They landed on a small concrete square by the entrance to the dome, between two larger vehicles that were obviously of local design and manufacture. There was nothing green here, just dark red dust that crunched underfoot.
A man dressed only in shorts met them at the door. He led them around back to a crude winch arrangement, where they climbed out of their GPEM suits.
Inside, he gave them homespun shorts and showed them the crystal.
“Ninety centimeters,” he said. “I’m afraid it can only transport two at a time. Or one, with equipment.”
“No facilities for sterilization,” Tania said.
“Not really. We can seal off the dome and heat everything inside-specimens included, I’m afraid.”
“It works, though?” Jacque said. “The crystal?”
“Sure. We’ve sent people to Sixty-one Cygnus and Vega.”
“Not Sirius?”
“Not yet. We don’t want to send anybody on a blind jump.”
“You’re still calibrating, then,” Gus said.
“For Sirius, yeah. We’ve lost eight probes doing longer and longer jumps.” The shorter a jump, the bigger its target has to be.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Tania said.
“Well, it means there’s no planet in the system the size of earth or bigger. . . or maybe there is. Maybe the L’vrai destroy our probes before they can slingshot back.
“There’s one due back tomorrow, a ten-day jump. You can spend the night in town and come back with me in the morning.”
“Fine,” Tania said. “It’s been a long day.”
He laughed. “Nothing but long days on this planet.” Hell’s axis was almost perpendicular to the ecliptic. Tau skimmed along the southern horizon for a ten-hour-long sunrise during the day; for night, they had ten hours of twilight.
They drove back to Gardenspot with the controller, whose name was Eliot Sampson. The ride on the electric truck was slow and bumpy.
They crawled up a long rise beyond which Sampson had said it was all downhill to town. When they got to the top, he slammed on the brakes.
“I’ll be damned. Look at that.” Suspended over Gardenspot was a large white-and-gray cloud. It was floating toward them.
“What,” Jacque said, “A cloud?”
“Right, a cloud, a cloud.” He put the truck in gear and lurched on down the hill. “I forgot,” he shouted over the whining motor, “today’s the big cloud-seed experiment. See whether local rain can be . . . can compete with irrigation.”
A few big drops spattered the windshield, leaving brown mud tracks in the dust. “Nothing but fossil water here,” he said, “but lots of it. Underground lakes, rivers. We can pump it up, surround Gardenspot with standing water. Water vapor in the air.” He laughed wildly.
Jacque had braced himself between the metal seatback and the dashboard, knuckles turning white. “Say, aren’t you going a little fast?”
“No, hell, all I ever do is drive this road. Want to get there before-“ Suddenly they were drenched, blinded by a solid sheet of water. The rear wheels of the truck decided they wanted to lead for a while.
They spun around several times, wheels trying to find traction under the thin layer of sudden mud. Finally they slid into a ditch and came to a jarring halt. The first rain in a million years had caused the planet’s first traffic accident.
The driver got a bloody nose and Jacque wrenched his shoulder, but there were no other injuries. The rain stopped while they were still pushing on the truck and listening to apologies.
“Sixty seconds now.” Eliot Sampson looked up from the control board and, with the rest of the small crowd, stared at the waiting crystal.
“I just thought of something,” Carol whispered.
“What’s that?” Jacque said.
She took his hand. Her palm was moist and cold. ‘What if . . . what if the probe doesn’t come back alone? What if some L’vrai is inside the slingshot radius?”
“Forty-five,” Sampson said.
“Seems unlikely,” Jacque said. “Crystal’s not that big.”
“Still. There isn’t a weapon in this place.”
Jacque shook his head. “Probe won’t even come back, probably.” He stepped to the wall and removed a heavy pair of boltcutters hanging there; he hefted the tool like a club. “Better than nothing.”