Charon: A Dragon at the Gate Page 13

  Our initial transport was a small enclosed buggy pulled by a single toothy uhar. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the coach—very basic board and putty insulation—and we could feel every little bump in the very bumpy road. The uhar carts, no matter how fancy or plain, would take some getting used to; the big lizard’s gait tilted you first to one side, then to the other, rather quickly, while seeming to draw you forward in tiny and continuous fits and starts.

  We quickly cleared the town, then took a branch road to the north. Zala and I said very little during the journey, for there was very little to say except to voice the anxiety we both felt. With her ego it was really bad; at least I not only had a full reservoir of self-confidence, but knew in what direction the future was leading. Never had two more dissimilar people started out on an epic journey together, I reflected.

  We had broken through the rain forest to a vast clearing when Zala looked out her window and gasped. Frowning, I leaned over and looked out at what she was seeing—and did a little gasping myself.

  I saw a great, sleek, jet-black body topped by a head that looked like an enormous black triangle, with an enormous hornlike bony plate going back from the top of that weird head to almost halfway down the body. The head itself seemed to consist of an enormous beak and a pair of huge, round eyes that appeared to be lidless. But the real stunning part of the creature was its wings, which were barely folded and ran almost the length of the body. The wings were supported, somehow, by an apparatus and guy-wires. The thing appeared to be eating something enormous and bloody, gulping it down easily. As our buggy pulled to a stop and two people ran to get the door for us, I heard an enormous belch.

  We both jumped out of the buggy and stood there, transfixed by the sight. A young woman dressed in tight, leathery black clothes and boots approached, joined us, then turned and looked back at the beast. “Magnificent, isn’t she?” the newcomer enthused.

  “That’s one word for it,” I responded. “What the hell is it? “

  “They have a long scientific name, but we generally call ‘em soarers around Charon. They’re very rarely found on the ground, because it’s so hard to get them aloft again. They live up above the clouds around most of the planet, just floating there above the clouds and using surprisingly little energy.”

  “Is the beast down here for the reason I think it’s down here?” Zala managed nervously.

  The woman laughed. “Oh, yes. We use the soarers for transportation. They’re very useful, although only certain areas have enough clearing, wind, and elevation to get them aloft again. They’re quite friendly and intelligent, if they’re raised from eggs.”

  “I’ll bet,” I replied. “And it can get back in the air from here?!’

  “Oh, sure. Silla’s an old vet to this kind of thing. Still, they’re not practical for mass transportation, and we use ‘em mostly for the high-ups. You two’re gonna get a real treat Most folks never get to ride on one and the sight of one of ‘em dropping through the clouds scares most folks silly.”

  “The thought of riding on one doesn’t do wonders for me,” I said uneasily, no longer regretting the light breakfast a bit.

  “What do we do—climb on her back?” Zala wanted to know.

  The woman laughed. “Oh, no. See? The crew’s putting the passenger compartment on now. It’s strapped on tight and fits between bony plates just forward of the wings—see?”

  We did see—a fairly substantial-looking compartment, like a small cabin, was being hoisted into position with a manual which. Two members of the ground crew, looking like tiny insects on that great body, positioned the contraption into place and then dropped straps to the ground, where others crawled under the beast and tied or buckled the straps together. A few sample pushes to make sure it was seated right and the people on top seemed satisfied and started down ladders on either side. The operation shifted forward, where a smaller compartment was being similarly mounted just in back of the thick neck.

  “What do they eat ” Zala asked, still incredulous at the sight.

  The woman shrugged. “Practically anything. They’re omnivores, like us. Actually, they need very little. They’re hollow-boned and amazingly light; once they catch the currents and get some altitude, they use very little energy. A ton of mixed stuff every two days or so is the usual—mostly the tops of trees, stuff like that along with whatever’s in ‘em—but we give Silla extra, a couple of uhars or some other big animal, because of the energy take-off requires. They’re quite effective in controlling the wild animal population, thinning forests, you name it, and they fly in heavy rain as easily as in sunshine. The wild ones just about never land, but they do come in close. Don’t worry about ‘em, though—they know better than to nab people, who generally don’t have enough meat on “em to be worth paying attention to, anyway.”

  I was very happy to hear that. “How’s it flown—guided, I mean?” I asked her.

  “The pilot—that’s me—sits up there in that control cabin. I’ve got basic navigation instruments there, and the floor on both sides opens up. The early pioneers tried bridles, but they don’t work and the soarers are smart anyway. A well-trained one like Silla knows what to do just from how I press my feet on which side of the neck, when to do it, and when to stop.” She paused a moment, then added, “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that—but I’ll be in complete control.”

  Looking at her—she was no larger than I was and probably weighed less—and then at the soarer over there I was not reassured, but this wasn’t my party, not yet.

  A crewman came running up to her. “Word is it’ll start pouring again in less than twenty minutes,” he told her. “Better get everybody aboard and away.”

  She nodded.

  “I thought you said it was fine in the rain,” I said.

  “She is,” the pilot replied, “but taking off in those winds can turn us upside down at the very least. Better get on board.” She ran for the pilot’s cabin.

  I looked at Zala, who looked nervously back at me. ‘Think you can take it?” I asked her.

  “I’ll—try. If she can fly one, I can sure ride one.”

  We walked quickly over to the creature, following the crewman. The ladder to the passenger compartment was still in place, and he steadied it as first Zala and then I climbed up and went through an open door.

  The interior was actually quite nice—heavily padded, manufactured seats much like those on the shuttle, complete with seat belts; the whole thing was lined and carpeted with what looked like fur of some kind. Aft a small compartment was clearly marked as a rest room. Although it lacked lights, some sort of self-luminous chemical tubing ran all around giving off a sufficient glow to see by and we felt pretty comfortable.

  We were not the only ones in the cabin. Although I hadn’t noticed earlier, an elderly woman and a tough-looking young man had climbed aboard. They were dressed in very fancy raingear, obviously of offworld design. Following them were three ground crew people, two men and a woman, including the man who had taken us “aboard,” as it were. He pulled up the ladder, made a last check, then closed the door and spun a wheel locking it securely in place. The other crewman stood facing us, while the woman checked in back.

  “Please fasten both lap and shoulder belts,” the man told us. “While the flight’s basically a smooth one, you never know what you’re going to run into. Keep them fastened at all times. If you have to walk back to the lavatory, hold onto the rail and strap yourself in even in there. The cabin is not pressurized, so be prepared for a pressure differential in the ears. We have gum and mints if that troubles you. Occasionally we have to fly very high to get by some bad weather, and in that case I’ll tell you to remove the oxygen masks under your seats and put them on. They are fed by manual pressurized tanks. Keep ‘em on until I say it’s okay.”

  A sudden violent lurch really shook us up; it was followed by the most chilling screech I’ve ever heard in my whole life. Both Zala and I jumped nervously; the crew and th
e two passengers took no real notice.

  “Take-off positions!” the crewman yelled, and the three all strapped themselves into their seats very quickly. “Hold on, everybody! Here we go!”

  At that moment I felt a sudden, violent lurch, and we were abruptly pushed against the back of our seats and simultaneously jarred up and down so hard it almost hurt. I suddenly realized that the damned thing was running. I glanced over at Zala, but she was all tightened up, eyes closed. Then I looked out the tiny round window to my left. It was possible to see the ground just ahead of that incredible wing, going up and down with that terrible bouncing, and then, all at once, the damned thing jumped off a cliff I hadn’t known was there—and sank like a stone, throwing us forward in our seats.

  As a certified pilot, both air and space, I’d experienced far worse than this, which may be why I was holding up so well. But then I’d been in control of a machine whose properties were known. To be perfectly honest, in that moment of forward fall all I could think was “Well, Ms is it—you’re dead.”

  But almost as abrupt as the plunge was the sudden and violent turn and rise. At that moment I could see, with a kind of horrible fascination, just how close we’d come to the ground below.

  Now we were lifting, with an eerie, rocking motion that first threw us forward, then back, as the enormous, powerful wings took us up, then paused to rest on a current of air. In another minute or two we were in the ever-present clouds, getting really bounced about. I glanced around and saw that Zala, eyes still closed, appeared very, very sick; the two other passengers were sitting quietly with no real reaction, while the crew was very relaxed. One was eating a fruit of some kind.

  That terrible bouncing seemed to go on forever. Finally, we broke free, above the clouds, and into bright sunshine. Within another minute or two the creature caught a comfortable current, adjusted its course, and settled down. The experience was really strange now—after such a violent upheaval, the ride was now as smooth as glass, and nearly silent.

  I looked over at Zala. “You can open your eyes now, and catch hold of your stomach,” I told her. “It’ll probably be like this the rest of the way.” I just hoped and prayed this was an express.

  One eye opened, then the other; she looked at me rather mournfully. “I’m sick,” she managed.

  All I could do was be sympathetic. “Just relax, calm down, and don’t worry. That was a pretty rough take-off, but it’s going to be like this until we get where we’re going.”

  She didn’t seem to be any more relieved. “I keep wondering what the landing is going to be like, if that was the take-off.”

  Good point. How the hell would something this size brake to a stop? Still, I had to have confidence since the pilot and crew did this all the time and none of the crew seemed worried.

  At one point one of the crewmen took out a small carton and offered us fruit. Zala turned green at its mere mention. I almost took one, then decided for her sake that I could spare her the sight of me eating for the duration which, the crewman told us, would be a little more than five hours if we didn’t run into weather problems. The thing managed an average airspeed in excess of 250 kph, a pretty respectable rate over the long haul for something this big.

  The smoothness was interrupted every fifteen minutes or so by one or two sudden jolts, as those great wings compensated or switched currents, but that was about the only problem it presented.

  The sky of Charon was nothing if not spectacular. Below were the dark, swirling clouds that seemed to never leave; above our clear place wasn’t the sky I’d been expecting, but an odd band of reds and yellows all swirling about, almost as active as the storm clouds below. Some kind of gaseous layer that acted as a protective filter, I guessed, allowing a human-tolerable temperature below. The sun, a great, bright glob in the sky, was hot and visible through the upper layer. I guessed that the upper layer rather than the clouds below prevented much surveillance from orbit and blocked transmissions to and from the planet. I wondered what the stuff was.

  Aside from my ears popping every so often, and the occasional screech from the soarer as we passed another soarer somewhere near us—I never did get more than a vague glimpse of black so I didn’t get to see one in full flight—the voyage was uneventful. I took note of the other two passengers though—still fairly well-dressed even after removing their rain gear. They were obviously together, but the woman, who seemed to be going over some paperwork, rarely acknowledged or talked to the younger man. I smelted boss and bodyguard, but had no way of knowing just who they really were.

  Even Zala managed to relax after a while, although she never did move during the entire trip and never really seemed to recover her color.

  Finally my ears started popping a bit more regularly, and I saw that we were turning and descending very slowly. The crewmembers checked all their boxes and small hatches to make sure all was secure, then returned to their seats and strapped in.

  I looked out at what I could see of the ground in front of the big wing, and was surprised to see breaks in the clouds not far off, and large patches of dark blue below. Hitting the clouds was similar to hitting them in an airship, and we experienced some rocking and a number of violent jerks as the wings worked harder to compensate for downdrafts, updrafts, and the like. The window showed moisture as we descended through a gray-white fog, then we broke suddenly into clearer air and the ground was visible below. Aside from seeing that it was green and somewhat mountainous down there, I couldn’t make out much of anything.

  The soarer circled, slowing a bit each time, then dropped and put its wings at an angle, abruptly braking hard. There were three or four jolts as the wings suddenly beat hard, and then one big bang—and we were down and, incredibly motionless. For something this big, I had to admit it certainly could land much easier than it could take off.

  I had to tap Zala and assure her we were down in one piece and that it was all over. She could hardly believe it, but finally opened her eyes and looked around. For the first time, she looked across me to the window and finally seemed to relax.

  “Not as bad as take-off, was it?” I said cheerfully.

  She shook her head. “I’ll kill myself before I get on one of these again, I swear it, Park.”

  The wheel was spun, the hatchlike door opened, and a blast of really hot, sticky air hit us. Still, after five hours in that hotbox of the cabin, it was welcome, and it didn’t seem to be raining.

  The two other passengers gathered their things together and departed first. We followed, although Zala was more than a little shaky, and made it down the ladder.

  I looked around the open field. A wagon was heading for the soarer with what looked like an entire butcher shop in the back—the fuel truck, I thought, amused. Off to one side, a small group of people and two coaches waited. Our fellow passengers had already reached one of them and were being greeted by very officious-looking men and women, some of whom bowed as they greeted the woman; others opened the coach door for her, while still others rushed to the soarer and retrieved what had to be baggage from a compartment under the passenger unit. Other cargo was also carried, and several buggies came right up to the soarer for it.

  We just stood there, not quite knowing what to do. Finally I went over to the crewman who had been our host aboard. “Excuse me—but is this Bourget?” I asked him, praying that it was.

  “Oh, yeah,” he responded. “This is where you wanted to go, wasn’t it? Our next stop’s Lamasa.”

  “This is the place,” I assured him, then thanked him and turned back to Zala. “Well, I guess we go over to that group and see if anybody’s expecting us.”

  We walked cautiously over to the second coach, then looked expectantly at a couple of the people standing around. One young man—hardly more than a boy—grasped our situation and came over to us. “You the new Accountant?” he asked.

  I felt relieved. “That’s me. Park Lacoch.”

  He looked over expectantly at Zala. “You?”

&n
bsp; “Zala Embuay. I’m his—assistant.”

  “Yeah, sure,” the boy responded knowingly. “Well, if you two’ll get into the coach there we’ll get you into town and squared away.” He looked around. “Any luggage?”

  “No,” I told him. “We’re new to Charon. We’re going to have to pick up everything we need here.”

  He seemed mildly interested. “Outside, huh? Funny they’d stick you here.”

  I shrugged and climbed into the coach. “They gave me the job and I took it I wasn’t in any position to say no.”

  We rode into town in silence, there not being much to say. The boy was not the driver, but stayed topside with him.

  Bourget was not quite what I expected. A small village set against a very pretty bay, it was up and around low hills covered with trees. The buildings were all low and mostly painted white with reddish-brown roofs. There was nothing like the glassed-in sidewalks of Montlay or its more modern architecture. It was more like a small peasant village on one of the better frontier worlds, with the buildings made mostly of adobe and stucco of some kind, many with thatched roofs of that reddish-brown plant. Despite the clouds, it clearly didn’t rain as much here as farther north, which was well and good from my point of view. There were many boats in the harbor, most with masts.

  But it was really hot, easily over 40 degrees Centigrade, and both Zala and I were sweating profusely. I didn’t know about her, but I needed a long, cold drink of something—anything.

  Zala, however, was impressed. “Why, it’s really pretty,” she commented, looking out the window at the scene.

  The town was organized around a central square that had a little park in the middle and four large multipurpose buildings—each a square block around although all two stories tall—which were obviously markets, shops, and stalls. The coach pulled up across from the one of the four buildings that had a more or less solid front and stopped. The boy jumped down, opened the door, and helped us both down.