terminals of the route had been deepened. Steel pylons had been set up in
the water for the transmission and reception radiators.
A conventional pipeline along the coast ran to the dispatching station.
Here, making a sharp dip, it dropped straight down into the sea along the
pylon. At a depth of twenty metres it ended in a plastic elbow bend with a
wide funnel facing seawards. Two large, well-insulated Mobius bands had been
mounted, one in front of the other, inside the funnel. Behind the elbow
bend, in a pressurized chamber stood a generator of original design
connected with a circular screen aerial surrounding the funnel. Thick cables
ran from the Mobius bands and the generator to panels of the shore station,
which had a complex array of electronic control equipment.
Similar equipment had been set up on Bird Rock. The shore funnel and
the Bird Rock funnel were situated exactly on the same axis. Setting up the
two pipes directly in line with each other across a stretch of seven
kilometres of sea had called for the greatest precision. Geodesists and
divers had had to work hard to attain the desired precision.
The idea of the project was as follows: the coastal pipeline would
carry the oil into the sea, to a depth of twenty metres. As it came out of
the funnel the stream of oil would flow through the field of the first
Mobius band and acquire penetrability. The field of the second Mobius band
would compress the surface of the stream and give it an exact shape. The
underwater circular aerial would create an energy beam between the shore and
Bird Rock. The static field would force the stream of oil to flow through
the water-along this beam. As it passed through the field of the receiving
Mobius band at Bird Rock the stream of oil would regain its normal
properties. After entering the reception funnel it would be pumped to a
storage tank.
In the last stage of the preparations Yura and Nikolai, who had been
put in charge of the reception station, with Valery Gorbachevsky as their
assistant, spent several days and nights at Bird Rock.
Finally the apparatus was assembled and the assemblymen departed from
Bird Rock for the mainland, leaving behind only an engineer and a radio
operator.
The cars sped along the coastal highway, ran through a small community
buried in the greenery of vineyards, then turned off onto a dirt road that
took them to the beach. They came to a stop beside a board fence in the
shade of a cluster of old mulberry trees.
The members of the experiment team were gathered there, as well as
quite a crowd of people from the Oil Transport Research Institute and other
research institutions. Academician Georgi Markov was there; he had flown in
from Moscow the day before especially for the occasion.
Several launches were tying up at the pier. One of them discharged a
thickset man with a head of curly greying hair. He was followed by a solemn,
dignified Vova Bugrov carrying a small suitcase.
Academician Markov shook hands warmly -with the grey-haired man and led
him over to Boris Privalov.
"Do you know each other?" he asked. "Jafar Rustamov is director of the
Marine Physics Institute."
"We've met before," smiled Boris Privalov. "Jafar's institute is across
the street from ours."
"You two can look forward to a great deal of joint work," said
Academician Markov.
Privalov gave him a questioning glance, but the Academician had turned
to Professor Bagbanly. Rustamov smiled to himself; he already knew what the
Academician from Moscow had in mind.
Bugrov nodded loftily to Nikolai and Yura.
"Hullo there, boys," he said. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"We're surprised to see you here," said Nikolai.
"I was invited," Bugrov replied, squinting against the sun. "I was
asked to come together with our director. I'm in charge of underwater
affairs."
Everyone went into the building that housed the chief control desk. The
desk was composed of three panels: one for the generator of penetrability,
which was connected with the Mobius bands at the underwater funnel; one for
the pumps that drove the oil into the funnel, and one for the energy beam.
Electricians were working at the third panel, ironing out a hitch.
Although the generators hummed, the needle on the field-intensity meter
stood at zero. Boris Privalov impatiently tapped the glass of the meter.
"What's the matter?" Academician Markov asked sharply.
"I can't understand it," Privalov muttered. "Everything was all right
yesterday."
"Get in touch with Bird Rock."
A few minutes later the radio operator told them: "Bird Rock reports
that the indicating light is out."
"Evidently the funnel was not attached tightly enough, and the current
pushed it out of line," said Pavel Koltukhov. "The beam doesn't reach the
aerial on Bird Rock because the axis of the underwater funnels has shifted."
"You should have done a line-up from the surface," Academician Markov
said. "Use your divers."
"I have a suggestion, Professor," said Jafar Rustamov. "I have a man
who can do the job. I should also like him to film the start of the
operation, if you don't mind."
"Where's your diver?" asked Academician Markov.
Bugrov stepped forward, coughing modestly behind his hand. The
Academician looked him up and down.
"He'll smash the installation," said Professor Bagbanly. "Just look at
those huge fists."
"Let me go down together with him," said Nikolai, coming forward. "I'll
show him the spot and help him to-"
"What an idea-after a bout of pneumonia!" Yura exclaimed. "I'll do the
diving."
"Very well. Only be quick about it."
Bugrov clapped Yura on the shoulder. "Let's go," he said.
They changed into their swimming trunks and went out to the little
steel bridge connecting the shore with the pylon down which the pipeline ran
into the sea.
Nikolai helped them to put on the aqualungs. A wrench was tied to
Yura's wrist, and a signal rope was looped round his waist. He and Nikolai
agreed on the signals they would use.
After pulling on his mask and switching on the cylinder, Yura slid into
the sea. Bugrov plopped into the water in his wake.
They descended slowly through the cold green semi-darkness alongside
the steel sections of the pylon.
When the pressure-gauge showed they were at a depth of twenty metres
Yura saw an elbow with a wide funnel at its end. It held the Mobius bands
and the aerial of the radiator.
Yura waved to Bugrov and crawled inside the pylon. He loosened the
elbow with his wrench, and then Bugrov cautiously turned the funnel in the
stiff joint. This was by no means easy to do. The current pressed Bugrov up
against the pylon; he moved his flippers, seeking a support for his feet.
Yura gestured to indicate that he should turn the funnel a little more to
the left, but less energetically.
Suddenly there were two vigorous tugs on the signal rope. Nikolai was
telling Yura that the beam had reached Bird Rock, which meant the axes of
the funnels were in line. Yura immediately gestured to Bugrov, then started
locking the nuts one after another. After he finished Bugrov took the wrench
and gave the nuts a final twist. Watching Bugrov's shoulder muscles bulge
Yura was certain no current would ever move the funnels out of line again.
He tugged on his rope three times to say that everything was all right.
The Mobius bands could be fed and the pumps switched on. Then he wrapped his
arms and legs round the steel crossbars of the pylon and waited. Bugrov did
the same nearby. He untied the cine camera from around his waist and trained
it on the funnel.
A long minute passed before the pylon began to vibrate. There was a
vague rumble overhead as the pump was switched on and it started to force
oil down the pipe, driving out the water.
All of a sudden a dark stream the thickness of a human body poured out
of the funnel, as though an invisible man were slowly pulling a big log out
of the elbow of the pipe. The log grew longer and longer.
A stream of oil fourteen inches in diameter was flowing through the
water. It flowed evenly and compactly with a clearly defined surface that
was surrounded by a faint violet glow.
A stream of oil flowing through the sea was no longer a dream, no
longer a remote vision! It was a man-made miracle!
Yura felt like shouting, turning somersaults, laughing. He waved to
Bugrov, but Bugrov was busy filming the stream.
With four tugs on the signal rope Yura let Nikolai know that the stream
of oil was flowing. An answer came at once; his signal was understood. Yura
untied the rope round his waist and pushed off from the pylon and began to
swim alongside the stream of oil.
It was easy to keep up with the stream, for the installation was not
functioning at full capacity. The stream of oil was moving at a speed of no
more than one metre per second. When the transcaspian pipeline went into
operation the speed could be greatly increased, for the stream cut through
the water easily, without meeting resistance.
Yura, eager to rejoin the others on shore, gestured to Bugrov. Working
their flippers slowly, the two men swam to the surface.
Nikolai waved to them from the bridge and shouted something, his face
shining with excitement.
The committee that was to approve the pipeline travelled out to Bird
Rock on a big white launch. There was plenty of time; the stream of oil
would reach the island only two and a half hours later.
Alarmed seagulls circled above the black rock, human beings had given
them no peace for the past few weeks.
The committee members stepped out of the launch onto the sandy shore of
the island and unhurriedly inspected the open steel tank. They did not all
believe the tank would be rilled with oil that had flowed, without a pipe to
contain it, through seven kilometres of sea. They listened closely to
engineer Yura Kostyukov, who told them again and again how he had seen a
stream of oil emerging from the funnel.
When only a few minutes were left to the scheduled time Academician
Markov ordered the pump switched on. A stream of foaming water rushed into
the tank. There was no oil as yet. The pump had to be turned off.
Yura could not hold back his impatience. Ho silently stripped to his
swimming trunks, heaved the aqualung cylinders on his back, pulled on his
mask, and dived into the water. Bugrov also put on an aqualung and dived in.
Yura saw the stream of oil almost at once. It was moving towards him,
with a dark, snub-nosed end that looked like a gun muzzle. As before, it was
surrounded by a faint violet glow.
The strange sight filled Yura with awe. He pushed himself upwards so
fast that his eardrums began to ache, and he slowed his rate of rise. He
broke the glassy surface of the sea to return to a world of bright sunshine.
Yanking out his mouthpiece, Yura shouted to the people on the shore:
"It's here! Switch on the pump!"
Hastily gripping the mouthpiece between his teeth again he dived and
swam over to the pylon, where Bugrov sat with his camera.
They saw the stream of oil pass through the Mobius band, after which it
was neatly drawn into the broad funnel.
Members of the experiment team crowded about the platform at the top of
the tank. So far, the pump was bringing up foamy water. Suddenly the water
darkened. Scattering an iridescent spray, a dark-brown stream of oil
splashed into the bottom of the tank.
Pavel Koltukhov, who stood closest to the stream, put a finger into it.
Yes, it was oil, oil that had been sent across seven kilometres of sea
without a pipe, in an "incorporeal", restructured state, easily piercing the
water. Now it was passing through the field of the receiving Mobius band and
again becoming tangible and "normal".
Professor Bagbanly drew Boris Privalov to him and embraced him. "My
heartiest congratulations, Boris," he said.
"I congratulate you too," said Boris Privalov, his voice hoarse from
excitement and happiness.
The committee went down to the launch and returned to the mainland. Now
the experiment was repeated in reverse. This time the stream of oil flowed
just as obediently from Bird Bock to the tank on shore.
"The experiment has been very satisfactory," said Academician Markov.
"Be sure to collect the tapes from all the recording instruments. This will
be enough for today."
"Is that all he could tell us-that this is enough for today?" Privalov
thought. "As though it weren't a day of a miracle? But I suppose big
scientists think along different lines than the rest of us do. To them
today's experiment is just one among a great many others."
Meanwhile the group was beginning to disperse. Jafar Bustamov was about
lo leave too, but Academician Markov detained him. "Please don't hurry away,
Jafar," he said. "I want to talk to you."
Academician Markov, Professor Bagbanly, Boris Privalov, Pavel
Koltukhov, Jafar Rustamov and Nikolai and Yura were now the only ones left
in the control-desk building. They sat in front of the white panels.
Outside, the leaves on the old mulberry trees rustled in the breeze.
Every once in a while a yellow leaf drifted into the room through an
open window and slowly sank to the floor.
"Let's sum up," said the Academician. "We've ripped off the surface of
matter and restructured the internal bonds of matter. The impenetrable has
become penetrable.
"The Mobius band, a generator built in Boris Privalov's laboratory, and
the field frequency characteristics found at the Institute of Surfaces all
contributed to the success of this experiment. A highly interesting question
still has to be investigated, and that is the interaction between
penetrability and the earth's field of gravitation. Our laboratory has
thoroughly analysed the band that was engulfed by the block of concrete.
From Benedictov's notebook we know that their concrete floor 'swallowed up'
restructured matter. There is also Benedictov's tragic death." The
Academician spread his hands.
No one said anything for a few moments. Boris Privalov broke the
silence. "How, Academician Markov, do you explain the fact that in some
cases the object which acquires penetrability remains above the surface of
the ground or the floor, and in other cases it drops through this surface?"
"So far, I think it goes something like this. Restructured matter, like
ordinary matter, possesses mass and hence gravitates towards the centre of
the earth. But if an obstacle of ordinary matter, say, a floor, the seat of
a chair, or the surface of the earth itself, appears in the gravitational
path, then the obstacle acts as a damper of gravity'. The property of
penetrability manifests itself in all directions except the strictly
vertical. But under certain conditions the 'field of transformation' and the
field of gravitation may interact in such a way that the 'damper effect'
shifts downwards vertically. Then we get the 'sinking'."
"We must co-ordinate the parameters of the installation with the force
of gravity in the given geographical area," said Professor Bagbanly.
"Preliminary gravimetric measurements are essential."
"I agree with you, Professor. Incidentally, allow me to congratulate
you on your energy scheme. It stood the test splendidly."
"I appreciate your kind words," Professor Bagbanly said, laying his
hand on his heart. "But a new scheme will be needed for a route across the
entire Caspian, and for long distances in general. Don't forget that we'll
have to bend the beam to make it conform to the curvature of the earth. I
couldn't do that by myself even if I were to lean all my weight on the other
end of the beam."
Academician Markov gave Professor Bagbanly a friendly pat on the
shoulder.
"We'll all lean on your beam together," he said with a laugh. "That way
we may succeed in bending it. Koltukhov's electrets are of fundamental
importance. They provided an inexhaustible source of current and thus
prevented the possibility of a power failure."
"Nikolai Opratin had a battery of electrets on his island," Yura put
in.
"There it was being used for a different purpose, to transfer the
properties of the knife to other objects," said Professor Bagbanly.
"You mentioned the notebook that belonged to the late Anatole
Benedictov, didn't you?" Privalov asked, turning to the Academician.
"Suppose we were to reproduce his 'transmission installation'? It seems to
me that would make the work easier."
"It certainly would," said the Academician. "Benedictov really did a
brilliant piece of research. Opratin apparently played a most significant
role too. Do you remember my saying last spring that I thought it might be
possible to transfer the properties of an object with restructured bonds to
other objects? Benedictov did just that. The unknown Indian scholar may have
worked along the same lines.
"But Benedictov failed to achieve stability. It's a great pity, a very
great pity, he did not work in contact with us. There are many interesting
points in his records. By the way, I am urging the Academy of Sciences to
publish his papers."
"That's splendid!" Nikolai exclaimed. "Now," said Academician Markov,
"I want to hear what our friend Jafar Rustamov has to say."
The director of the Institute of Marine Physics passed a hand over his
curly hair, coughed, and began:
"The problem of raising the level of the Caspian-"
"Look here, my son," said Professor Bagbanly. "I know how good you are
at making speeches. But don't make one now. Just give us the gist of it. We
know all about the problem."
"I should say we do." said Pavel Koltukhov. "We know all about water
heaters on the Black ;Sea, a cloud conductor across the Caucasian mountain
range and man-made cloudbursts-"
Bustamov nodded. "Very well, to put it briefly, Nature uses up millions
of kilowatthours of solar energy to produce a few average-sized clouds in
the second half of a summer day. You know that, of course." His eyes
crinkled in a sly smile.
"Yes, certainly," said Koltukhov in a voice that was not quite certain.
"Fine. Now we have nuclear power, a tremendous source of energy. The
only drawback, my friends, is its cost. A long man-made downpour is an
extremely expensive business. We have done preparatory research anyway,
because any expenditure would be justified if we succeeded in raising the
level of the Caspian. This summer we lost our experimental condenser
installation on Ipaty Island. But you all know that. Now Academician Markov
has suggested something else. Instead of shifting clouds from the Black Sea
to the Caspian he proposes building an underground sea-water line beneath
the Caucasian isthmus."
"A sea water line?" Privalov repeated, slowly rising from his chair.
The young engineers jumped to their feet and stared at Rustamov in
astonishment.
"Yes, a sea-water line," said Academician Markov. "At approximately the
42nd parallel, between Poti on the Black Sea and Derbent on the Caspian Sea.
Today we sent a stream of oil through the sea. Tomorrow a sea-water line
could carry a stream of Black Sea water through the ground into the
Caspian."
A stunned silence reigned in the room for a moment. The engineers were
struck dumb by the scope of the idea.
"I've already calculated that it would be much cheaper than anything
else," Rustamov went on briskly. "I was doubtful about it at the beginning,
but now I see how it can be done. It's a good idea."
"Good?" shouted Privalov. "You say it's a good idea? I call it
fabulous."
"Don't get excited, Boris," said the Academician. "The idea of a
sea-water line cannot be compared in scope with all the prospects which
penetrability holds out to us. The future will produce a great deal that is
amazing and surprising. I can tell you one thing. Our Institute is doing
highly promising experiments in releasing the energy of surfaces."
Nikolai and Yura, standing by the window, were excitedly discussing
something.
"They're already planning the details of the scheme," said Koltukhov,
nodding in their direction. "See that wild gleam in their eyes?"
Outside, twilight was falling; silvery stellar dust powdered the sky.
The launch sped along, cutting diagonally across the path of moonlight
on the water. The passengers sat in silence, weary after the long, fruitful,
and fascinating day.
They were racing ahead towards the lights of the big city. The channel
buoys cheerfully blinked their red and yellow lights.
"Do you remember how it all began, Boris?" Nikolai suddenly asked.
"How what began?"
"Well, the experiments with surface tension and the rest of it."
Boris Privalov paused for a moment. "Actually, how did it all begin? I
recall there was some talk about it while we were out sailing one day."
"But before that, don't you remember the bazaar? We were standing in
front of that painting of Leda and the Swan, and you said-"
Boris Privalov laughed. "Ah, to be sure. You're right. That vulgar
painting was what gave us the idea-"
He turned to Academician Markov to tell him how it had all begun at the
bazaar. The Academician laughed, then said, his face serious, "That painting
was just an accidental factor. The important thing is-" He could have
carried on from there at length, but instead he limited himself to giving
Boris's arm a friendly squeeze.
A big white ship, all gleaming with lights, cut across the path of the
launch. Dance music came from the open portholes of the saloon.
Yura turned to read the name on the high bow of the ship.
"The Uzbekistan" he said. "Look, Nicky, it's the Uzbekistan!"
Nikolai did not answer. He stood there gazing after the ship for a long
time.
One evening in early winter when snowflakes were floating lazily
earthwards, only to melt at once on the wet black pavement, Rita sat curled
up in her favourite spot on the sofa, leafing through a thin paperback.
She studied the lines of familiar and unfamiliar formulas and carefully
read the description of experiments, for she well remembered some of the
early ones. Again she looked at the cover. At the top was the author's name:
Anatole Benedictov, and below it the title: Changing the Internal Bonds of
Matter.
The book had just arrived from Moscow that morning. It had not come out
in a large printing, for it was intended for a narrow circle of researchers.
Academician Markov was the editor and also the author of the introductory
essay and the commentaries.
The room was quiet. Rita lifted her head to look about her, at the
standing lamp, the fish in the aquarium, a solitary microscope on the desk.
Then she looked at the cover of the book again, and at the author's name:
Anatole Benedictov.
The doorbell rang. Rita sprang up and ran out into the entryway,
straightening her housecoat on the way. No one had rung her bell for a long
time.
Pronka, the black cat, was at her side as she opened the door. When she
saw it was Val and Yura her face lit up. Behind them Rex moved impatiently,
his paws tapping on the floor.
"How glad I am to see you!" Rita exclaimed, shaking hands with her
visitors. She was about to pat Rex on the head when he suddenly gave a jerk,
pulling the leash out of Yura's hand, and raced into the depths of the flat,
barking wildly. They could hear chairs being knocked over.
"That dog will be the death of me," Val complained.
Hurrying into the dining-room, they found Pronka on top of the
sideboard, her fur on end, hissing furiously. Rex kept leaping frantically
into the air in a vain attempt to get his teeth into his age-old enemy.
"Down, Rex, down!" Yura shouted sternly, seizing Rex by the collar.
"Where are your manners, sir?"
Rita picked up Pronka and carried her into the kitchen, the door of
which she carefully closed. Rex wagged his stub of a tail guiltily. Order
was restored.
"You look splendid, Val," Rita said. "Marriage certainly seems to agree
with you."
(The reader will forgive the authors for failing to describe the
wedding of Val and Yura. They will merely note that it was a very gay
wedding indeed, and that the crew of the Mekong was there in full force.
Valery drank a bit too much and then went on to give a display of the test
dance steps, followed by a moving rendition of an old Papuan song, to the
delight of all present at this most delightful wedding.)
"I'm surprised to hear you find me looking well," Val said. "It's
taking all my patience to get along with this brute."
"Why aren't you treating your wife properly, Yura?" Rita asked.
"Nobody is mistreating her," Yura replied from the armchair in which he
had settled himself. "You know, she gave me her thesis to read-"
"Just imagine," Val interrupted. "I'm going to present it soon, so I
wanted his opinion. Well, I gave it to him to read, and he-"
"Tore it up?" Rita asked in mock horror.
"Worse than that. He read it aloud, making snide remarks as he went
along. You know the sort of things Yura is capable of saying."
Rita laughed. "How glad I am to see you!" she said again, feeling a
surge of affection for the young couple. "I'm going to serve you tea now."
Yura was on his feet instantly. He took Rita by the arm. "Let's not
have any tea this time, really. We dropped in to pick you up and take you to
Nikolai's with us."
Rita gave Yura a long look. "What for?"
"No special purpose. Just a friendly call. Nikolai has always been a
stay-at-home, and now more so than ever before. He's permanently in low
spirits and sits at home all the time. He doesn't even want to go to the
pictures. I have to drag him out. Let's go over and cheer him up."
Rita said nothing for a moment. "Very well," she consented.
The snowflakes that were floating down to the wet pavement melted
immediately. But there was snow clinging to the garden fence in a thin,
fragile layer. Yura scooped some of it into a snowball and aimed it at Val.
"Don't you dare, you beast!" she cried, taking shelter behind Rita. She
was wearing a new coat.
Yura tossed the snowball at Rex. Rex was wearing his old coat of
beautiful striped fur and was not at all afraid of ruining it. He yelped
with joy.
They came to the house in Cooper Lane, entered the yard and climbed the
steps to the second floor. Yura pushed the bell. The door opened-
MIR PUBLISHERS would be grateful for your comments on the contents,
translation and design of this book. We would also be pleased to receive any
other suggestions you may wish to make.
Our address is:
USSR, 129820, Moscow 1-110, GSP
Pervy Rizhsky Pereulok, 2
MIR PUBLISHERS
Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
EVGENY VOISKUNSKY was born in Baku, Azerbaijan, in 1922. After
finishing secondary school he went to Leningrad to study the history of art.
The Second World War interrupted his studies. He served in the Baltic
Fleet, taking part in the defence of Hanko Island and Leningrad. For many
years after the war he worked for the newspaper published by the Navy. His
first novels were about men serving in the Soviet Navy. The Crew of the
Mekong is the first of the science-fiction novels written in collaboration
with I. Lukodyanov.
ISAI LUKODYANOV (born 1913) was an engineer at a machine-building works
and served in the Air Force during the Second World War. Then he returned to
Baku and became a design engineer. He is the author of several technical
books. In recent years he has written science-fiction stories and novels
together with E. Voiskunsky.
These two well-known writers of science fiction followed up The Crew of
the Mekong with the novel The Black Pillar, a collection of short stories
called At the Crossroads of Time, the novel - Very Distant Tartess and the
novel The Gentle Splash of Stellar Seas.
Last edited: December 22, 2001
the water for the transmission and reception radiators.
A conventional pipeline along the coast ran to the dispatching station.
Here, making a sharp dip, it dropped straight down into the sea along the
pylon. At a depth of twenty metres it ended in a plastic elbow bend with a
wide funnel facing seawards. Two large, well-insulated Mobius bands had been
mounted, one in front of the other, inside the funnel. Behind the elbow
bend, in a pressurized chamber stood a generator of original design
connected with a circular screen aerial surrounding the funnel. Thick cables
ran from the Mobius bands and the generator to panels of the shore station,
which had a complex array of electronic control equipment.
Similar equipment had been set up on Bird Rock. The shore funnel and
the Bird Rock funnel were situated exactly on the same axis. Setting up the
two pipes directly in line with each other across a stretch of seven
kilometres of sea had called for the greatest precision. Geodesists and
divers had had to work hard to attain the desired precision.
The idea of the project was as follows: the coastal pipeline would
carry the oil into the sea, to a depth of twenty metres. As it came out of
the funnel the stream of oil would flow through the field of the first
Mobius band and acquire penetrability. The field of the second Mobius band
would compress the surface of the stream and give it an exact shape. The
underwater circular aerial would create an energy beam between the shore and
Bird Rock. The static field would force the stream of oil to flow through
the water-along this beam. As it passed through the field of the receiving
Mobius band at Bird Rock the stream of oil would regain its normal
properties. After entering the reception funnel it would be pumped to a
storage tank.
In the last stage of the preparations Yura and Nikolai, who had been
put in charge of the reception station, with Valery Gorbachevsky as their
assistant, spent several days and nights at Bird Rock.
Finally the apparatus was assembled and the assemblymen departed from
Bird Rock for the mainland, leaving behind only an engineer and a radio
operator.
The cars sped along the coastal highway, ran through a small community
buried in the greenery of vineyards, then turned off onto a dirt road that
took them to the beach. They came to a stop beside a board fence in the
shade of a cluster of old mulberry trees.
The members of the experiment team were gathered there, as well as
quite a crowd of people from the Oil Transport Research Institute and other
research institutions. Academician Georgi Markov was there; he had flown in
from Moscow the day before especially for the occasion.
Several launches were tying up at the pier. One of them discharged a
thickset man with a head of curly greying hair. He was followed by a solemn,
dignified Vova Bugrov carrying a small suitcase.
Academician Markov shook hands warmly -with the grey-haired man and led
him over to Boris Privalov.
"Do you know each other?" he asked. "Jafar Rustamov is director of the
Marine Physics Institute."
"We've met before," smiled Boris Privalov. "Jafar's institute is across
the street from ours."
"You two can look forward to a great deal of joint work," said
Academician Markov.
Privalov gave him a questioning glance, but the Academician had turned
to Professor Bagbanly. Rustamov smiled to himself; he already knew what the
Academician from Moscow had in mind.
Bugrov nodded loftily to Nikolai and Yura.
"Hullo there, boys," he said. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"We're surprised to see you here," said Nikolai.
"I was invited," Bugrov replied, squinting against the sun. "I was
asked to come together with our director. I'm in charge of underwater
affairs."
Everyone went into the building that housed the chief control desk. The
desk was composed of three panels: one for the generator of penetrability,
which was connected with the Mobius bands at the underwater funnel; one for
the pumps that drove the oil into the funnel, and one for the energy beam.
Electricians were working at the third panel, ironing out a hitch.
Although the generators hummed, the needle on the field-intensity meter
stood at zero. Boris Privalov impatiently tapped the glass of the meter.
"What's the matter?" Academician Markov asked sharply.
"I can't understand it," Privalov muttered. "Everything was all right
yesterday."
"Get in touch with Bird Rock."
A few minutes later the radio operator told them: "Bird Rock reports
that the indicating light is out."
"Evidently the funnel was not attached tightly enough, and the current
pushed it out of line," said Pavel Koltukhov. "The beam doesn't reach the
aerial on Bird Rock because the axis of the underwater funnels has shifted."
"You should have done a line-up from the surface," Academician Markov
said. "Use your divers."
"I have a suggestion, Professor," said Jafar Rustamov. "I have a man
who can do the job. I should also like him to film the start of the
operation, if you don't mind."
"Where's your diver?" asked Academician Markov.
Bugrov stepped forward, coughing modestly behind his hand. The
Academician looked him up and down.
"He'll smash the installation," said Professor Bagbanly. "Just look at
those huge fists."
"Let me go down together with him," said Nikolai, coming forward. "I'll
show him the spot and help him to-"
"What an idea-after a bout of pneumonia!" Yura exclaimed. "I'll do the
diving."
"Very well. Only be quick about it."
Bugrov clapped Yura on the shoulder. "Let's go," he said.
They changed into their swimming trunks and went out to the little
steel bridge connecting the shore with the pylon down which the pipeline ran
into the sea.
Nikolai helped them to put on the aqualungs. A wrench was tied to
Yura's wrist, and a signal rope was looped round his waist. He and Nikolai
agreed on the signals they would use.
After pulling on his mask and switching on the cylinder, Yura slid into
the sea. Bugrov plopped into the water in his wake.
They descended slowly through the cold green semi-darkness alongside
the steel sections of the pylon.
When the pressure-gauge showed they were at a depth of twenty metres
Yura saw an elbow with a wide funnel at its end. It held the Mobius bands
and the aerial of the radiator.
Yura waved to Bugrov and crawled inside the pylon. He loosened the
elbow with his wrench, and then Bugrov cautiously turned the funnel in the
stiff joint. This was by no means easy to do. The current pressed Bugrov up
against the pylon; he moved his flippers, seeking a support for his feet.
Yura gestured to indicate that he should turn the funnel a little more to
the left, but less energetically.
Suddenly there were two vigorous tugs on the signal rope. Nikolai was
telling Yura that the beam had reached Bird Rock, which meant the axes of
the funnels were in line. Yura immediately gestured to Bugrov, then started
locking the nuts one after another. After he finished Bugrov took the wrench
and gave the nuts a final twist. Watching Bugrov's shoulder muscles bulge
Yura was certain no current would ever move the funnels out of line again.
He tugged on his rope three times to say that everything was all right.
The Mobius bands could be fed and the pumps switched on. Then he wrapped his
arms and legs round the steel crossbars of the pylon and waited. Bugrov did
the same nearby. He untied the cine camera from around his waist and trained
it on the funnel.
A long minute passed before the pylon began to vibrate. There was a
vague rumble overhead as the pump was switched on and it started to force
oil down the pipe, driving out the water.
All of a sudden a dark stream the thickness of a human body poured out
of the funnel, as though an invisible man were slowly pulling a big log out
of the elbow of the pipe. The log grew longer and longer.
A stream of oil fourteen inches in diameter was flowing through the
water. It flowed evenly and compactly with a clearly defined surface that
was surrounded by a faint violet glow.
A stream of oil flowing through the sea was no longer a dream, no
longer a remote vision! It was a man-made miracle!
Yura felt like shouting, turning somersaults, laughing. He waved to
Bugrov, but Bugrov was busy filming the stream.
With four tugs on the signal rope Yura let Nikolai know that the stream
of oil was flowing. An answer came at once; his signal was understood. Yura
untied the rope round his waist and pushed off from the pylon and began to
swim alongside the stream of oil.
It was easy to keep up with the stream, for the installation was not
functioning at full capacity. The stream of oil was moving at a speed of no
more than one metre per second. When the transcaspian pipeline went into
operation the speed could be greatly increased, for the stream cut through
the water easily, without meeting resistance.
Yura, eager to rejoin the others on shore, gestured to Bugrov. Working
their flippers slowly, the two men swam to the surface.
Nikolai waved to them from the bridge and shouted something, his face
shining with excitement.
The committee that was to approve the pipeline travelled out to Bird
Rock on a big white launch. There was plenty of time; the stream of oil
would reach the island only two and a half hours later.
Alarmed seagulls circled above the black rock, human beings had given
them no peace for the past few weeks.
The committee members stepped out of the launch onto the sandy shore of
the island and unhurriedly inspected the open steel tank. They did not all
believe the tank would be rilled with oil that had flowed, without a pipe to
contain it, through seven kilometres of sea. They listened closely to
engineer Yura Kostyukov, who told them again and again how he had seen a
stream of oil emerging from the funnel.
When only a few minutes were left to the scheduled time Academician
Markov ordered the pump switched on. A stream of foaming water rushed into
the tank. There was no oil as yet. The pump had to be turned off.
Yura could not hold back his impatience. Ho silently stripped to his
swimming trunks, heaved the aqualung cylinders on his back, pulled on his
mask, and dived into the water. Bugrov also put on an aqualung and dived in.
Yura saw the stream of oil almost at once. It was moving towards him,
with a dark, snub-nosed end that looked like a gun muzzle. As before, it was
surrounded by a faint violet glow.
The strange sight filled Yura with awe. He pushed himself upwards so
fast that his eardrums began to ache, and he slowed his rate of rise. He
broke the glassy surface of the sea to return to a world of bright sunshine.
Yanking out his mouthpiece, Yura shouted to the people on the shore:
"It's here! Switch on the pump!"
Hastily gripping the mouthpiece between his teeth again he dived and
swam over to the pylon, where Bugrov sat with his camera.
They saw the stream of oil pass through the Mobius band, after which it
was neatly drawn into the broad funnel.
Members of the experiment team crowded about the platform at the top of
the tank. So far, the pump was bringing up foamy water. Suddenly the water
darkened. Scattering an iridescent spray, a dark-brown stream of oil
splashed into the bottom of the tank.
Pavel Koltukhov, who stood closest to the stream, put a finger into it.
Yes, it was oil, oil that had been sent across seven kilometres of sea
without a pipe, in an "incorporeal", restructured state, easily piercing the
water. Now it was passing through the field of the receiving Mobius band and
again becoming tangible and "normal".
Professor Bagbanly drew Boris Privalov to him and embraced him. "My
heartiest congratulations, Boris," he said.
"I congratulate you too," said Boris Privalov, his voice hoarse from
excitement and happiness.
The committee went down to the launch and returned to the mainland. Now
the experiment was repeated in reverse. This time the stream of oil flowed
just as obediently from Bird Bock to the tank on shore.
"The experiment has been very satisfactory," said Academician Markov.
"Be sure to collect the tapes from all the recording instruments. This will
be enough for today."
"Is that all he could tell us-that this is enough for today?" Privalov
thought. "As though it weren't a day of a miracle? But I suppose big
scientists think along different lines than the rest of us do. To them
today's experiment is just one among a great many others."
Meanwhile the group was beginning to disperse. Jafar Bustamov was about
lo leave too, but Academician Markov detained him. "Please don't hurry away,
Jafar," he said. "I want to talk to you."
Academician Markov, Professor Bagbanly, Boris Privalov, Pavel
Koltukhov, Jafar Rustamov and Nikolai and Yura were now the only ones left
in the control-desk building. They sat in front of the white panels.
Outside, the leaves on the old mulberry trees rustled in the breeze.
Every once in a while a yellow leaf drifted into the room through an
open window and slowly sank to the floor.
"Let's sum up," said the Academician. "We've ripped off the surface of
matter and restructured the internal bonds of matter. The impenetrable has
become penetrable.
"The Mobius band, a generator built in Boris Privalov's laboratory, and
the field frequency characteristics found at the Institute of Surfaces all
contributed to the success of this experiment. A highly interesting question
still has to be investigated, and that is the interaction between
penetrability and the earth's field of gravitation. Our laboratory has
thoroughly analysed the band that was engulfed by the block of concrete.
From Benedictov's notebook we know that their concrete floor 'swallowed up'
restructured matter. There is also Benedictov's tragic death." The
Academician spread his hands.
No one said anything for a few moments. Boris Privalov broke the
silence. "How, Academician Markov, do you explain the fact that in some
cases the object which acquires penetrability remains above the surface of
the ground or the floor, and in other cases it drops through this surface?"
"So far, I think it goes something like this. Restructured matter, like
ordinary matter, possesses mass and hence gravitates towards the centre of
the earth. But if an obstacle of ordinary matter, say, a floor, the seat of
a chair, or the surface of the earth itself, appears in the gravitational
path, then the obstacle acts as a damper of gravity'. The property of
penetrability manifests itself in all directions except the strictly
vertical. But under certain conditions the 'field of transformation' and the
field of gravitation may interact in such a way that the 'damper effect'
shifts downwards vertically. Then we get the 'sinking'."
"We must co-ordinate the parameters of the installation with the force
of gravity in the given geographical area," said Professor Bagbanly.
"Preliminary gravimetric measurements are essential."
"I agree with you, Professor. Incidentally, allow me to congratulate
you on your energy scheme. It stood the test splendidly."
"I appreciate your kind words," Professor Bagbanly said, laying his
hand on his heart. "But a new scheme will be needed for a route across the
entire Caspian, and for long distances in general. Don't forget that we'll
have to bend the beam to make it conform to the curvature of the earth. I
couldn't do that by myself even if I were to lean all my weight on the other
end of the beam."
Academician Markov gave Professor Bagbanly a friendly pat on the
shoulder.
"We'll all lean on your beam together," he said with a laugh. "That way
we may succeed in bending it. Koltukhov's electrets are of fundamental
importance. They provided an inexhaustible source of current and thus
prevented the possibility of a power failure."
"Nikolai Opratin had a battery of electrets on his island," Yura put
in.
"There it was being used for a different purpose, to transfer the
properties of the knife to other objects," said Professor Bagbanly.
"You mentioned the notebook that belonged to the late Anatole
Benedictov, didn't you?" Privalov asked, turning to the Academician.
"Suppose we were to reproduce his 'transmission installation'? It seems to
me that would make the work easier."
"It certainly would," said the Academician. "Benedictov really did a
brilliant piece of research. Opratin apparently played a most significant
role too. Do you remember my saying last spring that I thought it might be
possible to transfer the properties of an object with restructured bonds to
other objects? Benedictov did just that. The unknown Indian scholar may have
worked along the same lines.
"But Benedictov failed to achieve stability. It's a great pity, a very
great pity, he did not work in contact with us. There are many interesting
points in his records. By the way, I am urging the Academy of Sciences to
publish his papers."
"That's splendid!" Nikolai exclaimed. "Now," said Academician Markov,
"I want to hear what our friend Jafar Rustamov has to say."
The director of the Institute of Marine Physics passed a hand over his
curly hair, coughed, and began:
"The problem of raising the level of the Caspian-"
"Look here, my son," said Professor Bagbanly. "I know how good you are
at making speeches. But don't make one now. Just give us the gist of it. We
know all about the problem."
"I should say we do." said Pavel Koltukhov. "We know all about water
heaters on the Black ;Sea, a cloud conductor across the Caucasian mountain
range and man-made cloudbursts-"
Bustamov nodded. "Very well, to put it briefly, Nature uses up millions
of kilowatthours of solar energy to produce a few average-sized clouds in
the second half of a summer day. You know that, of course." His eyes
crinkled in a sly smile.
"Yes, certainly," said Koltukhov in a voice that was not quite certain.
"Fine. Now we have nuclear power, a tremendous source of energy. The
only drawback, my friends, is its cost. A long man-made downpour is an
extremely expensive business. We have done preparatory research anyway,
because any expenditure would be justified if we succeeded in raising the
level of the Caspian. This summer we lost our experimental condenser
installation on Ipaty Island. But you all know that. Now Academician Markov
has suggested something else. Instead of shifting clouds from the Black Sea
to the Caspian he proposes building an underground sea-water line beneath
the Caucasian isthmus."
"A sea water line?" Privalov repeated, slowly rising from his chair.
The young engineers jumped to their feet and stared at Rustamov in
astonishment.
"Yes, a sea-water line," said Academician Markov. "At approximately the
42nd parallel, between Poti on the Black Sea and Derbent on the Caspian Sea.
Today we sent a stream of oil through the sea. Tomorrow a sea-water line
could carry a stream of Black Sea water through the ground into the
Caspian."
A stunned silence reigned in the room for a moment. The engineers were
struck dumb by the scope of the idea.
"I've already calculated that it would be much cheaper than anything
else," Rustamov went on briskly. "I was doubtful about it at the beginning,
but now I see how it can be done. It's a good idea."
"Good?" shouted Privalov. "You say it's a good idea? I call it
fabulous."
"Don't get excited, Boris," said the Academician. "The idea of a
sea-water line cannot be compared in scope with all the prospects which
penetrability holds out to us. The future will produce a great deal that is
amazing and surprising. I can tell you one thing. Our Institute is doing
highly promising experiments in releasing the energy of surfaces."
Nikolai and Yura, standing by the window, were excitedly discussing
something.
"They're already planning the details of the scheme," said Koltukhov,
nodding in their direction. "See that wild gleam in their eyes?"
Outside, twilight was falling; silvery stellar dust powdered the sky.
The launch sped along, cutting diagonally across the path of moonlight
on the water. The passengers sat in silence, weary after the long, fruitful,
and fascinating day.
They were racing ahead towards the lights of the big city. The channel
buoys cheerfully blinked their red and yellow lights.
"Do you remember how it all began, Boris?" Nikolai suddenly asked.
"How what began?"
"Well, the experiments with surface tension and the rest of it."
Boris Privalov paused for a moment. "Actually, how did it all begin? I
recall there was some talk about it while we were out sailing one day."
"But before that, don't you remember the bazaar? We were standing in
front of that painting of Leda and the Swan, and you said-"
Boris Privalov laughed. "Ah, to be sure. You're right. That vulgar
painting was what gave us the idea-"
He turned to Academician Markov to tell him how it had all begun at the
bazaar. The Academician laughed, then said, his face serious, "That painting
was just an accidental factor. The important thing is-" He could have
carried on from there at length, but instead he limited himself to giving
Boris's arm a friendly squeeze.
A big white ship, all gleaming with lights, cut across the path of the
launch. Dance music came from the open portholes of the saloon.
Yura turned to read the name on the high bow of the ship.
"The Uzbekistan" he said. "Look, Nicky, it's the Uzbekistan!"
Nikolai did not answer. He stood there gazing after the ship for a long
time.
One evening in early winter when snowflakes were floating lazily
earthwards, only to melt at once on the wet black pavement, Rita sat curled
up in her favourite spot on the sofa, leafing through a thin paperback.
She studied the lines of familiar and unfamiliar formulas and carefully
read the description of experiments, for she well remembered some of the
early ones. Again she looked at the cover. At the top was the author's name:
Anatole Benedictov, and below it the title: Changing the Internal Bonds of
Matter.
The book had just arrived from Moscow that morning. It had not come out
in a large printing, for it was intended for a narrow circle of researchers.
Academician Markov was the editor and also the author of the introductory
essay and the commentaries.
The room was quiet. Rita lifted her head to look about her, at the
standing lamp, the fish in the aquarium, a solitary microscope on the desk.
Then she looked at the cover of the book again, and at the author's name:
Anatole Benedictov.
The doorbell rang. Rita sprang up and ran out into the entryway,
straightening her housecoat on the way. No one had rung her bell for a long
time.
Pronka, the black cat, was at her side as she opened the door. When she
saw it was Val and Yura her face lit up. Behind them Rex moved impatiently,
his paws tapping on the floor.
"How glad I am to see you!" Rita exclaimed, shaking hands with her
visitors. She was about to pat Rex on the head when he suddenly gave a jerk,
pulling the leash out of Yura's hand, and raced into the depths of the flat,
barking wildly. They could hear chairs being knocked over.
"That dog will be the death of me," Val complained.
Hurrying into the dining-room, they found Pronka on top of the
sideboard, her fur on end, hissing furiously. Rex kept leaping frantically
into the air in a vain attempt to get his teeth into his age-old enemy.
"Down, Rex, down!" Yura shouted sternly, seizing Rex by the collar.
"Where are your manners, sir?"
Rita picked up Pronka and carried her into the kitchen, the door of
which she carefully closed. Rex wagged his stub of a tail guiltily. Order
was restored.
"You look splendid, Val," Rita said. "Marriage certainly seems to agree
with you."
(The reader will forgive the authors for failing to describe the
wedding of Val and Yura. They will merely note that it was a very gay
wedding indeed, and that the crew of the Mekong was there in full force.
Valery drank a bit too much and then went on to give a display of the test
dance steps, followed by a moving rendition of an old Papuan song, to the
delight of all present at this most delightful wedding.)
"I'm surprised to hear you find me looking well," Val said. "It's
taking all my patience to get along with this brute."
"Why aren't you treating your wife properly, Yura?" Rita asked.
"Nobody is mistreating her," Yura replied from the armchair in which he
had settled himself. "You know, she gave me her thesis to read-"
"Just imagine," Val interrupted. "I'm going to present it soon, so I
wanted his opinion. Well, I gave it to him to read, and he-"
"Tore it up?" Rita asked in mock horror.
"Worse than that. He read it aloud, making snide remarks as he went
along. You know the sort of things Yura is capable of saying."
Rita laughed. "How glad I am to see you!" she said again, feeling a
surge of affection for the young couple. "I'm going to serve you tea now."
Yura was on his feet instantly. He took Rita by the arm. "Let's not
have any tea this time, really. We dropped in to pick you up and take you to
Nikolai's with us."
Rita gave Yura a long look. "What for?"
"No special purpose. Just a friendly call. Nikolai has always been a
stay-at-home, and now more so than ever before. He's permanently in low
spirits and sits at home all the time. He doesn't even want to go to the
pictures. I have to drag him out. Let's go over and cheer him up."
Rita said nothing for a moment. "Very well," she consented.
The snowflakes that were floating down to the wet pavement melted
immediately. But there was snow clinging to the garden fence in a thin,
fragile layer. Yura scooped some of it into a snowball and aimed it at Val.
"Don't you dare, you beast!" she cried, taking shelter behind Rita. She
was wearing a new coat.
Yura tossed the snowball at Rex. Rex was wearing his old coat of
beautiful striped fur and was not at all afraid of ruining it. He yelped
with joy.
They came to the house in Cooper Lane, entered the yard and climbed the
steps to the second floor. Yura pushed the bell. The door opened-
MIR PUBLISHERS would be grateful for your comments on the contents,
translation and design of this book. We would also be pleased to receive any
other suggestions you may wish to make.
Our address is:
USSR, 129820, Moscow 1-110, GSP
Pervy Rizhsky Pereulok, 2
MIR PUBLISHERS
Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
EVGENY VOISKUNSKY was born in Baku, Azerbaijan, in 1922. After
finishing secondary school he went to Leningrad to study the history of art.
The Second World War interrupted his studies. He served in the Baltic
Fleet, taking part in the defence of Hanko Island and Leningrad. For many
years after the war he worked for the newspaper published by the Navy. His
first novels were about men serving in the Soviet Navy. The Crew of the
Mekong is the first of the science-fiction novels written in collaboration
with I. Lukodyanov.
ISAI LUKODYANOV (born 1913) was an engineer at a machine-building works
and served in the Air Force during the Second World War. Then he returned to
Baku and became a design engineer. He is the author of several technical
books. In recent years he has written science-fiction stories and novels
together with E. Voiskunsky.
These two well-known writers of science fiction followed up The Crew of
the Mekong with the novel The Black Pillar, a collection of short stories
called At the Crossroads of Time, the novel - Very Distant Tartess and the
novel The Gentle Splash of Stellar Seas.
Last edited: December 22, 2001