The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

Before going to her quarters, Jill took a long walk through the semipressurized passageway to the tail section. Here she drank some coffee and chatted briefly with some of the officers. Barry Thorn was present, but he, too, seemed a little nervous, even more reticent than usual. Perhaps, she thought, he was still unhappy at being rejected by Obrenova. If, indeed, that had been the cause of their argument.

At that moment, she was reminded that the two had spoken in a language unknown to her. Now was not the time to ask him about that. It was possible she might never be able to bring up the subject. To do so would be to admit that she had been eavesdropping.

On the other hand, she was very curious. Some day, when there were not more pressing things to consider, she would ask him about it. She could claim that she just happened to walk by-which was the truth-and had heard a few words of the dialog. After all, if she did not understand what they were saying, she could not be eaves­dropping, could she?

She went to her cabin, where she crawled into the bunk and went to sleep almost at once. At 04:00 hours a whistle from the intercom awoke her. She went to the control room to relieve Metzing, the third mate. He stood around a while, talking about his experiences as commander of the LZ-1, then left. Jill did not have much to do, since Piscator was a very competent pilot and the atmospheric conditions were normal. In fact, the Japanese had set the automatic controls on, though he kept a close watch on the indicator panel.

There were two others present, the radio and the radar operators.

“We should see the mountains at about 23:00,” she said.

Piscator wondered aloud if they were as high as Joe Miller had estimated. The titanthrop had guessed them to be about 6096 meters or 20,000 feet. Joe, however, was not a good judge of distances, or, at least, not good at converting distances into metrics or the English system.

“We’ll know when we get there,” Jill said.

“I wonder if the mysterious occupants of the tower will allow us to return?” he said. “Or even to enter the tower?”

That question had the same answer as the previous ones. Jill did not comment.

“Perhaps, though,” Piscator said, “they may allow us to survey it.”

Jill lit a cigarette. She did not feel nervous now, but she knew that, when they were close to the mountains, she was going to be at least a little spooked. They would be entering the forbidden, the tabu, the area of the Castle Perilous.

Piscator, smiling, his black eyes shining, said, “Have you ever considered the possibility that some of Them might be on this ship?”

Jill almost strangled as she sharply drew in cigarette smoke. When she was through coughing, she said, wheezing, “What in hell do you mean?”

“They could have agents among us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s just an idea,” he said. “After all, isn’t it reasonable to believe that They would be watching us?”

“I think you have seen more than you’re admitting. What makes you think this? It won’t hurt to tell me.”

“It’s just an idle speculation.”

“In this idle speculation, as you call it, is there someone you think could be one of Them?”

“It wouldn’t be discreet to say so, even if there was someone. I wouldn’t want to point the finger at a possibly innocent party.”

“You don’t suspect me?”

“Would I be stupid enough to tell you if I did? No, I am just thinking aloud. A most regrettable habit, one which I should rid myself of.”

“I don’t remember you ever thinking aloud before.”

She did not pursue the subject, since Piscator made it evident he was not going to add anything. The rest of the watch she tried to think of what he might have observed and then put together to make a pattern. The effort left her head buzzing, and she went back to bed feeling very frustrated. Perhaps he had just been putting her on.

In the afternoon, only two minutes short of the time she had predicted, the tops of the polar mountains were sighted. They looked like clouds, but radar gave a true picture. They were moun­tains. Rather, it was one continuous mountain wall circling the sea. Firebrass, reading its indicated height, groaned.