Rocket to Limbo

“But how did it get here?” Jerry Klein, the little brown-eyed meteorologist wanted to know.

“If this river floods, it might have come from anywhere upstream from here,” Lambert suggested excitedly. “Could they have come down from the wreck, do you think? Made camp here, or near here?”

They scattered along the river bank, searching for other artifacts, but found nothing. “Lots more likely that it was washed down from the wreck itself,” Salter said gloomily. “Just one more reason to think that they’re all dead.”

“With three opened cans? They wouldn’t have opened rations unless they were landed from the ship,” Lars countered.

“All right, then they were attacked,” Salter growled. “I can’t see what difference it makes.”

But it did make a difference, a very real difference. Here was evidence that could not be ignored that the Planetfall had made a landing on Wolf IV. But a safe landing? The food bag only made the question the more confusing.

At any rate, they were on their feet again, anxious to be on. Once again Peter teamed with Leeds. They seemed to be talking a great deal. Only once could Lars catch Peter’s eye, as they moved on up the river bank, and when he did, he felt a shiver go up his spine. It was only a glance, but there was an almost eerie quality of appeal in it. It was as though Peter were trying, desperately, to tell him something without words or signs. Yet when Lars paused to come closer Peter shook his head angrily and motioned him curtly away.

Lambert saw Lars’ puzzled frown. “What’s up?”

Lars hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Lambert grunted skeptically, but moved ahead with him. At last they reached a place where the river was broader, but seemed less turbulent. Fox motioned them together. “I want to try to get across, if we can. It looks like some sort of trail along the far side. There might be a better view up the mountains from there. Think we can manage with the rafts?”

Lars stared at the waterway. “I think I could paddle across with a line. Then it would be easy to ferry across, and we could leave the rafts there to return with.”

“Want to give it a try? We’ll have you secure with a line from this side.”

It was not too difficult. They inflated the rafts with CO₂ cartridges, and loaded Lars’ pack into another raft. Lars secured the coil of nylon cord to his waist, and pushed the rubber boat out into the stream. He paddled swiftly, not trying to fight the current but allowing it to help him. Slowly the far bank became more distinct, until he found a landing spot, and began moving upstream to the point opposite the party. Fifteen minutes later the line was taut to a gnarled scrub tree, and the party pulled themselves across in the rafts.

Now they were in the jungle, if it could be called that. The trees were twisted and short, with iron-hard branches and little clumps of needle-like leaves. They stood like gnarled skeletons, their branches interlacing into an impenetrable thicket, but they did not break the wind which whistled through them. Across the river the ship was gone from sight, hidden by the trees and the inevitable mist that settled. But here they found a trail moving up into higher ground, toward the mountains. Fox led the way forward without a pause after cacheing the rafts securely among the trees.

At the top of the rise the mountains were clearly in view, outlined in the now fading daylight. Fox studied them closely with his field glasses for a long time. Then he grunted and handed the glasses to Klein. “See what you can see.”

The meteorologist studied the rising bastion. “Rough,” he said at last. “I thought I caught a glimpse of the ship, but then the clouds came down.”

“It’s there. But getting to it is another thing.”

“Let me have a look.” Lambert took the glasses. “From here, I doubt if we could get a crawler up there. But that ridge up ahead hides the view. Maybe from there we could see a way.”

Jeff Salter took the glasses. “Why not move up there tomorrow?” he said. “We’d have better light.”

“No place to encamp here,” Lambert said. “But we could see better, that’s true.”

“We’ll go on a mile or so farther,” Fox decided at last. “At least we may find a better camping spot.”

They moved out again. Here, in the forest and with gathering darkness they did not have the visibility they had on the delta. Everyone was jittery. Lars felt time and again for the bulge of his machine pistol against his leg as he watched the shadowy darkness creep in. But finally they found an open place, level, but with some protection afforded by an outcropping of rock. Here they set up the insulated shelter tents, huddling in against the rocks for safety from the wind. Fox checked with Lorry, and shook his head unhappily.

“Lorry doesn’t see any approach from his side. A solid cliff runs along the bottom. He’s planning to go back to the ship at daylight.”

“What about us?” Peter asked.