“Ah.” The man nodded. “And what more heroes of your Civil Wars have you honored?”
Tryntaf threw him a sharp glance. Damn, I forgot again, he thought. Always make the opposition underestimate you. “I am surprised at your knowledge of our history before the Roidhunate, Lieutenant,” the Merseian said. “But then, considering that our pickets were ordered to watch for a Terran scout, the pilot must be of special interest.”
“Oh, well,” Flandry said modestly.
“To answer your question, few bodies here are worth naming. Swarms of asteroids, yes, but just four true planets, the smallest believed to be a mere escaped satellite. Orbits are wildly skewed and eccentric. Our astronomers theorize that early in the life of this system, another star passed through, disrupting the normal configuration.”
Flandry studied the world growing before him. The ship had switched from hyperdrive to sublight under gravs—so few KPS as to support the idea of many large meteoroids. (They posed no hazard to a vessel which could detect them in plenty of time to dodge, or could simply let them bounce off a forcefield; but they would jeopardize the career of a skipper who thus inelegantly wasted power.) Talwin’s crescent, blinding white, blurred along the edges, indicated that, like Venus, it was entirely clouded over. But it was not altogether featureless; spots and bands of red could be seen.
“Looks none too promising,” he remarked. “Aren’t we almighty close to the sun?”
“The planet is,” Tryntaf said. “It is late summer—everywhere; there is hardly any axial tilt—and temperatures remain fierce. Dress lightly before you disembark, Lieutenant! At periastron, Talwin comes within 0.87 astronomical units of Siekh; but apastron is at a full 2.62 a.u.”
Flandry whistled. “That’s as eccentric as I can remember ever hearing of in a planet, if not more. Uh…about one-half, right?” He saw a chance to appear less than a genius. “How can you survive? I mean, a good big axial tilt would protect one hemisphere, at least, from the worst effects of orbital extremes. But this ball, well, any life it may have has got to be unlike yours or mine.”
“Wrong,” was Tryntafs foreseeable reply. “Atmosphere and hydrosphere moderate the climate to a degree; likewise location. Those markings you see are of biological origin, spores carried into the uppermost air. Photosynthesis maintains a breathable oxynitrogen mixture.”
“Uh-h-h…diseases?” No, wait, now you’re acting too stupid. True, what’s safe for a Merseian isn’t necessarily so for a man. We may have extraordinarily similar biochemistries, but still, we’ve fewer bugs in common that are dangerous to us than we have with our respective domestic animals. By the same token, though, a world as different as Talwin isn’t going to breed anything that’ll affect us…at least, nothing that’ll produce any syndrome modern medicine can’t easily slap down. Tryntaf knows I know that much. The thought had flashed through Flandry in part of a second. “I mean allergens and other poisons.”
“Some. They cause no serious trouble. The bioform is basically akin to ours, L-amino proteins in water solution. Deviations are frequent, of course. But you or I could survive awhile on native foods, if we chose them with care. Over an extended period we would need dietary supplements. They have been compounded for emergency use.”
Flandry decided that Tryntaf lacked any sense of humor. Most Merseians had one, sometimes gusty, sometimes cruel, often incomprehensible to men. He had in his turn baffled various of them when he visited their planet; even after he put a joke into their equivalents, they did not see why it should be funny that one diner said, “Bon appétit” and the other said, “Ginsberg.”
Sure. They differ, same as us. My life could depend on the personality of the commandant down there. Will I be able to recognize any chance he might give me?
He sought to probe his companion, but was soon left alone on grounds of work to do, except for the close-mouthed rating who tail-sat by the door.
Watching the view took his mind partly off his troubles. He could pick up visual clues that a layman would be blind to, identify what they represented, and conclude what the larger pattern must be.
Talwin had no moon—maybe once, but not after the invader star had virtually wrecked this system. Flandry did see two relay satellites glint, in positions indicating they belonged to a synchronous triad. If the Merseians had installed no more than that, they had a barebones base here. It was what you’d expect at the end of this long a communications line: a watchpost, a depot, a first-stage receiving station for reports from border-planet agents like Rax.
Aside from their boss, those latter wouldn’t have been told Siekh’s coordinates, or of its very existence. They’d have courier torpedoes stashed away in the hinterland, target preset and clues to the target removed. Given elementary precautions, no Imperial loyalist was likely to observe the departure of one. Replenishment would be more of a problem, dependent on smuggling, but not overly difficult when the Terran service was undermanned and lax. Conveyance of fresh orders to the agents was no problem at all; who noticed what mail or what visitors drifted into Rax’s dope shop?
The value of Talwin was obvious. Besides surveillance, it allowed closer contact with spies than would otherwise be possible. Flandry wondered if his own corps ran an analogous operation out Roidhunate way. Probably not. The Merseians were too vigilant, the human government too inert, its wealthier citizens too opposed to pungling up the cost of positive action.
Flandry shook himself, as if physically to cast off apprehension and melancholy, and concentrated on what he saw.
Clearances given and path computed, the destroyer dropped in a spiral that took her around the planet. Presumably her track was designed to avoid storms. Cooler air, moving equatorward from the poles, must turn summer into a “monsoon” season. Considering input energy, atmospheric pressure (which Tryntaf had mentioned was twenty percent greater than Terran), and rotation period (a shade over eighteen hours, he had said), weather surely got more violent here than ever at Home; and a long, thin, massive object like a destroyer was more vulnerable to wind than you might think.
Water vapor rose high before condensing into clouds. Passing over dayside below those upper layers, Flandry got a broad view.
A trifle smaller (equatorial diameter 0.97) and less dense than Terra, Talwin in this era had but a single continent. Roughly wedge-shaped, it reached from the north-pole area with its narrow end almost on the equator. Otherwise the land consisted of islands. While multitudinous, in the main they were thinly scattered.
Flandry guessed that the formation and melting of huge icecaps in the course of the twice-Terran year disturbed isostatic balance. Likewise, the flooding and great rainstorms of summer, the freezing of winter, would speed erosion and hence the redistribution of mass. Tectony must proceed at a furious rate; earthquake, vulcanism, the sinking of old land and the rising of new, must be geologically common occurrences.
He made out one mountain range, running east-west along the 400-kilometer width of the continent near its middle. Those peaks dwarfed the Himalayas but were snowless, naked rock. Elsewhere, elevations were generally low, rounded, worn. North of the wall, the country seemed to be swamp. Whew! That means in winter the icecup grows down to 45 degrees latitude! The glaciers grind everything flat. The far southlands were a baked desolation, scoured by hurricanes. Quite probably, at midsummer lakes and rivers there didn’t simply dry up, they boiled; and the equatorial ocean became a biological fence. It would be intriguing to know how evolution had diverged in the two hemispheres.