Dark Ararat - Brian Stableford [116]
“Good luck,” was all that Godert Kriefmann said, but Tang was more forthcoming.
“I hope you have a productive journey,” the biochemist said. “If you can’t bring back the answers to the big questions, I’m sure you’ll make good progress on some of the smaller ones.”
Matthew took Vince Solari aside so that he could speak to him in confidence: “Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.
Solari was still sulking. “No,” he said. “We can always compare notes by phone, if necessary.”
“While we’re still sailing down the river, at least,” Matthew said. “Once we head off into the glassgrass forest, it might become more difficult. If our beltphones don’t have enough power to force a signal through the canopy that’s strong enough for the comsats to unscramble, they might not have much sideways range either. At least one of us will stay with the boat at all times, but keeping in touch with them might become a problem.”
“Have you complained to Milyukov about that?” Solari said. “It seems stupid to send you on an exploratory mission without adequate equipment.”
“Of course I did,” Matthew replied, sourly. “He assured me that better equipment was on standby, ready to drop at a moment’s notice in any emergency. I think he’d rather we didn’t stray too far into terra incognita. He’d rather we didn’t find anything too exotic while he’s still trying to reach a satisfactory agreement with the people at Base One, and doesn’t want to give broadcasting equipment to anyone down here in case they start putting out propaganda for Tang’s party. I’m sorry you didn’t get to arrest your murderer.”
“I will,” Solari assured him. He seemed more confident of that now than he had the previous evening. “And by the time you get back, I’ll have some kind of due process in place to carry the case forward.”
“So you are convinced that it’s one of my fellow expeditionaries.”
“Absolutely—but that should be the least of your worries. If you get through the canyons and past the cataract, you’ll still have all the unknown perils in front of you. If the plain is a potential death trap, I hope you’ll be quick enough on the uptake not to spring it.”
“Thanks,” Matthew said, drily.
After that, there was only the farewell waving to be done. Blackstone was the only one of the people left behind on the shore who was an enthusiastic waver, but that was probably because no one else cared to compete with the majestic sweeps of his hat.
The biomotor was silent, and it seemed at first that they were simply drifting on a leisurely current. Once they were comfortably set in the middle of the watercourse, though, Matthew became aware of the fact that Voconia’s hull wasn’t rigid, and that it was undergoing slight but distinct undulations in a horizontal plane.
“It’s swimming!” he said to Ikram Mohammed, who had joined him in the bow to watch the water go by.
“Not really,” Ike told him. “It’s just making minimal adjustments to reduce flow-resistance. Swimming would have required more elaborate musculature and more energy-rich food. Even if the fuel-consumption equations had added up better we’d have had to go to some trouble to rig the converters to produce the stuff. The kit we’ve got isn’t fussy, so we’ve been able to put the vegetation we cleared with machetes and chain saws straight into the machine for minimal treatment. It saved us the trouble of amassing huge waste heaps.”
Matthew leaned over the rail and peered at the water, hoping to catch sight of a few native swimmers whose fuel-consumption equations added up better than Voconia’s, but the sunlight reflected from the wave-stirred surface made it impossible to see much below the surface.”
“If we hit quiet water around dusk you might be able to see top-feeders at work,” Ike told him. “Otherwise, they’re very discreet. I tried fishing with a rod and line back at the base, but I must have been using the wrong bait. We’ve deployed a couple of trail nets, but they didn’t pick up much on the test runs. You’ll stand a better