of here in ten minutes. That's not true. Here's where we stand."

He described the problems of the ice loading and the reduced efficiency of the engines that had to take them to orbit. He concluded, "So unless somebody has a brilliant idea, there seems to be only one answer: we have to lighten ship in a big way. Anything that can go, must go. Things like this, for example." Nenda tapped the tabletop in front of him. It was a gorgeous expanse of smooth alabaster, into which dust or even crumbs of food were absorbed leaving no trace. "Beautiful, an' valuable. But when things get desperate, in a pinch it's expendable. We'll make an inventory. If you're in doubt, ask me. I know what we need to fly. I also know what we need to survive in space. Reducing us to a minimum is goin' to be a long job—three or four days, I'd say. An' at the end of it we still may not know what our chances are. Also, we'll need a party to go outside again an' clear ice and snow off the engines and the control surfaces, an' make us a runway in case we fly atmospheric. I'll accept volunteers for that in fifteen minutes."

He looked down the table at Ben. "You're not on that list. You come with me now, and we'll fix you up."

Ben forced himself to his feet. His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else as he followed Louis Nenda out of the conference room and along the upper corridor of the
Have-It-All
.

"You don't think we'll make it, do you? Even with everything inessential stripped away, you don't think that in these conditions the ship can reach orbit."

Nenda shrugged. "What I think don't matter. I've been wrong before. Main thing is, we do what we can. Anythin' we can leave on Marglot, we do. Up on the table now, an' slide into the opening."

They were in the ship's medical center, the main part of which was shaped like a horizontal cylinder. Ben went in feet-first and inched forward until he was lying full length and flat on his back.

"That's good. The doc will tell us if you're ready to go dancin' again. Don't worry about the farmyard noises an' all the spaghetti. It's non-invasive. Have fun, an' I'll leave you to it."

Ben looked up. Hundreds of multi-colored tendrils were descending from a sphere suspended from the ceiling of the cylinder, homing in purposefully on his body. Clucking and chirping came from all around, accompanied by a dazzling array of lights. Ben felt touches in a hundred places at once, delicate pressures in combinations that were never the same twice. This might be a robodoc, but it was like nothing that Ben had ever seen. He wondered for which type of being the unit had originally been intended. It would easily accommodate something far bigger than a human.

He started to turn his head, until an admonishing voice said.
"Lie still. It is beginning."
 

The gentle touches of the tendrils went on, accompanied by small chills here and there on his body as though a cool spray was being applied for a second or two. Ben was beginning to wonder how long this would go on—and just what was going on—when the same dispassionate voice said,
"It is finished."
 

The array of tubes, fibers and wires retreated into the medusa from which they had emerged. The sounds ended, the lights went off. The voice said,
"Please wait here for at least five minutes before you leave."
 

That was it, the whole thing? Ben was mightily unimpressed. There had been no examination, no imaging of his arm or ribs, no adjustment of bones, no careful assessment of torn muscles or ligaments. He said, aloud, "That has to be the most stupid medical procedure I've ever heard of. What did it do?"

He expected no answer, but the voice said, "All bones were placed into perfect alignment. Instantaneous hardeners were applied to break points. Intercostal muscular inflammation was eased and five hematomas dissipated. There will be no more pain." 

Ben reached across with his left hand to feel his ribs and right upper arm. There was indeed no pain. Also, there was none of the mental numbness and disorientation that normally went with painkillers.

"However," the calm voice continued, "despite a feeling of well-being, the recovery process is far from over. For the next several weeks, body stresses should be kept to an absolute minimum. New trauma must be avoided at all costs." 

Ben took little heed of that. He felt like a new man. And that new man could, at last, began the action that had formed in Ben's mind as he listened to Louis Nenda in the conference room.

He headed back through the ship to locate his suit. On the way he passed Kallik and Archimedes, but the aliens were busy and gave him scarcely a glance. The conference room had its own terminal and display. Ben decided he wanted something closer to an exit. He found another terminal in a room next to the chamber where he had first entered. Rivulets from melted snow still pooled on the floor.

The message he left had to be fairly short and simple. He didn't want someone to come in and catch him in the middle of writing it.

To all of you—and especially to Sinara. I am going outside again, but it is certainly not my intention to seek death in the cold and snow. Nothing could be more inconsistent with my training as a survival specialist. I am going because I believe that all the measures proposed will prove insufficient to raise the Have-It-All into orbit from the surface of Marglot. 

I want to help, and I have something in mind. It is a long shot, but it is different in kind from everything else that you are doing. It can certainly do no harm to anyone except possibly me. Do not come looking for me; that would be a waste of time that you should devote to your own plans as stated. Although I do not expect to return, you will know if I succeed. Good luck to all of us, whatever happens. Ben Blesh. 
 

He climbed into his suit and went through to the next room. He opened the hatch and looked down. It was a long drop, but into deep snow. He would suffer no injury. A bigger worry was the hatch. If he left it open when he jumped, freezing air would invade the inside of the ship, which needed all the warmth it could get.

The hatch could be raised upward. If he stood on the edge, grasped the top in both hands, and stepped out backwards, then he could snap the hatch closed as he dropped.

Ben stood for a long time before he moved. If he was wrong he would die a drawn-out and lonely death as his suit ran out of air, water, and warmth. If he was right he might die even less pleasantly. Not the greatest of options.

But waiting would not improve them. Ben opened the hatch, grasped the top, and stepped out backwards for the blind drop to the surface.

The snow had stopped falling, and for the first time the sky was cloudless. It was full daylight. All around Ben stood a frozen wonderland of pure and dazzling white. He stared up. Light reflected from the surface and scattered so intensely in the atmosphere that M-2 was invisible in the bright sky.

The drifted snow changed the appearance of everything. There was a real danger that he might lose his way. That would be the ultimate failure, a journey that ended not in tragedy but in farce.

Ben studied the faint line that marked earlier movements between the cone-house and the ship. It should be easy to go that far. Beyond the cone-house he saw a lumpy hummock that must be the walking car. It had not moved since its arrival with Ben and Darya aboard, and it ought to provide the bearing that he needed.

He followed the half-covered track to the cone-house. With no wind and with his improved condition, it was hard to believe that he had been unable to cover this short distance just an hour or two ago. He continued into the unmarked wilderness beyond. With snow so deep and a hardened crust of ice, this was much harder going. He told himself that he would only need to do it once.

Snow had drifted against the car. He stepped close and brushed one side clear to provide a line of sight up the hill. He fixed that vector in his suit's locator and began to plow his way up the shallow incline.

The other side of the hill led down to the valley with the stream, now frozen and snow-covered. The road had vanished. Ben could see no landmarks at all. He was forced to operate from memory—unreliable memory, from a time when he had been strongly and continuously medicated. He walked, stopped, hesitated, started again, and finally halted. This was as good as he would get. He cleared a place big enough to sit, then used packed snow to make a steep little bank against which he could lean. He sat down. The scene had an eerie tranquillity and beauty. As far as the eye could see, the valley was an undisturbed white. Above it the cloudless sky shone greenish-blue.

Now there was nothing more that Ben could do. And precisely because he could do nothing, he relaxed for the first time since his injury on the surface of Iceworld. He had been unconscious for much of that time, but those medicated periods had not rested him. He leaned back against the little wall of snow. He adjusted his suit's thermal setting to its most comfortable level. As the long day drifted on, he drowsed.

What woke him was no more than a shadow, a patch of darkness sensed through closed eyelids in a place where no shadows should exist. He came fully awake, opened his eyes, and scrambled to his feet in a panic. Thirty meters away from him a black sphere hovered above the snow. He had no idea how long it had been there, but already it was beginning to sink down into the surface.

Would he be too late?

Ben made the effort of his life, scrambling and sliding toward the sphere. When he came to it he did not hesitate or slow. He hurled himself forward. The dark heart of the sphere swallowed him up, and one minute later it too was gone.

Sometime, someplace, humans and aliens might discover practical telepathy. Until they did, there was always a chance that whatever you said might be misunderstood.

If Louis had not been convinced of this before, the point was emphasized as he was walking along the
Have-It-All
's lower corridor and happened to glance into the conference room. He had just come from the lowest level, where Torran Veck, Teri Dahl, Atvar H'sial, and J'merlia were beginning to clear packed snow from the drive unit. Now Louis was looking for Kallik and Archimedes to set them to work.

He certainly found them, though what they were up to was another matter. Kallik stood by the conference room table, her round head level with the polished white top. Archimedes was sprawled along the length of it, his blue tentacles wrapped around each end. They flexed as Nenda watched, and the table top warped upward under a mighty force.

"I don't suppose you two would like to tell me what the hell you're doin'?"

"It is the table, Master Nenda." Kallik touched it with a forelimb. "Although we can pass it through the biggest of the cargo hatches, it will first be necessary to remove it from this room. That requires that it be broken into pieces. Indeed, although I had never thought about it before, it is a mystery how it was ever brought in."

"It wasn't. It was secreted on the spot by a bunch of Doradan Colubrids, an' for the moment it stays here. Archie, get down off that table or you'll be lookin' for a new set of guts."

"Master Nenda, you specifically declared the table to be expendable."

"
If
, Kallik. Didn't I say
if
? If things get desperate, an' we're not there yet. What I want is an
inventory
. We need to know the mass of everything that's not nailed down, plus a bunch of things that are. But until that's done, we throw nothin' overboard. Clear enough?"