The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“Can you do your work while we’re aloft? The air might be rough.”

“No sweat, sir. Well, only a little, anyway.”

The process of untying the ship and getting it into the air took fifteen minutes. Nikitin took the Parseval up above the tower and then sent her down toward its base. Radar indicated that the helicop­ter was now against the base of the tower. Though the sea was not violent, its waves were short and choppy, and it had probably smashed the machine against the tower. However, if they were lucky, the damage could be minimal.

Aukuso radioed Thorn again without success.

Because of the updraft by the tower, it was impossible to bring the dirigible close to the helicopter. Nikitin piloted it down close to the surface and held her against the wind. The belly hatch was opened, and three men in an inflatable boat with an outboard motor were lowered. It headed for the tower, guided by the radarman on the ship.

Boynton, the officer in charge, gave a running report.

“We’re alongside the chopper now. It’s bumping into the tower, but its pontoons have kept the vanes from being damaged. The pontoons don’t seem damaged, either. We’re having a hell of a time with this pitching sea. Report back in a minute.”

Two minutes later, his voice came back on.

“Propp and I are in the chopper now. Thorn’s here! He’s pretty bloody, looks as if he got a bullet in the left chest and some richocheting fragments got him in the face, too. He’s alive, though.”

“Is there an opening or entrance of any sort in the tower?”

“Just a minute. Have to light a flare. These lamps aren’t strong enough . . . no, there’s nothing there but smooth metal.”

“I wonder why he landed there?” she said to Cyrano.

He shrugged and said, “I would guess that perhaps he had to land quickly before he passed out.”

“But where was he going?”

“There are many mysteries here. We might be able to clear up some of them if we apply certain methods of persuasion to Thorn.”

“Torture?”

Cyrano’s long, bony face was grave.

“That would be inhumane, and, of course, the end never justifies the means. Or is that statement a false philosophy?”

“I could never torture anybody, and I wouldn’t permit anyone else to do it for me.”

“Perhaps Thorn will volunteer information when he realizes that he cannot be free until he does so. I do not really think so, however. That one looks very stubborn.”

Boynton’s voice came in again. “With your permission. Ms. Gulbirra, I’ll fly the chopper out. Everything looks okay. My men can bring Thorn back in the raft.”

“Permission granted,” Jill said. “If it’s operable, take it up to the top of the tower. We’ll be along later.”

Within ten minutes, the radar operator reported that the helicop­ter was lifting. Boynton added that everything was running smoothly.

Leaving Coppename in charge, Jill went down to the hangar bay. She arrived in time to see Thorn’s cloth-wrapped body being lifted out of the raft. He was still unconscious. She followed the stretcher bearers to the sick bay, where Graves immediately took charge.

“He’s in shock, but I think I can pull him through. You can’t question him now, of course.”

Jill posted two armed guards at the door and returned to the control room. By then the ship was lifting, headed for the tower. A half-hour later, the Parseval was again poised above the landing field. This time, it stayed 200 meters .from the dome. Its nose was pointed against the slight wind, and its propellers spun lazily.

After a while, the little wagon made by the machinists was lowered onto the surface. After being pulled to the entrance, it was pushed as far as two men could get. Then long poles made by the machinists were used to push the wagon deeper. Extensions were added to the poles as needed. In a short time, the forward end of the wagon was against the far wall.

After six photographs were taken, the wagon was pulled back by a long rope. Jill eagerly removed the large plates, which had been developed electronically at the moment of exposure.