"The Hindu in this story reminds me of the ancient sage in Fedor
Matveyev's manuscript," he remarked, rising. He began to pace the floor. "To
what century does your story relate?"
"The sixth, according to the European system of chronology. Not
earlier. The hero read books which Hsuan-tsang brought from India, and
Hsuan-tsang lived in the sixth century."
"But wasn't some kind of year mentioned in the tale?"
"Yes. Liu Ching-chen came to India in the year of Metal and the Tiger.
According to the old Chinese system, that was the twenty-seventh year of a
cycle. There were sixty years in a cycle. The first year of a cycle was the
year of Wood and the Mouse."
"How does that fit in with our calendar?"
"Well, in the current cycle the year of Metal and the Tiger was 1951.
If we go back sixty years from that we get 1891, then 1831, then 1771, then
1711-"
"The year 1711?" Privalov interrupted. "That tallies with Fedor
Matveyev's manuscript. Liu Ching-chen could have come into contact with the
same Hindu sage who several years later gave Matveyev's knife the property
of penetrability.
"Why can't we assume," he went on, "that a spaceship from some distant
world was forced to land somewhere in the Himalayas? The ship came from a
world where the bonds connecting matter are different. The spacemen had to
replenish their supply of nuclear fuel. The rock they found in the Himalayas
proved to be active enough for their needs. They split it by the
electro-spark method."
"Not the Lazarenko method, by any chance?" Professor Bagbanly asked
joshingly.
"At any rate, they probably had a similar method. But a hitch arose:
they found matter on earth to be penetrable. They then assembled some sort
of apparatus and changed the properties of the stones, making them
impenetrable, and loaded them into the spaceship on a belt conveyor. Next
they repaired the ship, putting in some new gears and discarding the used
ones-those were the 'iron flowers'-and flew off to wherever they were
bound."
Professor Bagbanly laughed. "You'd make a good science-fiction writer,
Boris."
Academician Markov was sketching the head of an old man with a beard
and a hooked nose on his writing pad. He appeared to be completely absorbed
in what he was doing, but suddenly he raised his head and looked at
Professor Bagbanly. "Why not?" he said. "Anything's possible in this world.
The wildest fantasies do not surprise science any longer."
"True enough. But a spaceship in the Himalayas-"
"The Hindu happened to be in the mountains," the Academician went on
quietly. "He watched those creatures from outer space. He had probably
dabbled in physics before this. Later he may have used the restructured
stones as a force for passing on their properties to other objects."
Privalov sprang to his feet. "Passing on their properties to other objects?
What an odd idea!" "Not at all," the Academician insisted. "If we had
something made out of a substance with changed bonds-for example, that
legendary knife of Fedor Matveyev's-we'd immediately look for a way of
transferring its properties." Privalov seemed upset to hear this. "Do you
mean we aren't on the right track? Does that mean the 'half-twist spiral'
which Fedor Matveyev mentioned was not a Mobius band at all but something
else?"
"No, we're on the right track, Boris. About that band of Matveyev's,
it's hard to tell- It may have been simply a part of the apparatus. The
important thing is that the word suggested a magnificent idea to your
Nikolai Potapkin." The Academician paused, then went on, "However, it's
still merely an assumption. Only one thing is obvious. At the beginning of
the eighteenth century India had a great scientist, a man whose name we do
not know. He greatly enriched his age, but his own life was a tragedy."
Boris Privalov sat lost in thought. His mind was on Liu Ching-chen and
the Hindu sage. In his imagination he saw the towering peaks of the
Himalayas, and exhausted men bringing down some sort of resins from the
mountains. Fedor Matveyev mentioned those resins, leading Koltukhov to
conceive the idea of powerfully charged electrets.
After a time he said: "What if we tried to fill in the power abyss with
electrets?"
"With electrets?" The Academician looked at him in surprise. "But
they're a very weak source, even though, I admit, inexhaustible."
"Weak, you say? But listen to this!" Privalov retold the episode
described in Fedor Matveyev's manuscript and then spoke of Koltukhov's
supposition that Lal Chandra's men had charged the resin with cosmic rays.
"Yes, now I remember," said the Academician. "But it never entered my
head- Well, well, do go on."
Privalov excitedly gave a detailed account of Koltukhov's experiments
with electret coatings for pipelines.
"By Allah, that's not a bad idea at all!" Professor Bagbanly exclaimed
when Privalov had finished. "The Academy has the most powerful electrostatic
generators in the world. Let's use them to charge resin according to
Koltukhov's method."
"A powerful, inexhaustible battery of electrets," Academician Markov
murmured thoughtfully. "Very well, let's try it." He paused, then said, "The
frequency situation is clear. Now we'll tackle the power situation. Let's
build a model of your pipeless oil pipeline, but in a small pool and without
glass tubes."
"Like Lal Chandra's?" Privalov asked.
"Something like it. But without any theatrical effects such as burning
water. Lal Chandra must have broken down the water in the pool by
electrolysis and ignited the hydrogen with a spark.
That's no use to us, of course. But pumping oil through water is
something we want to do. We'll set up a Mobius band in the pool, both a
reception band and a transmission band. Also a power beam installation.
We'll test the electrets.
"We'll try to drive a stream of oil through water. We'll see how the
restructured matter behaves within the framework of intensified surface
tension. If we get results that look promising we'll try to shift our
experiment to your place on the Caspian. We'll choose a suitable area of the
sea and do the experiment under natural conditions. By the way, I must go
down to the Caspian for something else besides this pipeline business.
There's another problem that is just as important."
Kneeling behind Yura's head, Nikolai energetically brought Yura's arms
up over his head and then back to his sides. He worked steadily, up and
down, up and down. Val stood beside him. She was shaking all over. Suddenly
Yura gave a faint groan. Sobbing, Val fell to her knees beside him.
"Go away!" Nikolai shouted angrily, moving Yura's arms up and down more
vigorously than ever. Yura's body jerked. He opened his eyes, sighed, then
turned his head and vomited.
Meanwhile, the storm continued to rage. The wind howled savagely and
the surf thundered as it crashed against the rocks. Sand began to fill the
hollow. It grated between their teeth and sifted into their ears.
"He'll live," said Nikolai as he threw himself onto the sand in utter
exhaustion.
"My head aches," Yura muttered, looking up at the dark figures around
him. "One, two, three-" he counted. "Where's Rex? Ah, there he is." He
closed his eyes. Val held his hand tightly in hers. "I hit my head on a bitt
when the stay-sheet swung past me," he whispered a little later.
"Nikolai pulled you out of the water," said Val. Big tears were rolling
down her cheeks. Yura muttered something that sounded like "He did the right
thing".
When it started to grow light the crew of the Mekong climbed the slope.
Below they saw a strip of beach. Stiff tufts of tall brown grass thrust up
out of the sand. The Mekong lay on its side on a reef. Without its mast it
looked headless. Waves were washing over it. The sea, an angry dark grey,
was covered with whitecaps.
"Let's take a look at the boat," said Nikolai, running down to the
beach.
Yura was about to follow but stopped when Nikolai turned round and
shouted: "Stay where you are! Valery and I will go."
The two young men slowly waded along the reef, pushing their way
through the cold, heavy waves. Large chunks of sandstone were scattered over
the bottom.
The boat's rudder was firmly wedged between two submerged rocks. The
broken mast, still attached to the deck, was being pounded by the waves
against the side of the boat.
Nikolai and Valery scrambled up onto the deck and made their way to the
cabin, which was half full of water and in a complete mess. The portholes
had been smashed in; a lady's slipper, several ring-shaped bread rolls and a
bunch of onions floated on the water. On the starboard side there was a hole
four planks wide below the waterline. Nikolai discovered this when he put
his foot through it.
"Looks like we're stuck on this island," he muttered.
He dived, ran his hands round the corner of the cabin that was under
the water, and brought up a canvas sack of tools.
"Now I feel better," he told Valery, snorting and blowing out water.
"Here's the fishing gear!" Valery shouted joyfully. During the night he
had been silent and a bit frightened. Now he was his old self again. "We'll
catch fish and live like Robinson Crusoe."
They dragged up to the deck everything the water had not swept away
through the hole. Then they fashioned a small raft out of boards, loaded
what they had salvaged onto it, lashed the things all down securely with
ropes, and dragged the raft to shore. Immediately afterwards, they made a
second trip, returning bowed down under the weight of the wet sails. Also,
they dragged the mast to the beach.
When they had rested up a bit they spread the sails out to dry, placing
rocks on the corners to prevent them from being carried away by the wind.
They likewise spread out the salvaged food and clothing on the pebbles to
dry.
The high wind drove low, ragged clouds over the little island and sent
huge waves sweeping across the reef. The five young people and the dog were
stranded on an inhospitable patch of land.
Setting her bare feet down gingerly on the pebbles, Rita walked over to
Nikolai.
"What are we going to do, Commodore?" she asked.
"We're going to have some breakfast first, and then we'll see."
They went back to the hollow, where they were sheltered against the
wind. Yura opened three tins of meat with his knife.
"Couldn't we heat them up?" Val asked.
"Certainly. If we had kerosene and matches."
"No matches at all? How will we get along without fire?"
"Oh, we'll have fire," Yura promised. "After all, this isn't the Stone
Age."
They ate in silence, using two knives, two screwdrivers and Yura's
trusty Durandal screwdriver.
Nikolai reviewed their situation. "The boat's smashed," he said, "so
we'll have to forget about, any further sailing for the time being. We'll
have to live on this island for a while. Fishing, vessels and ships of the
Caspian oil prospecting service sail among these islands all the time, so we
needn't worry about not being rescued. We'll keep a signal fire burning all
night long."
"Let's take stock of our food," Yura suggested. "Any self-respecting
Robinson Crusoe always starts with that."
The castaways found they had nine tins of meat, four tins of sardines
and a tin of hardtack. They also had three packets of dehydrated pea soup
that were splitting open, twenty-seven potatoes, six packages of soggy
biscuits, a bundle of onions, and two bottles of vegetable oil. Their
supplies of flour, sugar, millet grits and butter had vanished for good.
"What about water?" Rita asked.
"I think there's enough." Nikolai indicated a wooden cask. "There must
be thirty litres here. It'll last us a good ten days. Then we can use this
resin to turn sea water into at least twenty litres of drinking water. But
we don't have enough food."
"We'll catch fish," said Valery.
"Yes, of course. Fish will be our mainstay. We'll save the tinned meat
for an emergency. I'm sure we'll manage."
The other items salvaged were: Rita's sundress, one sandal of Val's
(the right foot) and one sandal of Valery's (the left foot), the blankets,
the primus stove, the transistor radio, the aqualung, the camera, the
fishing rod, the binoculars and the compass. Printed matter included sailing
directions, Kaverin's novel Fulfillment of Desire, whose pages the wind was
indifferently ruffling, and a map, now spread out to dry on the beach and
held down by stones along the edges.
A mess-tin, a saucepan and a canvas pail were the only vessels they now
had. In the tool case they found, besides the two knives and the two
screwdrivers, a hatchet, pliers, a chisel, a hacksaw, nails, a tin
containing sail thread and needles, and a tin of polish with which to keep
the brass on the boat bright. The label said the polish could be used to
clean jewels, dentures, lavatory pans, samovars, wind instruments and
trolleybuses.
"The funny thing is that it's all true," said Nikolai, turning the tin
about in his hands. "What a pity we don't have any trolleybuses or precious
stones!"
They all wore watches, but only Rita's and Valery's still kept time.
Nikolai's watch ticked only when he shook it, while Yura's waterproof and
shockproof model did not react to shaking or to anything else.
"Well, the warranty that came with my watch said the wearer should
guard it against shock and water," Yura remarked.
He was studying the map, running his finger over the still damp
surface.
"Where are we?" Nikolai asked, squatting on his haunches beside Yura.
"This must be Ipaty Island," Yura said. "We were driven southwards and
the gale struck right here. Yes, Ipaty Island." He leafed through the
sailing directions. "The island emerged from the sea about a century and a
half ago. Before that there was a shoal here known as Devil's Site."
Towards noon the wind died down and it grew warmer. The castaways set
about building themselves a shelter. They placed the mast on the ground in
such a way that it jutted all of three metres over the hollow. Next, they
heaped stones on the end of the mast to make it secure, and supported the
jutting end with crossed boat-hooks. They draped the spinnaker over this
frame and tied the edges to stakes driven into the ground. The storm sail
was arranged to curtain off part of the tent for the ladies. They turned the
folded mainsail into a springy floor and the jib into a door.
Yura clicked his tongue. "A tiptop wigwam. I've dreamed of living in a
cosy wigwam like this since I was a kid."
"Our next job," said Nikolai, "is fire. The sky seems to be clearing up
a bit. As soon as the sun comes out we'll make fire. Meanwhile, let's get
some firewood."
"You sound as though someone had laid in a supply of firewood
especially for us," Val remarked sarcastically.
"That's exactly what the sea has done. North of us lies a
densely-populated coast. The north wind is the prevailing wind here. And to
top it all, our camp is situated on the north side of this island. So there
must be firewood somewhere close by."
Valery was told to find a calm cove and try his luck with the
fishing-rod. The others wandered off along the shore.
"Here's the first piece of wood!" Nikolai exclaimed, picking up an old,
cracked slat from a dinghy. After that they found boards from crates and
pieces of square beams and fishing-net frames.
When, loaded with firewood, they returned to the camp, a patch of blue
was visible through the clouds. The sun peeped out timidly but immediately
dived back into a cloud.
Valery had caught a few little bullheads and one good-sized carp, which
he handed over to the girls to clean. The cloud slid away from the sun. Yura
unscrewed the lens of the camera and used it as a magnifying glass to set
fire to several strands of rope. After energetic blowing, a few chips of
wood caught fire. It was not long before a fire was blazing merrily in the
hollow.
"We'll never have to worry as long as you boys are here," Val remarked,
smiling.
The men sharpened the knives on a flat stone and carved, out of
driftwood, five objects more or less resembling spoons.
They set to dinner with a healthy appetite.
"I never tasted a better fish stew in my life," Rita confessed. "I'm
ashamed of myself but I can't seem to stop eating-"
After lunch they grew drowsy, for none of them had slept much the
previous night.
"Crawl into the wigwam and take a nap," Nikolai said. "I'll stand watch
for a while."
He sat alone for a long time, tossing pieces of driftwood on the fire.
Rex dozed by his side. He was glad the girls showed no signs of being
worried but were content to leave everything to Yura and himself. But,
facing the facts squarely, he had to admit it was unlikely that they would
be rescued. They could not bank on anyone calling at the island. He'd have
to think of a way cut-in the primeval silence the surf pounded with a sullen
roar. The sky had cleared in the west, and it now glowed red and gold from
the setting sun.
He'd have to think of a way out-
He dozed off, but before long a rustling sound caused him to jerk up
his head. Rita had emerged from the tent. She yawned and sat down beside
him.
"Are we going to be here long, Nikolai?" she asked, picking up a
handful of sand and letting it run through her fingers. "It's important for
me to know."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you. We'll think of a way out. Are you sorry
you came along?"
"No, not a bit. But I'd like to return to town as soon as possible."
"We'll think of a way out," he repeated. "There's no such thing as a
hopeless situation."
Rita smiled at him. "Be sure to find a way out," she said softly.
That evening they sang songs in chorus. They were in high spirits as
they learned the words of a Papuan song that Nikolai had found in a book by
the explorer Miklukho-Maklay. The rather repetitious Papuan song, which
fitted in with their present situation, spoke of how to make the pith of the
sago palm edible. Yura conducted, while the others danced round the fire,
hands linked, and sang:
Bom, bom, marare;
Marare, tamole.
Mara, mara, marare,
Bom, bom, marare.
Rex howled conscientiously, his muzzle pointed skywards.
When they finished singing they decided in what order they would stand
night watches of two hours each. The man on duty would keep a fire going on
top of the hillock as a signal to any ship that might pass by.
Yura was the first to go on duty. Val sat beside him. Reflections of
the fire flickered across their faces.
"Does your head ache badly?" Val asked,
"No, it's much better."
"Just think of it-if it hadn't been for Nikolai-" She did not finish
the sentence but moved closer to him. He put his arm round her shoulders and
said in a voice she did not recognize, "Know what, Val? Let's get married."
He did not see Val's face light up because just then the fire gave off
a shower of sparks and he leaned forward to toss on a piece of wood.
Val laughed softly. "First we'll have to get off this island-" "Well,
what do you say?" Val kissed him quickly and rose to her feet. "Good night,
Yura," she whispered, and crawled into the tent, smiling happily in the
darkness.
The morning dawned on a blue sea without a single ripple. Wispy white
clouds floated in the sky.
Yura and Nikolai waded along the reef until they reached the Mekong. A
careful examination convinced them that they would not be able to patch up
the hole or get the boat off the reef. Two pontoons and a launch would be
needed to tow their sailboat back to the marina.
On their return to shore Nikolai slowly swept the horizon with his
binoculars. Then he handed them to Yura. "Look over there."
What Yura saw through the glasses was a lacy network of lines in the
sky that looked as though they had been drawn in India ink on blue silk.
This was the top of an oil rig.
Yura ran into the tent for the map and compass. He studied the map
carefully and then declared that what they saw was an offshore exploratory
rig near Turtle Island.
"Yes, that confirms it," he said. "We're on Ipaty. (Turtle Island is
about fifteen nautical miles from here. The rig can be our reference point.
Shall we try to swim there?"
"No, it's too far. Besides, the current will be against us. What we
must do is build a raft."
"A raft?"
"That's right. With a sail and a sliding rudder. Like the Kon-Tiki.
We'll choose a day with a south wind-with a north wind we wouldn't make it
on a raft-and it shouldn't take us more than eight hours to reach Turtle
Island. If we find geologists there they'll have a transmitter. We'll radio
to town and Mehti will send a motor-boat for us."
"Suppose there aren't any geologists working there?"
"Then we'll continue on to the next island. We'll go island-hopping."
"So be it. We'll start building a raft at once."
After breakfast the castaways set out to explore their new domain and
to search for building material for a raft.
The north shore of the island was strewn with driftwood. There were
also logs that storms had torn loose from timber rafts, with staples
sticking out of them. They selected logs they could use for the raft and
rolled them higher up on shore.
Some five hundred metres farther on the sloping shore turned southwards
and grew steeper. There the water was a bluish-grey. Large gas bubbles
seethed in it and burst on reaching the surface.
"Another volcano!" Yura exclaimed.
"And here's his land brother," said Nikolai. Ten metres from the
water's edge there was a little mound topped by a small crater from which
warm, watery mud was slowly flowing down to the sea.
Nikolai climbed to the top of the crater, pulled off his shirt, spread
it out on the ground, and heaped thick grey clay from the crater on it.
"What's that for, Nikolai?" Valery asked.
"A stove."
"But you'll ruin your shirt," said Rita.
"Quite the contrary. This clay is a fine cleansing agent."
The south shore proved to be steep. It was edged with a narrow strip of
pebbles and boulders, and there was no sand.
"An easy place to approach from the sea," Nikolai remarked when they
came to a cove. "Look, the water here is deep very close to the shore; you
could come close in a boat."
"That's just what somebody has been doing," said Valery, pointing to a
piece of pipe half buried in the pebbles on the beach. It had obviously been
used as a bollard.
The young engineers examined the pipe. They discovered the trade-mark
of the Southern Pipe Mill and also a series of numbers indicating the size
of the pipe, the number of the melt, the grade of steel, and the year it was
made.
"Why, it's last year's date!" Yura exclaimed.
"That means geologists come here." Nikolai looked at Rita. "I told you
we wouldn't be stuck here."
The tour of the island did not take long. The total length of the
shoreline could not have been more than three kilometres.
"Now, my friends, let's get to work," said Nikolai after they returned
to camp. "Valery, cast your fishing-line again. Yura and I will drag some
logs."
With the help from the girls Yura and Nikolai rolled the logs on the
north side of the island down to the water, roped them together, and pulled
them round to the camp. On the way Nikolai picked up a stump that was half
rotten and covered with a thick coating of salt.
"What are you going to do with that horrid thing?" Val asked.
"You'll see."
After a dip in the sea Yura and Nikolai built a stove out of chunks of
sandstone and coated it with volcanic clay.
"Campfires may be more romantic but they don't produce much heat and
they eat up a lot of wood," said Yura. "We're not savages, after all."
Valery returned with his catch, followed by Rex, rapturously sniffing
at the fishtails trailing over the pebbles.
Meanwhile, Nikolai set fire to the rotten slump. When it had burned
away he collected the ashes in a tin, tasted them, nodded with satisfaction,
and dropped a pinch into the pot in which the fish were cooking.
"What are you doing?" Val exclaimed in horror. "Are you mad?"
Nikolai held the tin out to her. "You try it."
"Not for the world!"
Rita stuck a dampened finger into the tin and licked it.
"Why, it's salt!" she exclaimed.
"Miklukho-Maklay is helping us again," Nikolai explained. "He wrote
that the tribes of New Guinea eat the ashes of a tree that has lain in salt
water for a long time."
Rita laughed. "I've read Miklukho-Maklay too but I don't remember that.
There certainly is nothing to worry about when you boys are around."
After lunch they boiled some water and rationed it out. Although water
was poured into a tin for Rex as usual, he refused to drink it. Instead, he
stretched out in the shade of the tent and placed his tongue on his front
paws. Yura and Nikolai exchanged glances. "What's wrong with him?" Yura
asked. "He hasn't touched water since morning."
"Could he be going mad?" Val suggested worriedly.
Rita called to Rex, took his head between her hands, looked closely at
his eyes and nose, then opened his jaws and examined them.
"I've never seen a healthier dog in my life," she said, pushing Rex's
nose into the tin of water. "Please drink, Rex."
But Rex squirmed 'out of her grip and ran off.
"I don't like that," said Yura. "I wonder where he's off to. I intend
to find out."
He set off after the dog, in the direction of the middle of the island.
The others followed. At the top of the rise they saw another mud volcano, at
the foot of which grew tufts of brown grass. Nearby, between two parallel
slopes, there lay several pools of water. Rex was wandering from pool to
pool.
"There's the answer," said Yura. "The water from the cask isn't
fresh-and he must have found fresh water here this morning. Fine explorers
we are! We investigated the edge of the island but didn't think of going
into the middle. Rex did our thinking for us."
Skirting the mud volcano, they reached a rise beyond which they could
see the blue water of the cove where they had found the mooring pipe. From
above they saw a reinforced concrete dome rising out of the grey clayey
soil. Beside it protruded a concrete ventilation pipe covered with an iron
grating. On the other side of the dome a pipe covered with a flaky film of
oxide jutted out of the ground.
Nikolai ran his hands over the rough surface of the pipe. "Looks like
the exhaust pipe of an engine," he said.
On the slope there was a depression that led to a massive steel door. A
large lock wrapped in a piece of oily cloth hung on the door. A lead seal
dangled from the lock.
"I should certainly like to know what it all means," Yura remarked at
sight of the seal.
"Look!" Rita exclaimed. "What's the matter with Rex?"
The dog was sniffing the sand near the door and whining. Then he ran to
one side and started digging into the pebbles.
"This looks like an old pillbox," Nikolai said thoughtfully. "There may
have been an antiaircraft gun here during the war. Now the pillbox is being
used for something else. Perhaps a storehouse."
"Let's forget about it," said Yura. "This must be something very
hush-hush. It's no business of ours."
"What's that dog growling about? Rex, come here," Rita called. "Take it
easy, old boy. We're going home now."
A week passed. A cloudless sky stretched above Ipaty Island. The sea,
alas, was deserted. Neither a wisp of smoke nor a glimpse of a sail appeared
on the horizon.
Making a raft out of different-sized logs was a slow process for the
inexperienced builders. After much effort and many arguments the logs were
selected and neatly tied together. The sliding keel, made out of pieces of
board, required just as much effort.
The spanker boom from the boat, fastened down with shrouds and a stay,
was the mast. A steering oar made of two long poles and the seat of a chair,
all gifts of the sea, wore attached to the stern.
All day long an axe tapped, a hack-saw whined, and songs rang out on
the reef where work was in progress on the raft.
The fish were biting well. Just in case, the girls strung the fish on
cords and hung it up to dry in the sun and the wind, the oldest way there is
of curing fish.
It was not long, though, before all of them were sick and tired of
their fish diet.
"But it's good for you," Rita scolded when she saw Yura toss a
half-eaten piece over his shoulder. "Fish has lots of phosphorus; it's the
best brain food."
"There's nothing I'd like better right now than some sausage," Yura
said with a sigh.
Rex was also tired of fish. He ran about the island hunting lizards and
water snakes, partly for the fun of it. Sometimes he sniffed about the
reinforced concrete dome and threw up pebbles with his paws-always at one
and the same spot. Nikolai and Yura were intrigued by the dog's odd
behaviour. They deepened the hole Rex had dug, and about a metre below the
surface of the clayey soil they found the body of a dog. Yura gave a
whistle. "This dog was dissected!" he exclaimed.
"A desert island and experiments on dogs!" Nikolai said. "I'd certainly
like to know what's going on here."
Widening the hole, they found that several other dogs had been buried
there. Rex alternately growled and whined piteously, pressing close to
Yura's leg. They filled in the hole and stamped on the earth when they had
finished.
When Nikolai returned to camp and told the others about their queer
find a shadow fell across Rita's face.
"Experiments on dogs?" she repeated.
She said nothing more for the rest of the day. In the evening, alone
with Nikolai beside the signal campfire, she said, "I can't stand it any
longer. I simply must return to town."
"The raft's ready," said Nikolai. "As soon as we get a south wind-"
"Suppose we don't for another week?"
Nikolai did not reply. What could he say? There had been a dead calm
for days. Even the flames in the campfire hardly flickered at all.
In the red glow from the fire Nikolai looked remote and estranged. Rita
turned her head to glance about forlornly at the night; the familiar
pounding of the surf rang in her ears.
"He also experimented on dogs," she said in a low voice.
"He did?" Nikolai looked at Rita, then turned his eyes away. An odd
thought had occurred to him. What if-
Rita was thinking the same thing. Anatole often went away to some sort
of secret laboratory for long periods of time. He had never told Rita where
the laboratory was.
"You made me promise, Rita, so I'm not saying anything. But we're not
doing the right thing. The whole matter should be brought out into the open.
Those two ought to be drawn into our joint project. Or, at least, Anatole-"
Rita remained silent. Finally she said: "I think he'll realize that
himself. Anyway, I can't stay here any longer. You promised to think of a
way out. Well, keep your promise."
Nikolai was on the point of saying that he couldn't conjure up a south
wind, but he refrained.
Towards the end of the eleventh day, after supper, when it had grown
somewhat cooler, Val suddenly burst into laughter.
"What a sight you are!" she said, running her eyes over the three young
men. "You're unshaven and dirty-faced. You look like savages." She put her
hand out to touch Yura's soft reddish beard. He jerked his head away and
clicked his teeth. She drew back her hand. "You really have turned into a
savage," she said.
"You know, Val, you and I don't look any better," Rita remarked, her
glance falling on her scratched and bruised arms and her broken fingernails.
"You're right," Val agreed mournfully. "How grand it would be to wash
my hair in fresh, hot-water and to put on a little perfume-"
"You know what? Let's drive the men away tomorrow and heat up some
water. We'll have a glorious bath."
"You're wonderful, Rita!" Val cried. "And let's do the laundry too."
This conversation took place on the eve of their twelfth day on Ipaty
Island, a day of important events.
Next morning Nikolai, Yura and Valery brought armfuls of seaweed to the
campfire and burned it for ashes. They carried fresh water from the pools
near the mud volcanoes and filled all the vessels. Then they departed. Rita
and Val scrubbed the clothes, using ashes and volcanic clay for soap, and
had a good wash themselves. Meanwhile, the three young men went swimming off
the southern tip of the island, diving and fishing with their spear gun.
Afterwards they stretched out to rest on the beach of the cove. Rex went up
the slope in pursuit of a lizard.
"I swam to the other side of that headland," said Nikolai. "The water
there is agitated; there must be a strong discharge of gas at that
particular spot."
"Yes, we're living on top of a volcano," Yura stated. He was lying on
his back, his face covered with his faded red kerchief. "How hot it is
today! Feels like there's going to be a change in the weather."
They lay motionless, exhausted by the heat and their long stay in the
water. Suddenly they heard a faint sound in the dead silence of high noon.
Nikolai sat up and cocked his head. "What's that? An engine?"
The sound was repeated a moment later and then stopped short.
Nikolai scooped up the binoculars and ran to the top of the slope. Yura
and Valery followed close behind him.
A boat was coming towards the island from the west. Although it was
still far away they could make out three figures in it. One of them was
steadily bending forward and then backward.
"It sounded like a motorboat. Why should they be rowing?"
"Let's have a look." Yura took the binoculars from Nikolai. "They're
coming this way. And I'll be damned if that isn't Uncle Vova Bugrov at the
oars!"
Nikolai snatched the binoculars away from him.
Yes, it was Bugrov. He sat with his back to the shore, but he turned to
look at the island two or three times and Nikolai recognized him. Bugrov was
propelling the motorboat towards the island with strong strokes of his oars.
Now Nikolai could make out the two passengers. One of them was Opratin. He
sat in the stern, in a short-sleeved green shirt and a straw hat. The third
person, a thickset, shaggy man, sat hunched over in the bow. Nikolai could
see only his back, across which a white shirt stretched tight, but he
immediately knew the man was Anatole.
"How do you like that?" Nikolai asked, handing the binoculars to Yura
again.
"They've certainly chosen a secluded spot for their experiments," said
Yura. "Shall we let them know we're here?"
Nikolai did not answer at once. "Should I tell Rita?" he wondered. From
their hollow on the north-eastern shore the girls would not see a boat
approaching from the west. Best not to hurry. He and Yura and Valery would
watch a while longer.
"Wait a bit," he said. "Let's see what they're up to."
Yura nodded. "Right you are. There must be some important reason why
they've hidden themselves away on this island. Let's go over to the big
crater. The grass is high there and we'll have a good view."
They whistled for Rex to come back to them and then stretched out on
the slope of the crater. The sun blazed down on their backs; the stiff,
prickly grass scratched their bare skin. But they had a perfect observation
post. The cove lay spread out below them.
The nose of the boat touched the shore. Bugrov sprang out into the deep
water and tied the painter to a ring on the mooring post.
Next, Opratin and Anatole stepped out of the boat. Anatole at once
started up the slope, panting and halting at frequent intervals to catch his
breath. Opratin remained behind to talk with Bugrov.
"Good thing we were close to the island when the engine died on us,"
they heard Bugrov say in his booming voice. "I'll have to check the
ignition."
Opratin said something and then turned away to follow Anatole in the
direction of the reinforced concrete dome. They vanished from view when they
descended into the hollow in front of the pillbox door. The bolt clanked,
then the massive door creaked and slammed shut.
Bugrov got down to work on the beach. He took the ignition distributor
out of the engine and laid it on a piece of canvas spread on the ground.
Yura, Nikolai and Valery continued to lie in hiding for some time,
watching him work.
"I'm fed up with this cat-and-mouse stuff," Yura finally whispered. "We
ought to come out into the open and let them know we're here."
"Wait a bit," Nikolai insisted.
"Then let's move into the shade. My brains are sizzling."
Bending low, they noiselessly skirted the mud volcano and came into the
shade near the concrete outlet of the ventilation shaft. The heat was less
oppressive here. Cool air from the underground chamber was wafted to them
through the dark grating covering the shaft. They could hear a faint
rustling.
Suddenly Anatole's voice came to them-so clearly that they gave a start
and involuntarily bent lower.
"You'll have to get along without me," Anatole was saying. "I'll do
what I have to do."
"Contact Bagbanly? Privalov?" Opratin's voice was so muffled they could
barely make it out. They leaned closer to the grating, their bodies tense.
"Yes, I will. I'll give them the material and we'll all work together."
Opratin's voice was calm. "You have no right to do that without my
consent."
"Do you have the right to use the Institute laboratory, which isn't
yours, and to buy expensive equipment for this project on the Institute's
money?"
There was a short pause.
"So that's how you view the matter," said Opratin. "Very nice of you.
Why have you considered it possible to work here up until now? Why this
crisis of conscience all of a sudden?"
Anatole muttered something and gave a cough.
"The result is what counts," Opratin went on. "No one's going to blame
us after we announce a major breakthrough. Winners are never blamed."
"We haven't anything to announce. There isn't any breakthrough."
"Yes there is. Penetrability is in our hands."
"It's like a grenade in the hands of a child. No stability. We don't
know the essence of the phenomenon."
"In another month or two we'll achieve stability."
"You're deceiving yourself!" Anatole shouted.
Rex growled softly in reply and received a slap from Nikolai.
Fortunately, the men below had not heard the dog.
"We've reached an impasse," said Anatole. "We're not making any
headway. We must climb out of this damned cellar and write to the Academy of
Sciences. I realized that long ago, but I was just being obstinate-"
"You have no right to do that," Opratin said in a harsh voice. "We did
the work together."
"Very well. I won't say anything about the circuit you developed. You
can choke on it for all I care. But the idea of the 'transmission effect' is
mine. I'm taking the knife and I'll write up a paper on my own work."
Yura's eyes were round as he nudged Nikolai with his elbow. The knife!
"You forget, my dear man, that I was the one who obtained the knife,"
Opratin remarked coldly.
"She gave you the knife only because of me, and not because she was
smitten with you. Ah, if only I had listened to her! Oh well- But why are
you being so stubborn?" Anatole asked after a pause. "We've done an enormous
amount of work. Let's declare honestly that we can't go any farther without
help. Fame and honours won't slip through our fingers-"
"That's enough!" Opratin shouted. "I'm sick and tired of fussing over
you. You're nothing but a miserable dope addict!"
"But who made me an addict? You're a scoundrel, that's what you are!
Who procured the drugs for me? You did-because you wanted to hold me in the
palm of your hand. But I'm not a finished man yet. I'll go into hospital
and- And you can go to the devil! You may take 'The Key to the Mystery' with
you for all I care!"
"Get out of here! We're returning to town at once."
"I should say not. I'm going to finish my latest experiment. I'll go
down below now, rest a while where it's cool, and then-"
The voices fell silent. The two men must have moved to a different
room.
"Did you hear that?" Yura whispered eagerly. "They have Fedor
Matveyev's knife and 'The Key to the Mystery'. We were right. They were the
ones who stole 'The Key to the Mystery' from the Moscow museum."
"Keep quiet!"
They waited, listening intently.
"Look here, Nikolai. We must come out into the open. There's something
very fishy about the whole thing."
"It doesn't smell fishy to me. It smells of ozone."
"Ozone?" Yura sniffed. The air coming up through the ventilation shaft
had a fresh smell as if before a thunderstorm. "High voltage-" he muttered.
The door on the other side of the pillbox squeaked as it was opened and
then slammed shut.
Bending low, Nikolai ran to the mud volcano, with Yura and Valery
behind him. They returned to their first hiding place.
They saw Opratin descend the slope to the beach, carrying a black
attache case. He walked over to where Bugrov was working.
"Why all of a sudden?" they heard Bugrov growl. "We were going to stay
three days."
Opratin said something that they could not hear.
"Is he staying behind?" Bugrov asked.
"Yes."
"Wait a bit, until I put the engine together again."
"Be quick about it." Opratin began to stride nervously up and down the
beach.
"What are we going to do, Nikolai?" Yura whispered. "Are we going to
wait till they return for Anatole?"
"The devil only knows when they'll come back. We can't wait."
"Then let's go down to them now. At least one of us could return to
town with them."
"I don't want Opratin to know we're here," said Nikolai. "He'll get the
wind up if he sees us here and he'll play some dirty trick on Anatole."
"But why couldn't Valery go down to them and say he was shipwrecked?
Opratin doesn't know Valery."
"No, we'll do it differently. He'll never suspect anything."
Yura stared at his friend, blinking in puzzlement.
"Valery, be a pal and run down to the camp for the scuba gear," said
Nikolai. "Bring some vegetable oil too. We'll be waiting for you over
there."
"What are you planning?" Yura asked. "Are you going to-"
Nikolai nodded. "Yes, I'll hide underneath the boat and-"
"You're mad!"
"Run along, Valery, and be quick about it. Not a word to the girls,
mind you!"
Valery gulped in bewilderment. "No, of course not." He raced round the
mud volcano, clambered down the slope to the east shore and ran towards the
camp.
"Don't be an idiot," Yura hissed. "It's fifty miles to town."
"I know that," Nikolai replied calmly. "The cylinders are practically
full. I'll tie myself under the bow of the boat and breathe through the
snorkel."
"You'll freeze before you're halfway there."
"I'll cover my body with vegetable oil."
Yura raised himself on his elbow. "I won't let you do it. I'll tackle
Opratin. To hell with him-"
Nikolai pushed him down hard. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be
all right. After we leave, you go in to Anatole and talk to him. Tell him
Rita is here. I'll get Mehti to send a launch for you this evening. Or
tomorrow morning, at the latest. Okay?"
Yura knew it was useless to argue.
They crawled over to the opposite slope of the big crater, from which
streams of warm mud were flowing, and descended to the beach on the east
coast.
Valery came running up. Nikolai took the bottle, poured some of the oil
into the palm of his hand, and began to rub it into his skin. His body soon
became shiny and slippery. He looked at the pressure gauge on the aqualung
and found that it stood at 140 atmospheres, which meant it was almost full.
Yura helped him to strap the cylinders to his back.
"Well, here we go." Nikolai squeezed Yura's hand, then shook hands with
Valery. "See you soon, boys."
"Be careful, Nicky." Yura could say nothing more. He looked miserable.
Nikolai clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
He moistened the mask in the sea and clamped his teeth on the
Matveyev's manuscript," he remarked, rising. He began to pace the floor. "To
what century does your story relate?"
"The sixth, according to the European system of chronology. Not
earlier. The hero read books which Hsuan-tsang brought from India, and
Hsuan-tsang lived in the sixth century."
"But wasn't some kind of year mentioned in the tale?"
"Yes. Liu Ching-chen came to India in the year of Metal and the Tiger.
According to the old Chinese system, that was the twenty-seventh year of a
cycle. There were sixty years in a cycle. The first year of a cycle was the
year of Wood and the Mouse."
"How does that fit in with our calendar?"
"Well, in the current cycle the year of Metal and the Tiger was 1951.
If we go back sixty years from that we get 1891, then 1831, then 1771, then
1711-"
"The year 1711?" Privalov interrupted. "That tallies with Fedor
Matveyev's manuscript. Liu Ching-chen could have come into contact with the
same Hindu sage who several years later gave Matveyev's knife the property
of penetrability.
"Why can't we assume," he went on, "that a spaceship from some distant
world was forced to land somewhere in the Himalayas? The ship came from a
world where the bonds connecting matter are different. The spacemen had to
replenish their supply of nuclear fuel. The rock they found in the Himalayas
proved to be active enough for their needs. They split it by the
electro-spark method."
"Not the Lazarenko method, by any chance?" Professor Bagbanly asked
joshingly.
"At any rate, they probably had a similar method. But a hitch arose:
they found matter on earth to be penetrable. They then assembled some sort
of apparatus and changed the properties of the stones, making them
impenetrable, and loaded them into the spaceship on a belt conveyor. Next
they repaired the ship, putting in some new gears and discarding the used
ones-those were the 'iron flowers'-and flew off to wherever they were
bound."
Professor Bagbanly laughed. "You'd make a good science-fiction writer,
Boris."
Academician Markov was sketching the head of an old man with a beard
and a hooked nose on his writing pad. He appeared to be completely absorbed
in what he was doing, but suddenly he raised his head and looked at
Professor Bagbanly. "Why not?" he said. "Anything's possible in this world.
The wildest fantasies do not surprise science any longer."
"True enough. But a spaceship in the Himalayas-"
"The Hindu happened to be in the mountains," the Academician went on
quietly. "He watched those creatures from outer space. He had probably
dabbled in physics before this. Later he may have used the restructured
stones as a force for passing on their properties to other objects."
Privalov sprang to his feet. "Passing on their properties to other objects?
What an odd idea!" "Not at all," the Academician insisted. "If we had
something made out of a substance with changed bonds-for example, that
legendary knife of Fedor Matveyev's-we'd immediately look for a way of
transferring its properties." Privalov seemed upset to hear this. "Do you
mean we aren't on the right track? Does that mean the 'half-twist spiral'
which Fedor Matveyev mentioned was not a Mobius band at all but something
else?"
"No, we're on the right track, Boris. About that band of Matveyev's,
it's hard to tell- It may have been simply a part of the apparatus. The
important thing is that the word suggested a magnificent idea to your
Nikolai Potapkin." The Academician paused, then went on, "However, it's
still merely an assumption. Only one thing is obvious. At the beginning of
the eighteenth century India had a great scientist, a man whose name we do
not know. He greatly enriched his age, but his own life was a tragedy."
Boris Privalov sat lost in thought. His mind was on Liu Ching-chen and
the Hindu sage. In his imagination he saw the towering peaks of the
Himalayas, and exhausted men bringing down some sort of resins from the
mountains. Fedor Matveyev mentioned those resins, leading Koltukhov to
conceive the idea of powerfully charged electrets.
After a time he said: "What if we tried to fill in the power abyss with
electrets?"
"With electrets?" The Academician looked at him in surprise. "But
they're a very weak source, even though, I admit, inexhaustible."
"Weak, you say? But listen to this!" Privalov retold the episode
described in Fedor Matveyev's manuscript and then spoke of Koltukhov's
supposition that Lal Chandra's men had charged the resin with cosmic rays.
"Yes, now I remember," said the Academician. "But it never entered my
head- Well, well, do go on."
Privalov excitedly gave a detailed account of Koltukhov's experiments
with electret coatings for pipelines.
"By Allah, that's not a bad idea at all!" Professor Bagbanly exclaimed
when Privalov had finished. "The Academy has the most powerful electrostatic
generators in the world. Let's use them to charge resin according to
Koltukhov's method."
"A powerful, inexhaustible battery of electrets," Academician Markov
murmured thoughtfully. "Very well, let's try it." He paused, then said, "The
frequency situation is clear. Now we'll tackle the power situation. Let's
build a model of your pipeless oil pipeline, but in a small pool and without
glass tubes."
"Like Lal Chandra's?" Privalov asked.
"Something like it. But without any theatrical effects such as burning
water. Lal Chandra must have broken down the water in the pool by
electrolysis and ignited the hydrogen with a spark.
That's no use to us, of course. But pumping oil through water is
something we want to do. We'll set up a Mobius band in the pool, both a
reception band and a transmission band. Also a power beam installation.
We'll test the electrets.
"We'll try to drive a stream of oil through water. We'll see how the
restructured matter behaves within the framework of intensified surface
tension. If we get results that look promising we'll try to shift our
experiment to your place on the Caspian. We'll choose a suitable area of the
sea and do the experiment under natural conditions. By the way, I must go
down to the Caspian for something else besides this pipeline business.
There's another problem that is just as important."
Kneeling behind Yura's head, Nikolai energetically brought Yura's arms
up over his head and then back to his sides. He worked steadily, up and
down, up and down. Val stood beside him. She was shaking all over. Suddenly
Yura gave a faint groan. Sobbing, Val fell to her knees beside him.
"Go away!" Nikolai shouted angrily, moving Yura's arms up and down more
vigorously than ever. Yura's body jerked. He opened his eyes, sighed, then
turned his head and vomited.
Meanwhile, the storm continued to rage. The wind howled savagely and
the surf thundered as it crashed against the rocks. Sand began to fill the
hollow. It grated between their teeth and sifted into their ears.
"He'll live," said Nikolai as he threw himself onto the sand in utter
exhaustion.
"My head aches," Yura muttered, looking up at the dark figures around
him. "One, two, three-" he counted. "Where's Rex? Ah, there he is." He
closed his eyes. Val held his hand tightly in hers. "I hit my head on a bitt
when the stay-sheet swung past me," he whispered a little later.
"Nikolai pulled you out of the water," said Val. Big tears were rolling
down her cheeks. Yura muttered something that sounded like "He did the right
thing".
When it started to grow light the crew of the Mekong climbed the slope.
Below they saw a strip of beach. Stiff tufts of tall brown grass thrust up
out of the sand. The Mekong lay on its side on a reef. Without its mast it
looked headless. Waves were washing over it. The sea, an angry dark grey,
was covered with whitecaps.
"Let's take a look at the boat," said Nikolai, running down to the
beach.
Yura was about to follow but stopped when Nikolai turned round and
shouted: "Stay where you are! Valery and I will go."
The two young men slowly waded along the reef, pushing their way
through the cold, heavy waves. Large chunks of sandstone were scattered over
the bottom.
The boat's rudder was firmly wedged between two submerged rocks. The
broken mast, still attached to the deck, was being pounded by the waves
against the side of the boat.
Nikolai and Valery scrambled up onto the deck and made their way to the
cabin, which was half full of water and in a complete mess. The portholes
had been smashed in; a lady's slipper, several ring-shaped bread rolls and a
bunch of onions floated on the water. On the starboard side there was a hole
four planks wide below the waterline. Nikolai discovered this when he put
his foot through it.
"Looks like we're stuck on this island," he muttered.
He dived, ran his hands round the corner of the cabin that was under
the water, and brought up a canvas sack of tools.
"Now I feel better," he told Valery, snorting and blowing out water.
"Here's the fishing gear!" Valery shouted joyfully. During the night he
had been silent and a bit frightened. Now he was his old self again. "We'll
catch fish and live like Robinson Crusoe."
They dragged up to the deck everything the water had not swept away
through the hole. Then they fashioned a small raft out of boards, loaded
what they had salvaged onto it, lashed the things all down securely with
ropes, and dragged the raft to shore. Immediately afterwards, they made a
second trip, returning bowed down under the weight of the wet sails. Also,
they dragged the mast to the beach.
When they had rested up a bit they spread the sails out to dry, placing
rocks on the corners to prevent them from being carried away by the wind.
They likewise spread out the salvaged food and clothing on the pebbles to
dry.
The high wind drove low, ragged clouds over the little island and sent
huge waves sweeping across the reef. The five young people and the dog were
stranded on an inhospitable patch of land.
Setting her bare feet down gingerly on the pebbles, Rita walked over to
Nikolai.
"What are we going to do, Commodore?" she asked.
"We're going to have some breakfast first, and then we'll see."
They went back to the hollow, where they were sheltered against the
wind. Yura opened three tins of meat with his knife.
"Couldn't we heat them up?" Val asked.
"Certainly. If we had kerosene and matches."
"No matches at all? How will we get along without fire?"
"Oh, we'll have fire," Yura promised. "After all, this isn't the Stone
Age."
They ate in silence, using two knives, two screwdrivers and Yura's
trusty Durandal screwdriver.
Nikolai reviewed their situation. "The boat's smashed," he said, "so
we'll have to forget about, any further sailing for the time being. We'll
have to live on this island for a while. Fishing, vessels and ships of the
Caspian oil prospecting service sail among these islands all the time, so we
needn't worry about not being rescued. We'll keep a signal fire burning all
night long."
"Let's take stock of our food," Yura suggested. "Any self-respecting
Robinson Crusoe always starts with that."
The castaways found they had nine tins of meat, four tins of sardines
and a tin of hardtack. They also had three packets of dehydrated pea soup
that were splitting open, twenty-seven potatoes, six packages of soggy
biscuits, a bundle of onions, and two bottles of vegetable oil. Their
supplies of flour, sugar, millet grits and butter had vanished for good.
"What about water?" Rita asked.
"I think there's enough." Nikolai indicated a wooden cask. "There must
be thirty litres here. It'll last us a good ten days. Then we can use this
resin to turn sea water into at least twenty litres of drinking water. But
we don't have enough food."
"We'll catch fish," said Valery.
"Yes, of course. Fish will be our mainstay. We'll save the tinned meat
for an emergency. I'm sure we'll manage."
The other items salvaged were: Rita's sundress, one sandal of Val's
(the right foot) and one sandal of Valery's (the left foot), the blankets,
the primus stove, the transistor radio, the aqualung, the camera, the
fishing rod, the binoculars and the compass. Printed matter included sailing
directions, Kaverin's novel Fulfillment of Desire, whose pages the wind was
indifferently ruffling, and a map, now spread out to dry on the beach and
held down by stones along the edges.
A mess-tin, a saucepan and a canvas pail were the only vessels they now
had. In the tool case they found, besides the two knives and the two
screwdrivers, a hatchet, pliers, a chisel, a hacksaw, nails, a tin
containing sail thread and needles, and a tin of polish with which to keep
the brass on the boat bright. The label said the polish could be used to
clean jewels, dentures, lavatory pans, samovars, wind instruments and
trolleybuses.
"The funny thing is that it's all true," said Nikolai, turning the tin
about in his hands. "What a pity we don't have any trolleybuses or precious
stones!"
They all wore watches, but only Rita's and Valery's still kept time.
Nikolai's watch ticked only when he shook it, while Yura's waterproof and
shockproof model did not react to shaking or to anything else.
"Well, the warranty that came with my watch said the wearer should
guard it against shock and water," Yura remarked.
He was studying the map, running his finger over the still damp
surface.
"Where are we?" Nikolai asked, squatting on his haunches beside Yura.
"This must be Ipaty Island," Yura said. "We were driven southwards and
the gale struck right here. Yes, Ipaty Island." He leafed through the
sailing directions. "The island emerged from the sea about a century and a
half ago. Before that there was a shoal here known as Devil's Site."
Towards noon the wind died down and it grew warmer. The castaways set
about building themselves a shelter. They placed the mast on the ground in
such a way that it jutted all of three metres over the hollow. Next, they
heaped stones on the end of the mast to make it secure, and supported the
jutting end with crossed boat-hooks. They draped the spinnaker over this
frame and tied the edges to stakes driven into the ground. The storm sail
was arranged to curtain off part of the tent for the ladies. They turned the
folded mainsail into a springy floor and the jib into a door.
Yura clicked his tongue. "A tiptop wigwam. I've dreamed of living in a
cosy wigwam like this since I was a kid."
"Our next job," said Nikolai, "is fire. The sky seems to be clearing up
a bit. As soon as the sun comes out we'll make fire. Meanwhile, let's get
some firewood."
"You sound as though someone had laid in a supply of firewood
especially for us," Val remarked sarcastically.
"That's exactly what the sea has done. North of us lies a
densely-populated coast. The north wind is the prevailing wind here. And to
top it all, our camp is situated on the north side of this island. So there
must be firewood somewhere close by."
Valery was told to find a calm cove and try his luck with the
fishing-rod. The others wandered off along the shore.
"Here's the first piece of wood!" Nikolai exclaimed, picking up an old,
cracked slat from a dinghy. After that they found boards from crates and
pieces of square beams and fishing-net frames.
When, loaded with firewood, they returned to the camp, a patch of blue
was visible through the clouds. The sun peeped out timidly but immediately
dived back into a cloud.
Valery had caught a few little bullheads and one good-sized carp, which
he handed over to the girls to clean. The cloud slid away from the sun. Yura
unscrewed the lens of the camera and used it as a magnifying glass to set
fire to several strands of rope. After energetic blowing, a few chips of
wood caught fire. It was not long before a fire was blazing merrily in the
hollow.
"We'll never have to worry as long as you boys are here," Val remarked,
smiling.
The men sharpened the knives on a flat stone and carved, out of
driftwood, five objects more or less resembling spoons.
They set to dinner with a healthy appetite.
"I never tasted a better fish stew in my life," Rita confessed. "I'm
ashamed of myself but I can't seem to stop eating-"
After lunch they grew drowsy, for none of them had slept much the
previous night.
"Crawl into the wigwam and take a nap," Nikolai said. "I'll stand watch
for a while."
He sat alone for a long time, tossing pieces of driftwood on the fire.
Rex dozed by his side. He was glad the girls showed no signs of being
worried but were content to leave everything to Yura and himself. But,
facing the facts squarely, he had to admit it was unlikely that they would
be rescued. They could not bank on anyone calling at the island. He'd have
to think of a way cut-in the primeval silence the surf pounded with a sullen
roar. The sky had cleared in the west, and it now glowed red and gold from
the setting sun.
He'd have to think of a way out-
He dozed off, but before long a rustling sound caused him to jerk up
his head. Rita had emerged from the tent. She yawned and sat down beside
him.
"Are we going to be here long, Nikolai?" she asked, picking up a
handful of sand and letting it run through her fingers. "It's important for
me to know."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you. We'll think of a way out. Are you sorry
you came along?"
"No, not a bit. But I'd like to return to town as soon as possible."
"We'll think of a way out," he repeated. "There's no such thing as a
hopeless situation."
Rita smiled at him. "Be sure to find a way out," she said softly.
That evening they sang songs in chorus. They were in high spirits as
they learned the words of a Papuan song that Nikolai had found in a book by
the explorer Miklukho-Maklay. The rather repetitious Papuan song, which
fitted in with their present situation, spoke of how to make the pith of the
sago palm edible. Yura conducted, while the others danced round the fire,
hands linked, and sang:
Bom, bom, marare;
Marare, tamole.
Mara, mara, marare,
Bom, bom, marare.
Rex howled conscientiously, his muzzle pointed skywards.
When they finished singing they decided in what order they would stand
night watches of two hours each. The man on duty would keep a fire going on
top of the hillock as a signal to any ship that might pass by.
Yura was the first to go on duty. Val sat beside him. Reflections of
the fire flickered across their faces.
"Does your head ache badly?" Val asked,
"No, it's much better."
"Just think of it-if it hadn't been for Nikolai-" She did not finish
the sentence but moved closer to him. He put his arm round her shoulders and
said in a voice she did not recognize, "Know what, Val? Let's get married."
He did not see Val's face light up because just then the fire gave off
a shower of sparks and he leaned forward to toss on a piece of wood.
Val laughed softly. "First we'll have to get off this island-" "Well,
what do you say?" Val kissed him quickly and rose to her feet. "Good night,
Yura," she whispered, and crawled into the tent, smiling happily in the
darkness.
The morning dawned on a blue sea without a single ripple. Wispy white
clouds floated in the sky.
Yura and Nikolai waded along the reef until they reached the Mekong. A
careful examination convinced them that they would not be able to patch up
the hole or get the boat off the reef. Two pontoons and a launch would be
needed to tow their sailboat back to the marina.
On their return to shore Nikolai slowly swept the horizon with his
binoculars. Then he handed them to Yura. "Look over there."
What Yura saw through the glasses was a lacy network of lines in the
sky that looked as though they had been drawn in India ink on blue silk.
This was the top of an oil rig.
Yura ran into the tent for the map and compass. He studied the map
carefully and then declared that what they saw was an offshore exploratory
rig near Turtle Island.
"Yes, that confirms it," he said. "We're on Ipaty. (Turtle Island is
about fifteen nautical miles from here. The rig can be our reference point.
Shall we try to swim there?"
"No, it's too far. Besides, the current will be against us. What we
must do is build a raft."
"A raft?"
"That's right. With a sail and a sliding rudder. Like the Kon-Tiki.
We'll choose a day with a south wind-with a north wind we wouldn't make it
on a raft-and it shouldn't take us more than eight hours to reach Turtle
Island. If we find geologists there they'll have a transmitter. We'll radio
to town and Mehti will send a motor-boat for us."
"Suppose there aren't any geologists working there?"
"Then we'll continue on to the next island. We'll go island-hopping."
"So be it. We'll start building a raft at once."
After breakfast the castaways set out to explore their new domain and
to search for building material for a raft.
The north shore of the island was strewn with driftwood. There were
also logs that storms had torn loose from timber rafts, with staples
sticking out of them. They selected logs they could use for the raft and
rolled them higher up on shore.
Some five hundred metres farther on the sloping shore turned southwards
and grew steeper. There the water was a bluish-grey. Large gas bubbles
seethed in it and burst on reaching the surface.
"Another volcano!" Yura exclaimed.
"And here's his land brother," said Nikolai. Ten metres from the
water's edge there was a little mound topped by a small crater from which
warm, watery mud was slowly flowing down to the sea.
Nikolai climbed to the top of the crater, pulled off his shirt, spread
it out on the ground, and heaped thick grey clay from the crater on it.
"What's that for, Nikolai?" Valery asked.
"A stove."
"But you'll ruin your shirt," said Rita.
"Quite the contrary. This clay is a fine cleansing agent."
The south shore proved to be steep. It was edged with a narrow strip of
pebbles and boulders, and there was no sand.
"An easy place to approach from the sea," Nikolai remarked when they
came to a cove. "Look, the water here is deep very close to the shore; you
could come close in a boat."
"That's just what somebody has been doing," said Valery, pointing to a
piece of pipe half buried in the pebbles on the beach. It had obviously been
used as a bollard.
The young engineers examined the pipe. They discovered the trade-mark
of the Southern Pipe Mill and also a series of numbers indicating the size
of the pipe, the number of the melt, the grade of steel, and the year it was
made.
"Why, it's last year's date!" Yura exclaimed.
"That means geologists come here." Nikolai looked at Rita. "I told you
we wouldn't be stuck here."
The tour of the island did not take long. The total length of the
shoreline could not have been more than three kilometres.
"Now, my friends, let's get to work," said Nikolai after they returned
to camp. "Valery, cast your fishing-line again. Yura and I will drag some
logs."
With the help from the girls Yura and Nikolai rolled the logs on the
north side of the island down to the water, roped them together, and pulled
them round to the camp. On the way Nikolai picked up a stump that was half
rotten and covered with a thick coating of salt.
"What are you going to do with that horrid thing?" Val asked.
"You'll see."
After a dip in the sea Yura and Nikolai built a stove out of chunks of
sandstone and coated it with volcanic clay.
"Campfires may be more romantic but they don't produce much heat and
they eat up a lot of wood," said Yura. "We're not savages, after all."
Valery returned with his catch, followed by Rex, rapturously sniffing
at the fishtails trailing over the pebbles.
Meanwhile, Nikolai set fire to the rotten slump. When it had burned
away he collected the ashes in a tin, tasted them, nodded with satisfaction,
and dropped a pinch into the pot in which the fish were cooking.
"What are you doing?" Val exclaimed in horror. "Are you mad?"
Nikolai held the tin out to her. "You try it."
"Not for the world!"
Rita stuck a dampened finger into the tin and licked it.
"Why, it's salt!" she exclaimed.
"Miklukho-Maklay is helping us again," Nikolai explained. "He wrote
that the tribes of New Guinea eat the ashes of a tree that has lain in salt
water for a long time."
Rita laughed. "I've read Miklukho-Maklay too but I don't remember that.
There certainly is nothing to worry about when you boys are around."
After lunch they boiled some water and rationed it out. Although water
was poured into a tin for Rex as usual, he refused to drink it. Instead, he
stretched out in the shade of the tent and placed his tongue on his front
paws. Yura and Nikolai exchanged glances. "What's wrong with him?" Yura
asked. "He hasn't touched water since morning."
"Could he be going mad?" Val suggested worriedly.
Rita called to Rex, took his head between her hands, looked closely at
his eyes and nose, then opened his jaws and examined them.
"I've never seen a healthier dog in my life," she said, pushing Rex's
nose into the tin of water. "Please drink, Rex."
But Rex squirmed 'out of her grip and ran off.
"I don't like that," said Yura. "I wonder where he's off to. I intend
to find out."
He set off after the dog, in the direction of the middle of the island.
The others followed. At the top of the rise they saw another mud volcano, at
the foot of which grew tufts of brown grass. Nearby, between two parallel
slopes, there lay several pools of water. Rex was wandering from pool to
pool.
"There's the answer," said Yura. "The water from the cask isn't
fresh-and he must have found fresh water here this morning. Fine explorers
we are! We investigated the edge of the island but didn't think of going
into the middle. Rex did our thinking for us."
Skirting the mud volcano, they reached a rise beyond which they could
see the blue water of the cove where they had found the mooring pipe. From
above they saw a reinforced concrete dome rising out of the grey clayey
soil. Beside it protruded a concrete ventilation pipe covered with an iron
grating. On the other side of the dome a pipe covered with a flaky film of
oxide jutted out of the ground.
Nikolai ran his hands over the rough surface of the pipe. "Looks like
the exhaust pipe of an engine," he said.
On the slope there was a depression that led to a massive steel door. A
large lock wrapped in a piece of oily cloth hung on the door. A lead seal
dangled from the lock.
"I should certainly like to know what it all means," Yura remarked at
sight of the seal.
"Look!" Rita exclaimed. "What's the matter with Rex?"
The dog was sniffing the sand near the door and whining. Then he ran to
one side and started digging into the pebbles.
"This looks like an old pillbox," Nikolai said thoughtfully. "There may
have been an antiaircraft gun here during the war. Now the pillbox is being
used for something else. Perhaps a storehouse."
"Let's forget about it," said Yura. "This must be something very
hush-hush. It's no business of ours."
"What's that dog growling about? Rex, come here," Rita called. "Take it
easy, old boy. We're going home now."
A week passed. A cloudless sky stretched above Ipaty Island. The sea,
alas, was deserted. Neither a wisp of smoke nor a glimpse of a sail appeared
on the horizon.
Making a raft out of different-sized logs was a slow process for the
inexperienced builders. After much effort and many arguments the logs were
selected and neatly tied together. The sliding keel, made out of pieces of
board, required just as much effort.
The spanker boom from the boat, fastened down with shrouds and a stay,
was the mast. A steering oar made of two long poles and the seat of a chair,
all gifts of the sea, wore attached to the stern.
All day long an axe tapped, a hack-saw whined, and songs rang out on
the reef where work was in progress on the raft.
The fish were biting well. Just in case, the girls strung the fish on
cords and hung it up to dry in the sun and the wind, the oldest way there is
of curing fish.
It was not long, though, before all of them were sick and tired of
their fish diet.
"But it's good for you," Rita scolded when she saw Yura toss a
half-eaten piece over his shoulder. "Fish has lots of phosphorus; it's the
best brain food."
"There's nothing I'd like better right now than some sausage," Yura
said with a sigh.
Rex was also tired of fish. He ran about the island hunting lizards and
water snakes, partly for the fun of it. Sometimes he sniffed about the
reinforced concrete dome and threw up pebbles with his paws-always at one
and the same spot. Nikolai and Yura were intrigued by the dog's odd
behaviour. They deepened the hole Rex had dug, and about a metre below the
surface of the clayey soil they found the body of a dog. Yura gave a
whistle. "This dog was dissected!" he exclaimed.
"A desert island and experiments on dogs!" Nikolai said. "I'd certainly
like to know what's going on here."
Widening the hole, they found that several other dogs had been buried
there. Rex alternately growled and whined piteously, pressing close to
Yura's leg. They filled in the hole and stamped on the earth when they had
finished.
When Nikolai returned to camp and told the others about their queer
find a shadow fell across Rita's face.
"Experiments on dogs?" she repeated.
She said nothing more for the rest of the day. In the evening, alone
with Nikolai beside the signal campfire, she said, "I can't stand it any
longer. I simply must return to town."
"The raft's ready," said Nikolai. "As soon as we get a south wind-"
"Suppose we don't for another week?"
Nikolai did not reply. What could he say? There had been a dead calm
for days. Even the flames in the campfire hardly flickered at all.
In the red glow from the fire Nikolai looked remote and estranged. Rita
turned her head to glance about forlornly at the night; the familiar
pounding of the surf rang in her ears.
"He also experimented on dogs," she said in a low voice.
"He did?" Nikolai looked at Rita, then turned his eyes away. An odd
thought had occurred to him. What if-
Rita was thinking the same thing. Anatole often went away to some sort
of secret laboratory for long periods of time. He had never told Rita where
the laboratory was.
"You made me promise, Rita, so I'm not saying anything. But we're not
doing the right thing. The whole matter should be brought out into the open.
Those two ought to be drawn into our joint project. Or, at least, Anatole-"
Rita remained silent. Finally she said: "I think he'll realize that
himself. Anyway, I can't stay here any longer. You promised to think of a
way out. Well, keep your promise."
Nikolai was on the point of saying that he couldn't conjure up a south
wind, but he refrained.
Towards the end of the eleventh day, after supper, when it had grown
somewhat cooler, Val suddenly burst into laughter.
"What a sight you are!" she said, running her eyes over the three young
men. "You're unshaven and dirty-faced. You look like savages." She put her
hand out to touch Yura's soft reddish beard. He jerked his head away and
clicked his teeth. She drew back her hand. "You really have turned into a
savage," she said.
"You know, Val, you and I don't look any better," Rita remarked, her
glance falling on her scratched and bruised arms and her broken fingernails.
"You're right," Val agreed mournfully. "How grand it would be to wash
my hair in fresh, hot-water and to put on a little perfume-"
"You know what? Let's drive the men away tomorrow and heat up some
water. We'll have a glorious bath."
"You're wonderful, Rita!" Val cried. "And let's do the laundry too."
This conversation took place on the eve of their twelfth day on Ipaty
Island, a day of important events.
Next morning Nikolai, Yura and Valery brought armfuls of seaweed to the
campfire and burned it for ashes. They carried fresh water from the pools
near the mud volcanoes and filled all the vessels. Then they departed. Rita
and Val scrubbed the clothes, using ashes and volcanic clay for soap, and
had a good wash themselves. Meanwhile, the three young men went swimming off
the southern tip of the island, diving and fishing with their spear gun.
Afterwards they stretched out to rest on the beach of the cove. Rex went up
the slope in pursuit of a lizard.
"I swam to the other side of that headland," said Nikolai. "The water
there is agitated; there must be a strong discharge of gas at that
particular spot."
"Yes, we're living on top of a volcano," Yura stated. He was lying on
his back, his face covered with his faded red kerchief. "How hot it is
today! Feels like there's going to be a change in the weather."
They lay motionless, exhausted by the heat and their long stay in the
water. Suddenly they heard a faint sound in the dead silence of high noon.
Nikolai sat up and cocked his head. "What's that? An engine?"
The sound was repeated a moment later and then stopped short.
Nikolai scooped up the binoculars and ran to the top of the slope. Yura
and Valery followed close behind him.
A boat was coming towards the island from the west. Although it was
still far away they could make out three figures in it. One of them was
steadily bending forward and then backward.
"It sounded like a motorboat. Why should they be rowing?"
"Let's have a look." Yura took the binoculars from Nikolai. "They're
coming this way. And I'll be damned if that isn't Uncle Vova Bugrov at the
oars!"
Nikolai snatched the binoculars away from him.
Yes, it was Bugrov. He sat with his back to the shore, but he turned to
look at the island two or three times and Nikolai recognized him. Bugrov was
propelling the motorboat towards the island with strong strokes of his oars.
Now Nikolai could make out the two passengers. One of them was Opratin. He
sat in the stern, in a short-sleeved green shirt and a straw hat. The third
person, a thickset, shaggy man, sat hunched over in the bow. Nikolai could
see only his back, across which a white shirt stretched tight, but he
immediately knew the man was Anatole.
"How do you like that?" Nikolai asked, handing the binoculars to Yura
again.
"They've certainly chosen a secluded spot for their experiments," said
Yura. "Shall we let them know we're here?"
Nikolai did not answer at once. "Should I tell Rita?" he wondered. From
their hollow on the north-eastern shore the girls would not see a boat
approaching from the west. Best not to hurry. He and Yura and Valery would
watch a while longer.
"Wait a bit," he said. "Let's see what they're up to."
Yura nodded. "Right you are. There must be some important reason why
they've hidden themselves away on this island. Let's go over to the big
crater. The grass is high there and we'll have a good view."
They whistled for Rex to come back to them and then stretched out on
the slope of the crater. The sun blazed down on their backs; the stiff,
prickly grass scratched their bare skin. But they had a perfect observation
post. The cove lay spread out below them.
The nose of the boat touched the shore. Bugrov sprang out into the deep
water and tied the painter to a ring on the mooring post.
Next, Opratin and Anatole stepped out of the boat. Anatole at once
started up the slope, panting and halting at frequent intervals to catch his
breath. Opratin remained behind to talk with Bugrov.
"Good thing we were close to the island when the engine died on us,"
they heard Bugrov say in his booming voice. "I'll have to check the
ignition."
Opratin said something and then turned away to follow Anatole in the
direction of the reinforced concrete dome. They vanished from view when they
descended into the hollow in front of the pillbox door. The bolt clanked,
then the massive door creaked and slammed shut.
Bugrov got down to work on the beach. He took the ignition distributor
out of the engine and laid it on a piece of canvas spread on the ground.
Yura, Nikolai and Valery continued to lie in hiding for some time,
watching him work.
"I'm fed up with this cat-and-mouse stuff," Yura finally whispered. "We
ought to come out into the open and let them know we're here."
"Wait a bit," Nikolai insisted.
"Then let's move into the shade. My brains are sizzling."
Bending low, they noiselessly skirted the mud volcano and came into the
shade near the concrete outlet of the ventilation shaft. The heat was less
oppressive here. Cool air from the underground chamber was wafted to them
through the dark grating covering the shaft. They could hear a faint
rustling.
Suddenly Anatole's voice came to them-so clearly that they gave a start
and involuntarily bent lower.
"You'll have to get along without me," Anatole was saying. "I'll do
what I have to do."
"Contact Bagbanly? Privalov?" Opratin's voice was so muffled they could
barely make it out. They leaned closer to the grating, their bodies tense.
"Yes, I will. I'll give them the material and we'll all work together."
Opratin's voice was calm. "You have no right to do that without my
consent."
"Do you have the right to use the Institute laboratory, which isn't
yours, and to buy expensive equipment for this project on the Institute's
money?"
There was a short pause.
"So that's how you view the matter," said Opratin. "Very nice of you.
Why have you considered it possible to work here up until now? Why this
crisis of conscience all of a sudden?"
Anatole muttered something and gave a cough.
"The result is what counts," Opratin went on. "No one's going to blame
us after we announce a major breakthrough. Winners are never blamed."
"We haven't anything to announce. There isn't any breakthrough."
"Yes there is. Penetrability is in our hands."
"It's like a grenade in the hands of a child. No stability. We don't
know the essence of the phenomenon."
"In another month or two we'll achieve stability."
"You're deceiving yourself!" Anatole shouted.
Rex growled softly in reply and received a slap from Nikolai.
Fortunately, the men below had not heard the dog.
"We've reached an impasse," said Anatole. "We're not making any
headway. We must climb out of this damned cellar and write to the Academy of
Sciences. I realized that long ago, but I was just being obstinate-"
"You have no right to do that," Opratin said in a harsh voice. "We did
the work together."
"Very well. I won't say anything about the circuit you developed. You
can choke on it for all I care. But the idea of the 'transmission effect' is
mine. I'm taking the knife and I'll write up a paper on my own work."
Yura's eyes were round as he nudged Nikolai with his elbow. The knife!
"You forget, my dear man, that I was the one who obtained the knife,"
Opratin remarked coldly.
"She gave you the knife only because of me, and not because she was
smitten with you. Ah, if only I had listened to her! Oh well- But why are
you being so stubborn?" Anatole asked after a pause. "We've done an enormous
amount of work. Let's declare honestly that we can't go any farther without
help. Fame and honours won't slip through our fingers-"
"That's enough!" Opratin shouted. "I'm sick and tired of fussing over
you. You're nothing but a miserable dope addict!"
"But who made me an addict? You're a scoundrel, that's what you are!
Who procured the drugs for me? You did-because you wanted to hold me in the
palm of your hand. But I'm not a finished man yet. I'll go into hospital
and- And you can go to the devil! You may take 'The Key to the Mystery' with
you for all I care!"
"Get out of here! We're returning to town at once."
"I should say not. I'm going to finish my latest experiment. I'll go
down below now, rest a while where it's cool, and then-"
The voices fell silent. The two men must have moved to a different
room.
"Did you hear that?" Yura whispered eagerly. "They have Fedor
Matveyev's knife and 'The Key to the Mystery'. We were right. They were the
ones who stole 'The Key to the Mystery' from the Moscow museum."
"Keep quiet!"
They waited, listening intently.
"Look here, Nikolai. We must come out into the open. There's something
very fishy about the whole thing."
"It doesn't smell fishy to me. It smells of ozone."
"Ozone?" Yura sniffed. The air coming up through the ventilation shaft
had a fresh smell as if before a thunderstorm. "High voltage-" he muttered.
The door on the other side of the pillbox squeaked as it was opened and
then slammed shut.
Bending low, Nikolai ran to the mud volcano, with Yura and Valery
behind him. They returned to their first hiding place.
They saw Opratin descend the slope to the beach, carrying a black
attache case. He walked over to where Bugrov was working.
"Why all of a sudden?" they heard Bugrov growl. "We were going to stay
three days."
Opratin said something that they could not hear.
"Is he staying behind?" Bugrov asked.
"Yes."
"Wait a bit, until I put the engine together again."
"Be quick about it." Opratin began to stride nervously up and down the
beach.
"What are we going to do, Nikolai?" Yura whispered. "Are we going to
wait till they return for Anatole?"
"The devil only knows when they'll come back. We can't wait."
"Then let's go down to them now. At least one of us could return to
town with them."
"I don't want Opratin to know we're here," said Nikolai. "He'll get the
wind up if he sees us here and he'll play some dirty trick on Anatole."
"But why couldn't Valery go down to them and say he was shipwrecked?
Opratin doesn't know Valery."
"No, we'll do it differently. He'll never suspect anything."
Yura stared at his friend, blinking in puzzlement.
"Valery, be a pal and run down to the camp for the scuba gear," said
Nikolai. "Bring some vegetable oil too. We'll be waiting for you over
there."
"What are you planning?" Yura asked. "Are you going to-"
Nikolai nodded. "Yes, I'll hide underneath the boat and-"
"You're mad!"
"Run along, Valery, and be quick about it. Not a word to the girls,
mind you!"
Valery gulped in bewilderment. "No, of course not." He raced round the
mud volcano, clambered down the slope to the east shore and ran towards the
camp.
"Don't be an idiot," Yura hissed. "It's fifty miles to town."
"I know that," Nikolai replied calmly. "The cylinders are practically
full. I'll tie myself under the bow of the boat and breathe through the
snorkel."
"You'll freeze before you're halfway there."
"I'll cover my body with vegetable oil."
Yura raised himself on his elbow. "I won't let you do it. I'll tackle
Opratin. To hell with him-"
Nikolai pushed him down hard. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be
all right. After we leave, you go in to Anatole and talk to him. Tell him
Rita is here. I'll get Mehti to send a launch for you this evening. Or
tomorrow morning, at the latest. Okay?"
Yura knew it was useless to argue.
They crawled over to the opposite slope of the big crater, from which
streams of warm mud were flowing, and descended to the beach on the east
coast.
Valery came running up. Nikolai took the bottle, poured some of the oil
into the palm of his hand, and began to rub it into his skin. His body soon
became shiny and slippery. He looked at the pressure gauge on the aqualung
and found that it stood at 140 atmospheres, which meant it was almost full.
Yura helped him to strap the cylinders to his back.
"Well, here we go." Nikolai squeezed Yura's hand, then shook hands with
Valery. "See you soon, boys."
"Be careful, Nicky." Yura could say nothing more. He looked miserable.
Nikolai clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
He moistened the mask in the sea and clamped his teeth on the