The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

The first time the ship was in the arctic, just after The River had definitely turned for its southward journey, Frigate had proposed that they proceed northward on foot. The polar mountains could not be sees, yet they must be relatively near. Tantalizingly so.

Fanington had said, “And just how in blue blazes can we get over those?”

He had gestured at the unbroken stone verticality to the north. Here it rose to an estimated 3630 meters or a little less than 12,000 feet.

“In a balloon.”

“Are you nuts? The wind blows south here. It’d take us away from the polar mountains.”

“The surface wind would. But if the meteorological patterns are the same here as on Earth, the upper polar winds should be flowing northeastward. Once the balloon got high enough to get in their stream, it’d reverse direction, get blown toward the pole.

“Then, when we got near mountains that’re supposed to ring the supposed sea, we’d come down. We’d have no chance of getting over those mountains in the balloon, if they’re as high as they are said to be.”

Farrington had actually turned pale when he’d heard Frigate’s proposal.

Rider, grinning, said, “Didn’t you know that the Frisco Kid doesn’t even like the idea of air travel?”

“That isn’t it!” Martin said, glaring. “If a balloon could get us there, I’d be the first to board it. But it won’t! Anyway, how by the high muckamuck are we going to make a balloon even if we could travel on one?”

Frigate had to admit that it couldn’t be done. At least, not in this area. To make a balloon and fill it with hydrogen was impossible. There were no necessary materials here. Or anywhere else, as far as he knew.

However, there was another method they might consider. How about a hot-air balloon to carry a rope up to the top of the mountain?

Even as he spoke, he had to laugh. How could they make a rope 3650 meters long, one strong enough not to break under its own weight? What size of balloon would be needed to lift the enormous weight of the rope? One as big as the Hindenburg?

And how could they anchor the rope at the top of the mountain?

Grinning, Frigate proposed sending a man up in the rope-carrying aerostat. He could get off at the top and secure the balloon.

“Forget it!” Farrington said.

Frigate was happy to do this.

The Razzle Dazzle continued to sail southward, the wind behind it, its crew glad to get away from this gloomy, chilly area. There were some Old Stone Age people living here, but they had dwelt in the arctic regions on Earth. They did not know any better.

Since men, the schooner had crossed the equator and entered the south polar region nine times. At the moment, they were in the equatorial zone again.

Peter Frigate was sick of shipboard life. Nor was he the only one. Shore leave had been getting longer and longer for some time.

One day, while eating lunch on the bank, Frigate experienced two thrills in rapid sequence. One was the offering of his grail. For years he had been hoping to get peanut butter and a banana at the same time. Now, as he opened the lid of his grail, he saw the realization of his dream. ‘

A grey metal cup in a rack was filled with smooth, delicious-odored peanut butter. Across another rack was the yellow-brown-spotted form of a banana.

Grinning, slavering, chortling, he unpeeled the fruit and smeared one end with the peanut butter. Close to crooning with delight, he bit off the combination.

It was worth being resurrected if only for the food.

A moment later, he saw a woman walking by. She was very attractive, but it was what she wore that widened his eyes. He got to his feet and, speaking Esperanto, approached her.

“Pardonumin, sinjorino. I couldn’t help observing that unusual armlet. It looks like brass!”

She looked down, smiling, and said, “Estas brazo.”

She accepted his proffered cigarette with a murmured, “Dank-on,” and lit it. She seemed to be very amiable. Too much so, one person thought. Scowling, a tall, dark man strode up to them.