Rocket to Limbo

With aching limbs they started on up the slide. The ventilated suits were a burden now, insulating them somewhat, but growing too warm as they climbed, chilling them to the bone when they stopped. The whiteness around them grew thicker as they climbed, but Lars paid no attention to the surroundings. He kept his eyes on Jerry Klein’s boots above him, and followed, step by step upward, as the trip began to dissolve into a series of nightmare impressions, fleeting thoughts, almost-hopeless hopes.

Movement—to keep warm, to keep moving. Upward, always upward. A pause after what seemed like days, to finish the rations, melt some of the snow for water. Then on again. One foot forward, then the other. A scramble, a shout, a flurry of snow as Fox lost his footing, starting a small slide down toward them, and then the pause to rope together. Another pause, as they reached the top of the slide, searched the crags above for a way to reach further up.

Darkness, and coldness, another dawn. Above them, the mountain like a living, malignant thing, daring them to keep coming, but high on a ridge near the summit, a glint of metal, a glint of hope.

They moved upward.

It was too easy to despair. Lars found himself thinking bleakly of the wreck high above them on the ridge. Would they find food there? Would the generators still work, would there be recharges for their heater-packs? There had to be, if they hoped to survive. But there was more up there, more waiting for them. For the hundredth time Lars remembered Peter Brigham’s words: It just doesn’t fit, any of it. And we won’t nail it until we reach that wreck and find out what really happened to the Planetfall.

And over it all, the growing conviction that they were not alone on this planet, somehow, that somewhere alien eyes were watching, waiting.

On the fourth day they met the remainder of Lorry’s group.

It was a sorry reunion. They met on a high ridge, where Fox and his group had fought for hours to climb a series of rocky abutments. Tom Lorry spotted them from the other side of the ridge and shouted; then he was running toward them, with Bob Kennedy at his heels. Behind came Marstom, the engineer. There were no others.

“Where are the rest?” Fox demanded when they had joined into a huddled group on the ridge.

“Three of them ran out,” Lorry panted. “We all started up when we found the ship gone, but Blair broke his ankle. I left him down below with Burger and all the food we had. They’ve got fuel, and some protection from the wind. We started on up then. How is your food supply?”

“It isn’t,” Fox said.

“Then let’s get going. There’s got to be food in that wreck.”

They moved upward.

That night Kennedy began coughing, and so did Marstom. By morning both were feverish. Fox and Lars had frostbitten fingers which Lambert nursed back to warmth again. The wind was back, cold and biting, carrying drifts of sleet down the mountainside upon them. Lambert loaded both men with antibiotic, and distributed the rest of his stress-caps. They had lost sight of the wreck above them now; they were too close against the mountainside. But Klein thought he saw a way up.

“We can’t take these men with fevers,” Lambert protested.

“We can’t leave them here. Maybe there’ll be some shelter when we get up there, some food.”

Both men agreed. Marstom had difficulty with his breathing as they started to hike again, but by stopping periodically he was able to keep up. Kennedy was wracked with coughing. They moved up one cliff face, then another. Only once that day did they see their goal. It looked as distant as the day they had started. But they knew it couldn’t be. “Another push, a hard one, tomorrow and we might make it,” Fox said hopefully. “We’ll have to start as soon as there’s any light at all. How are the sick ones?”

“I’m nearly out of drugs,” Lambert said.

“But they’re holding their own?”

“For now.”

“There may be drugs on the ship.”

“If there’s just some food it’ll suit me,” Jerry Klein growled. “There might even be some way to salvage it, you know.”

“Of course!” Fox said, forcing enthusiasm. “If only the engines are reparable, it wouldn’t be tough to repair a wrecked shell. But we can’t do it down here. Let’s try to sleep now, and then move. I don’t want to spend another night on this iceberg with a rock for a pillow.”

“It’ll be a tough climb tomorrow,” Klein warned.

“So we climb,” said Fox. “At least we’ll stay warm that way.”