Colin Kapp - The Subways of Tazoo.pdf - Colin Kapp - margozap

The Subways of Tazoo

by colin kapp

While archaeologists continue to unravel the mys-teries of former civilizations on Earth,

science-fiction writers have been speculating on the possibility that one day we may find

similar traces of alien intelligence on other worlds — Mars, for instance. Author Colin Kapp,

however, takes us further away, to an alien planet with a lost civilization and the

incompre-hensible artifacts they left behind in their flight from .... what?

ONE

"Lieutenant Van Noon, report to Colonel Belling's office."

"Damn!" Fritz Van Noon glared at the loudspeaker. "Sounds as though Belling's back and on the

warpath again."

"Can you wonder?" Jacko Hine helped him out from under the miscellanea of half-assembled pieces.

"Let's face it, Fritz, some of our recent projects have come unstuck in a rather spectacular manner."

"True," said Fritz, "but never let it be said that the Un-orthodox Engineers have produced a damp

squib. Always our results have exceeded our wildest expectations."

"Or Belling's wildest fears," said Jacko morosely.

As Fritz entered the office Colonel Belling half raised him-self from his chair in greeting. "Ah, Van

Noon! Just the fellow I wanted to see."

"Sir?" asked Fritz suspiciously. Colonel Belling was not a man given to cordiality towards his

subordinates.

Belling smiled wolfishly. "I've just returned from the General Staff conference. Since you re-instated

the railways up on Cannis even the Old Man has been forced to admit that there may be occasions when

unorthodox engineering has its virtues. For my part I felt impelled to point out that I'm trying to run a

specialist engineering reserve, and that carrying the can for a complete squad of engineering illegiti-mates

was not strictly within my terms of reference. As I explained, always I get stuck with the one engineer in

a thousand who should never have left kindergarten, let alone graduated. The only repository I have for

these mechanical misfits is the U.E. squad, where the damage they can do, if not exactly nullified, is at

least anticipated."

"Isn't that a little unfair, sir? I mean . . ."

"I know just what you mean, Fritz, and I don't accept it. Engineering is a discipline, but the

brand you apply is strictly delinquent. The outcome of the conference was that Colonel Nash, whom I'm

beginning to suspect has masoch-istic tendencies, has volunteered to take the U.E. squad on the Tazoon

enterprise."

Fritz considered this for a moment. "Exactly what are they doing on Tazoo, sir?"

"Supporting an archaeological team. Life on Tazoo is now extinct, but evidence tends to show that it

once held a civi-lization as highly developed or more so than our own. In terms of knowledge to be

gained it is probably the greatest find that space has ever given to us. It is doubtful if the Tazoons were

human or even humanoid, and they became extinct at least two million years ago. Our problem is to pick

up the remains of a complex mechanical culture as alien and as old as that and attempt to understand it

for what it was."

"I shouldn't have thought that was too difficult, sir."

"No, Fritz, I never supposed you would. That's partly the reason you're going. Your inverted-sideways

approach is the nearest thing to an alien technology that we've got. That makes you a specialist."

"Thank you, sir," said Fritz warily. "And the other part of the reason we're going?"

"The climatic conditions on Tazoo are such hell that the average rugged ground-cat has a useful

working life of about two weeks. That means the archaeologists can't explore enough from base to get at

the really big finds they are certain exist. Fritz, I want you to provide them with transport to where they'll

be most use—and if you don't, you'd better find another engineering reserve to come back to, because if

you come back here . . ."

"I know," said Fritz unhappily, "you'll make me wish I'd opted to transfer my retirement pay to Tazoo."

"You know, Fritz," said Colonel Belling, "for a moment we reached a point of real understanding there.

I think I'm going to rather enjoy the thoughts of you and the U.E. squad sweating it out in a

hell-spot like Tazoo."

Touchdown on Tazoo. The transfer ferry had no viewports and afforded no opportunity for its

passengers to receive a preview of their destination. Even the ground-cat which rendezvoused at the

landing site close-coupled its hatches with the ferry's air lock before the transfer of passengers and goods

began. In the cabin of the ground-cat, shutters likewise obscured the view and cheated Fritz of his

moment of revelation.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the cabin's occupant. "The name is Philip Nevill,

Archaeologist in Charge."

"Van Noon," said Fritz. "Engineer extraordinary—and this is Jacko Hine, one of my staff."

Nevill grinned affably. "Your reputation preceded you, my boy. Frankly, when I heard of you I

persuaded Colonel Nash to get you here at any cost. There are things on Tazoo it'll take a very

liberal mind indeed to understand."

The ground-cat struggled away from the ferry, its engine coughing in asthmatic complaint.

"So I've heard," said Fritz. "Look, do you mind if I open the shutter for a second? I'd like to

know the worst right from the start."

"Help yourself," said Nevill, "but I promise you it's a passion you'll soon lose."

Fritz fought the shutter from the window and peered out for his first glimpse of Tazoo. Heavy

cloudbanks filtered the furious sunlight to a brilliant monochromatic red which hurt his eyes and

rendered all colours as shades of red or the darkest, sooty black. The terrain itself was

nothing but a lumpy, featureless waste as far as the eye could see.

"Satisfied?" asked Nevill.

Fritz dropped the shutter back with a clang and closed his eyes.

"Painful, isn't it?" asked Nevill. "Normal endurance is about forty minutes before

red-blindness sets in. Very bad for the eyes, to say nothing of the psychological effects.

Incidentally, the ultraviolet radiation for two hours after dawn and two hours before

sunset is strong enough to take the skin off you in about three minutes flat."

"Charming!" said Fritz. "And what's it like at midday?"

Nevill raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Ruddy awful!" he said.

At the blare of the ground-cat's horn Nevill opened the shutter again. "There's the base—way

over yonder."

Fritz scowled at the blood-red panorama. Perhaps half a kilometre away was the base, like a cluster of

cherries half-submerged in a waste of pink icing.

"Underground, eh? A very sensible precaution."

"It isn't underground," said Nevill in a slightly aggrieved tone. "It's a surface installation."

"But I don't see anything but some almighty balls of mud."

"They're standard Knudsen huts with a protective skin on. There's a sandstorm that whips up every

night which would sandblast an unprotected Knudsen to a skeleton before dawn. We spray

each hut weekly with a highly plasticized poly-polymer which is reasonably abrasive resistant. The

plastic traps some of the sand and this materially increases its resistance, but builds up and completely

ruins the shape."

Abruptly the engine of the ground-cat coughed and died. Nevill held a rapid exchange over the

intercom with the driver.

"Engine's gone," he said finally. "Either the carburettor's etched away or the damn sand has got into the

cylinders— or both. Anyway, the cat is a write-off for all practical pur-poses, so there's nothing for it but

to walk—and it's too near evening for that to be funny."

They descended from the cabin, Fritz and Jacko choking quietly in the acrid air which caught at

their noses and made their lungs feel raw. Nevill, acclimatized, was survey-ing the sky anxiously.

Above them the swirling cloudbanks, blood-red trailing into purple and black, plunged across the

darkening sky so low that Fritz had an almost compulsive desire to put up his hands to see if he could

touch them. There must have been a high wind above, for the cloudrace was certainly moving at better

than a hundred kilometres an hour, yet on the ground the warm humidity was deathly still, as though a

sheet of glass insulated them from the driving turbulence.

Nevill was worried. "Looks like a storm," he said.

"Is that bad?" asked Fritz.

"Only if you're unlucky enough to be out in it. Let's hope it's a wet storm. They're decidedly

uncomfortable, but not usually fatal if you can get to shelter quickly enough,"

"Why, what happens?"

"Nothing spectacular if you can find shelter from a hun-dred kilometre per hour damp sandstorm and if

you hap-pen to have sufficient alkali available to neutralize the rain on your skin."

"Neutralize the rain?" said Fritz, his voice rising. "What the blazes is in it?"

"Oh, about five per cent sulphuric acid plus a trace of hydrogen chloride with a little free ionized

chlorine. Stings like hell, but it's better than a dry storm."

"I'll buy it," Fritz said helplessly. "If a wet sandstorm is equal to an accelerated metal descaling

process, what's a dry storm equal to?"

By now Nevill was deeply concerned, scanning the furious cloudrace with worried and experienced

eyes. They were still three hundred metres from the nearest part of the base, with Jacko and the driver

close behind.

"I think you're going to have a practical demonstration of a dry storm, Fritz. If the smell of

ozone becomes intoler-able or if you hear anything like a bee buzzing don't hesitate —just drop to the

ground as fast as you are able. If you can find a hollow then roll into it, otherwise don't

bother —but whatever you da, be quick."

"A bee buzzing?"

"Air ionization path, the prelude to a lightning bolt. There's a few mega-megavolt not many

metres up in the cloudrace, and it packs a current that can not only char a man but also fuse

him very neatly into the sand. The car-bon from the body reduces a great many metal

oxides in the ground so that the resultant slag forms a remarkable range of glasses."

"Forget the chemistry," said Fritz hastily. "I never could see myself making a very convincing

paperweight."

"Then drop!" said Nevill, suiting action to the words.

They all dropped to the ground. Fritz's nose didn't have time to detect the ozone,

virtually paralysed as it was by the existing acridity, but his ears did register the sudden

buzz which Nevill had anticipated by a half second. Then the lightning bolt, a blaze of

vivid energy a mere thirty metres distant, spat like a column of angry fire rising to the

heavens. The noise and the shock-wave of its passing stunned them momentarily. By the time they had

collected their wits only a generous patch of fused sand and a chok-ing concentration of

ozone marked the spot where the bolt had struck.

"Bad!" said Nevill, "Worst I've seen. It's striking low ground, which means we have no

possible cover out here. Best throw away any metal you may have on you and try to crawl back

nearer to the cat—-but for Pete's sake keep your heads low."

Another bolt of lightning, bigger and nearer than the first, stabbed into the sand behind

them like the bursting of a shell, followed by three almost simultaneously in the near vicinity.

Colin Kapp - The Subways of Tazoo.pdf

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