To The Stars

“I’m not sure… but I think the water is lower,” Otakar said in a hoarse voice. “Yes, it is, it must be, that rung was under water a minute ago.”

“I’ll tell you something even better,” Jan said, cutting in the autopilot and dropping back heavily in the chair. “If you look directly ahead I think you’ll see where the Road comes out of the water again.”

The level of the water sank until the wheels were clear, throwing spray in all directions, then they were up on the solid surface once more and Jan killed the power and set the brakes.

“We’re across. The Road is still there.”

“But — can the trains make it?” Otakar asked.

“They are going to have to, aren’t they?” There was no answer to that.

Eight

Before there could be any thought of taking the trains across the drowned section of Road there was the barricade of the abandoned tank to be considered. Jan drove the engine back down the Road, with scarcely any trouble passing the mud-coated section on the return trip, and stopped a few meters from the tank.

“Any ideas?” he asked.

“Any chance of starting it up?” Otakar asked.

“Negative. The pile has been damped and all the circuits are wet by now. But there is something we have to find out before we even look for a way to tackle this.” He put in a call to Lajos, who had been driving the tank when it went under. The answer was not cheering at all. “The drive is still engaged. About the only thing we can do with that tank is push it aside. And we can’t do that unless it will roll free. It will be impossible to skid that amount of dead weight.

“You’re the Maintenance Captain,” Otakar said. “So you are the one to answer that question best.”

“I know the answer. With the power dead the manual disengage lever has to be used. But the trouble is that the thing is clamped to the inside rear wall. It has to be unhooked, fitted into place, then turned about a dozen times. All of this under, what? about three meters of water. Do you swim, Otakar?”

“Where would I learn to do that?”

“A good question. Too much fertilizer in the canal to swim there — and that is the only body of water near the city. You think someone would have planned a swimming pool when the cites were designed. It wouldn’t have taken much. I imagine that leaves me as the only swimmer on Halvmork. A reluctant volunteer. But I’ll need some help.”

There was no easy way to make a face mask, but one of the pressure bottles filled with compressed air was simple enough to arrange. Jan worked with the valve until it released a steady flow of air, smelling of oil and grease, that should supply his needs without blowing his head off. Emo arranged a sling so he could carry it at his waist, with a plastic tube to his mouth. That and a waterproof light were all he needed.

“Bring us as close as you can,” he told Otakar as he stripped off his clothes. He kept his boots on. The metal would be hot, and he would need gloves as well. When the two machines were touching, nose to nose, he cracked the top hatch. A wave of burning air rolled in. Without a word he climbed to the hatch and pushed it open.

It was like climbing into a baker’s oven. The cool air of the engine was left behind in an instant as he emerged into the blinding, burning sunshine. He covered his eyes with his arm and shuffled the length of the engine’s roof, picking his way between the cooling fins. Trying not to gasp in the hot air, forcing himself to suck the cooler air from the tube instead. Though the soles of his shoes were thick the heat of the metal was penetrating already. At the edge he did not hesitate, but eased himself over into the water.

It was a steaming cauldron that drained the energy from his body. One, two, three, strokes took him to the open hatch on the tank and he did not permit himself to hesitate, but sank instantly beneath the surface. It was dark, too dark — then he remembered the light. The heat of the water about him was all engulfing, draining both his will and energy. Now the lever, he must get it.

Everything moved as slowly as in a dream, and if his chest hadn’t hurt he thought he might go to sleep. He was getting air from the tank, but not enough. The lever. It came free easily enough, but fitting it over the stud seemed immensely difficult. When it finally clicked into place he lost precious seconds trying to remember which way to move it. Then the turns, over and over until it would turn no more.

Time. Time to go. The lever and the torch dropped from his fingers and he tried to rise, but he could not. The light of the open hatch was clear above but he did not have the strength to swim up to it. With a last burst of his waning energy he tore the weight of the air tank away, spitting out the tube, and bent his knees. One last time. Pushing upward, swimming u p ward, hard, harder.