Mission of Gravity

Hal Clement

MISSION OF GRAVITY

I: WINTER STORM

The wind came across the bay like something living. It tore the surface so thoroughly to shreds that it was hard to tell where liquid ended and atmosphere began; it tried to raise waves that would have swamped the Bree like a chip, and blew them into impalpable spray before they had risen a foot.

The spray alone reached Barle

Barle

Even Dondragmer, who should have known better. Barle

The mate had picked this moment, apparently, to check the stays of one of the masts, and had taken advantage of near-weightlessness to rear almost his full length upward from the deck. It was still a fantastic sight to see him towering, balanced precariously on his six rearmost legs, though most of the Bree’s crew had become fairly used to such tricks; but that was not what impressed Barle

Barle

No witness could have told precisely where the shore line now lay. A blinding whirl of white spray and nearly white sand hid everything more than a hundred yards from the Bree in every direction; and now even the ship was growing difficult to see as hard-driven droplets of methane struck bulletlike and smeared themselves over his eye shells. At least the deck under his many feet was still rock-steady; light as it now was, the vessel did not seem prepared to blow away. It shouldn’t, the commander thought grimly, as he recalled the scores of cables now holding to deep-struck anchors and to the low trees that dotted the beach. It shouldn’t — but this would not be the first ship to disappear while venturing this near the Run. Maybe his crew’s suspicion of the Flyer had some justice. After all, that strange being had persuaded him to remain for the winter, and had somehow done it without promising any protection to ship or crew. Still, if the Flyer wanted to destroy them, he could certainly do so more easily and certainly than by arguing them into this trick. If that huge structure he rode should get above the Bree even here where weight meant so little, there would be no more to be said. Barle

The crew had long since taken shelter under the deck flaps — even the mate ceased work as the storm actually struck. They were all present; Barle

They had plenty of supplies, of course; Barle

Still, fresh food was nice. He wondered how long this particular storm would keep them pe

It lay, under a small shelter flap of its own, on the poop raft beside him. It was an apparently solid block three inches long and about half as high and wide. A transparent spot in the otherwise blank surface of one end looked like an eye, and apparently functioned as one. The only other feature was a small, round hole in one of the long faces. The block was lying with this face upward, and the „eye” end projecting slightly from under the shelter flap. The flap itself opened downwind, of course, so that its fabric was now plastered tightly against the flat upper surface of the machine.

Barle

„Charles Lackland here.” The machine spoke abruptly, cutting the train of thought. „That you, Barl?”

„This is Barle

„Good to hear from you. Were we right about this little breeze?”

„It came at the time you predicted. Just a moment — yes, there is snow with it. I had not noticed. I see no dust as yet, however.”

„It will come. That volcano must have fed ten cubic miles of it into the air, and it’s been spreading for days.”

Barle

„What I really wondered about, Charles, was how long this blow was going to last. I understand your people can see it from above, and should know how big it is.”