2061 Odyssey Three

chapter 51 Phantom
Even in his most horrible nightmares, Dr van der Berg had never imagined being stranded on a hostile world in a tiny space capsule, with only a madman for company. But at least Chris Floyd did not seem to be violent; perhaps he could be humoured into taking off again and flying them safely back to Galaxy...

He was still staring at nothing, and from time to time his lips moved in silent conversation. The alien 'town' remained completely deserted, and one could almost imagine that it had been abandoned for centuries. Presently, however, van der Berg noticed some tell-tale signs of recent occupancy. Although Bill Tee's rockets had blasted away the thin layer of snow immediately around them, the remainder of the little square was still lightly powdered. It was a page torn from a book, covered with signs and hieroglyphics, some of which he could read.

A heavy object had been dragged in that direction - or had made its way clumsily under its own power. Leading from the now closed entrance of one igloo was the unmistakable track of a wheeled vehicle. Too far away to make out details was a small object that could have been a discarded container; perhaps Europans were sometimes as careless as humans...

The presence of life was unmistakable, overwhelming. Van der Berg felt he was being watched by a thousand eyes - or other senses - and there was no way of guessing whether the minds behind them were friendly, or hostile. They might even be indifferent, merely waiting for the intruders to go away, so that they could continue their interrupted and mysterious business.

Then Chris Floyd spoke once again into the empty air.

'Goodbye, Grandfather,' he said quietly, with just a trace of sadness. Turning towards van der Berg he added in a normal conversational tone: 'He says it's time to leave. I guess you must think I'm crazy.'

It was wisest, decided van der Berg, not to agree. In any event, he soon had something else to worry about.

Floyd was now staring anxiously at the read-outs that Bill Tee's computer was feeding to him. Presently he said, in an understandable tone of apology:

'Sorry about this, Van. That landing used up more fuel than I'd intended. We'll have to change the mission profile.'

That, van der Berg thought bleakly, was a rather roundabout way of saying: 'We can't get back to Galaxy.' With difficulty, he. managed to suppress a 'Damn your grandfather!' and merely asked: 'So what do we do?'

Floyd was studying the chart, and punching in more numbers.

'We can't stay here -, (Why not? thought van der Berg. If we're going to die anyway, we might use our time learning as much as possible.) ' - so we should find a place where the shuttle from Universe can pick us up easily.'

Van der Berg breathed a huge mental sigh of relief. Stupid of him not to have thought of that; he felt like a man who had been reprieved just when he was being taken to the gallows. Universe should reach Europa in less than four days; Bill Tee's accommodation could hardly be called luxurious, but it was infinitely preferable to most of the alternatives he could imagine.

'Away from this filthy weather - a stable, flat surface - closer to Galaxy, though I'm not sure if that helps much - shouldn't be any problem. We've enough for five hundred kilometres - it's just that we can't risk the sea crossing.'

For a moment, van der Berg thought wistfully of Mount Zeus; there was so much that could be done there. But the seismic disturbances - steadily getting worse as lo came into line with Lucifer - ruled that out completely. He wondered if his instruments were still working, and would check them again as soon as they'd dealt with the immediate problem.

'I'll fly down the coast to the equator - best place to be anyway for a shuttle landing - the radar map showed some smooth areas just inland round sixty west.'

'I know. The Masada Plateau.' (And, van der Berg added to himself, perhaps a chance for a little more exploring. Never miss an unexpected opportunity...)

'The Plateau it is. Goodbye, Venice. Goodbye, Grandfather...'

When the muted roar of the braking rockets had died away, Chris Floyd safetied the firing circuits for the last time, released his seat belt, and stretched arms and legs as far as he could in Bill Tee's confined quarters.

'Not such a bad view - for Europa,' he said cheerfully. 'Now we've four days to find out if shuttle rations are as bad as they claim. So - which of us starts talking first?'