watching. It confirmed the impressions he had gathered by day.
And the ship was back under the hidden sun, low, readying for setdown.
Her latitude was about 40 degrees. In the north, the lesser members of
the giant range gave way to foothills of their own. Flandry made out one
volcano in that region, staining heaven with smoke. A river flowed
thence, cataracting through canyons until it became broad and placid in
the wooden plains further south. The diffuse light made it shine dully,
like lead, on its track through yonder azure lands. Finally it ran out
in a kilometers-wide bay.
The greenish-gray sea creamed white with surf along much of the coast.
The tidal pull of Siekh in summer approximated that of Luna and Sol on
Terra, and ocean currents flowed strongly. For some distance inland,
dried, cracked, salt-streaked mud was relieved only by a few tough plant
species adapted to it.
Uh-huh, Flandry reflected. In spring the icecaps melt. Sea level rises
by many meters. Storms get really stiff; they, and increasing tides,
drive the waves in, over and over, to meet the floods running down from
the mountains … And Djana believes in a God Who gives a damn?
Or should I say, Who gives a blessing?
He rubbed his cheek, observing with what exquisite accuracy nerves
recorded pressure, texture, warmth, location, motion. Well, he thought.
I must admit, if Anyone’s been in charge of my existence, He’s furnished
it with noble pleasures. Despite everything, fear knocked in his heart
and dried his mouth. He’s not about to take them away, is He? Not now!
Later, when I’m old, when I don’t really care, all right; but not now!
He remembered comrades in arms who didn’t make it as far through time as
he’d done. That was no consolation, but rallied him. They hadn’t whined.
And maybe something would turn up.
The scene tilted. The engines growled on a deeper note. The ship was
landing.
The Merseian base stood on a bluff overlooking the river, thirty or so
kilometers north of its mouth, well into fertile territory. The
spaceport was minute, the facilities in proportion, as Flandry had
surmised; nothing fancier than a few destroyers and lesser craft could
work out of here. But he noticed several buildings within the compound
that didn’t seem naval.
Hm. Do the Merseians have more than one interest in Talwin? … I
imagine they do at that. Otherwise they’d find a more hospitable planet
for their base–or else a better-camouflaged one, say a sunless rogue
… You know, their intelligence activities here begin to look almost
like an afterthought.
The ship touched down. Air pressure had gradually been raised during
descent to match sea-level value. When interior gravity was cut off, the
planet’s reasserted itself and Flandry felt lighter. He gauged weight at
nine-tenths or a hair less.
Tryntaf reappeared, issued an order, and redisappeared. Flandry was
escorted to the lock. Djana waited by her own guard. She seemed
incredibly tiny and frail against the Merseian, a porcelain doll.
“Nicky,” she stammered, reaching toward him, “Nicky, please forgive me,
please be good to me. I don’t even know what they’re saying.”
“Maybe I will later,” he snapped, “if they leave me in shape to do it.”
She covered her eyes and shrank back. He regretted his reaction. She’d
been suckered–by her cupidity; nonetheless, suckered–and the feel of
her hand in his would have eased his isolation. But pride would not let
him soften.
The lock opened. The gangway extruded. The prisoners were gestured out.
Djana staggered. Flandry choked. Judas on a griddle, I was warned to
change clothes and I forgot!
The heat enveloped him, entered him, became him and everything else
which was. Temperature could not be less than 80 Celsius–might well be
higher–20 degrees below the Terran-pressure boiling point of water. A
furnace wind roared dully across the ferrocrete, which wavered in his
seared gaze. He was instantly covered, permeated, not with honest sweat
but with the sliminess that comes when humidity reaches an ultimate.
Breathing was like drowning.
Noises came loud to his ears through that dense air: wind, voices,
clatter of machines. Odors borne from the jungle were pungent and musky,