Involution Ocean

Next morning I discovered that my bottle was gone. Calo­thrick and I argued, he holding forth the absurd theory that I had hidden it for my own use, myself convinced that he had squirreled it away somewhere else on board. The third’ possibility, that someone else had lifted it, aroused mutual apprehension. Since there was nothing we could do about it, we resolved to keep our eyes open and hope” for the best.

The Lungtance could have stayed by the Seagull Penin­sula until she had filled her holds. But too many planets had been raped and made worthless for mankind to indulge in this kind of exploitation any more. We did not stop; we were bound on the Grand Tour, to sail the entirety of the Sea of Dust on the slow, circular winds.

Nullaqua’s weather patterns were peculiar. There was a very slight temperature differential between the middle of the Nullaqua Crater, located on the equator, and the upper and lower margins. This was enough to power a weak dou­ble convection cell. Heated air rose from the equator and diverged northward and southward. Traveling, it cooled, to sweep slowly downward along the cliffsides and back to the equator. Though most of the dust had precipitated out of it, there were still enough microscopic rock grains to chew slowly away at the base of the cliff. Over the eons the base was slowly eaten away; eventually, the top of the cliff, weakened, would shelve off and crumble downward. Then there would be a pile of rubble at sea level to protect the cliff from further damage. Ages would pass before the wind could get at the cliff again. And it was never strong.

Or almost never. My first hint that it might be otherwise came when I was awakened one morning, six weeks into our cruise, by a loud series of blasts from the lookout’s horn. I did not recognize the code; it is one infrequently used.

Captain Desperandum emerged from his cabin, looked to the southeast, and immediately ordered all the sails furled. I followed his gaze. I saw a mighty gray wall; be­hind it was the shadowed backdrop of the NullaqUa Crater. A minor island, I thought. We must have drifted toward it during the night.

No. Even as I watched, the wall grew longer. The crew ran up the ratlines and began to tug at the sails. I looked up. There was a man in the lookout’s nest; Dalusa was nowhere in sight. Anxiety struck me.

The tents were folded quickly and stowed belowdecks. All loose objects were tied down or taken below. Mr. Bogunheim had a single word for me in response to my ges­tured queries. “Storm,” he said.

Sailors were already deserting the deck, leaping quickly through the hatches. I went below with them. Tramping through the kitchen, they went through the door into the storeroom. Other crew members were already there, sitting glumly on barrels and lighting up their rank pipes. Calo­thrick leaned against the false bulkhead, slipping his eye­dropper back into his belt. Seeing me, he burst into a series of uncontrollable giggles.

Dalusa was not there. I rushed past the startled second mate, ripped open the hatch, and jumped up on deck. Shrugging, Grent slammed the hatch behind me. There was no sense in getting us all killed.

The deck seemed deserted. Then I spotted Desperandum standing beside the hatch that led to his cabin, notebook in hand. He was staring at the storm front with a critical eye. His mask was cream colored and haphazardly marked With mathematical symbols in blue.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he offered. His gravelly bass came tinnily through the mask’s speaker.

I flapped my arms. Desperandum stared at me non­plussed. Then comprehension dawned. “The lookout. Isn’t she down in the storeroom with the others?”

I shook my head. “Well, she’s not with me,” Desperan­dum said. “She must still be out on her morning scouting trip. That’s a shame. She was quite a help to us.” He shook his head regretfully. “Bad luck. These things don’t happen often. Freak wind conditions, or perhaps seismic distur­bance. They say there’s a heat vent in the far edge of that bay, the one the storm came from. We’ll just have to weather this out, I suppose. Let’s go down to the cabin. Come along now; we don’t want to lose you, too.” Desper­andum took my wrist casually. His grip was as secure as steel manacles.

We went down to his cabin together. Desperandum pulled off his mask and ran one hand over his short- cropped reddish blond hair. He glanced at the thick glass windows in the back of the cabin and clicked his tongue regretfully. “Those windows,” he said. “And after all the trouble I went through getting them installed. When the dust blast gets through with them they’ll be opaque. Use­less.”

I was in an agony to get back on deck. So psychotically strong was my urge to aid Dalusa that I was unable even to stop and rationally consider my motives. I pulled off my mask with an elaborate charade of casualness, but Desper­andum, his insights into human behavior sharpened by hundreds of years of experience, saw through me. “You’re agitated,” he said. ”Try to calm yourself. There were a few things about Dalusa that I think you ought to know—'

“Look!” I shouted. “Isn’t that she, outside the window?”

The response to a cry like that is automatic. As Desper­andum turned, I pulled on my mask and leapt up the stairs and through the hatch. Desperandum’s shout was cut off short as I slammed It behind me. I hoped he would have more sense than to come up on deck after me.

But I reckoned without a captain’s devotion to his men. The hatch slammed open and I barely had time to flatten myself behind a try-pot before Desperandum leapt up onto the deck. He glanced around quickly for a few seconds, saw the approaching storm, and leapt back down into his cabin. The hatch was slammed and locked.

There was no lightning, no thunder. The wind was dead calm. I stared in fascination at the approaching wall. It was not as solid as it appeared at a distance; horizontal flat­tened strata of wind-driven dust sleeted out before the storm’s main front, and long curls and involutions reached out like gaseous tentacles before expanding into nothing­ness. The light dimmed, and the morning sun was already obscured by an encroaching gust. Adrenalin poured into my bloodstream. Already my overly vivid imagination was hard at work; I had a sudden vision of the ruthless sand­blast stripping away my skin, blasting my mask’s plastic lenses into a frosted blur, abrading my tough rubbery mask into useless shreds, scouring my face away with a million crystalline impacts. In seconds I would be lacerated into a gooey skeletal framework, my bones stripped clean, cut thinner and thinner by the merciless gusts and finally anni­hilated. A total panic rush stung me; I leapt up from be­hind the try-pots and ran across the deck.

Then I saw a winged blur silhouetted against the ap­proaching wall. Wind puffed past me, sharpened particles stung my exposed hands and throat. The light was going out. Dalusa was out of control, blowing like a leaf, almost pinwheeling. She was going to cross the Lunglance’s bow. Now I could hear a dim roar as I ran across the plastic-clad deck. A strong gust struck the stern and the Lunglance’s wire braces sang like violin strings. Another gust stung me and almost knocked me off my feet, but I scram­bled to the bow. I was in time. But Dalusa was too high, flying out of my reach—no, she swooped downward. But was it far enough?

Then, as she passed, I jumped overboard. And, to my own surprise, I caught her legs in a panic grip. We hit the dost and went under, but only for a second. Its specific gravity was higher than that of water and we floated like corks. I grabbed Dalusa’s dust-caked hair and struck out for the space between the Lunglance’s middle and port hulls.

I tried to draw a breath and started to strangle. Dust had completely plugged my mask filters. With an immense ef­fort of will, I stopped my frantic inhalation and breathed outward sharply. My ears popped, but the filters cleared.

Dalusa was choking, clawing at her mask with sharp red fingernails. Whacking the back of my head against the cen­ter hull, I loomed out of the dust and struck her sharply with the side of my clenched fist, into the solar plexus. Dust spurted out of the end of her mask filter and she drew in a shuddery breath.

She threw her arms convulsively around my neck and dust gritted against my skin. I was completely coated with the floury stuff; it adhered tenaciously to the thin layer of human oils and greases on my skin. No chance of contami­nation now.

Then the wind rose to a howl and the sky was com­pletely obscured. It was as black as pitch underneath the Lunglance. Dalusa’s long arms had a startling panic strength; it was obvious that she had no idea of how to swim. I tried to give her a reassuring pat on the back, but her wings were in the way. At last I reached clumsily over her arms—a difficult task, since her velvety but tough wings almost completely enshrouded me—and patted her between the shoulder blades. Her grip loosened a fraction.

The wind was beginning to push the Lunglance slowly through the dust. That was bad. If the ship ever turned her stern or her bow to face the wind, the gale would sweep along between the hulls and kill us.

I stopped treading dust and trudgeon kicked twice in or­der to float on my back. I braced both feet against