They had no explosives, no beamers, no appropriate modern technology. All they did have, they realized as they took stock of their resources, was a lot of muscle and determination. That would suffice to chop a path through the ice ridge. In weeks. They needed to break through within forty-eight hours.
What sophisticated scientific instrumentation they did have consisted largely of devices for measuring and calibrating and weighing, not for concentrating brute force on a specific area. A pair of drills designed to take core samples from the ice would help. A hundred such drills would be needed to accomplish their ends. The drills could melt some ice but not nearly enough fast enough.
The alternate solution did not occur to the Tran because as Tran they would never have conceived of something like it. For once the obvious was voiced by Skua September and not Williams.
“It’s pretty damn clear to me that since we can’t go through this stuff we have to go over it.”
Ethan added his own expression to the sea of astonishment that greeted this blithe observation.
VII
“ARE YOU PROPOSING,” WILLIAMS said finally, “to turn the Slanderscree into an aircraft?”
September didn’t bat an eye. “Something like that.”
Since September was considering it semiseriously, the teacher did likewise. “Even if we could pack on sufficient sail the wind isn’t strong enough.”
“Funny, that is.” September looked thoughtful. “Though with a rifs behind us and enough sail I wouldn’t be surprised if we could get the ol’ scow airborne. Controlling her would be something else again.” He glanced past Williams until he found Snyek. “Going to need those coring drills you mentioned. Have to melt some ice and then let it refreeze.”
“What in heaven’s name for?” Hwang demanded to know.
September grinned at her. “Your corers aren’t big enough or powerful enough to melt half a path through that ridge, but we can use them to take the sharp edges off, if you know what I mean. Some of those ancient ice blocks that form the ridge are pretty big and pretty solid. If we could just sort of melt them together and even them out, doing the fine work with ice picks and axes, why, we might end up with something.”
“Like what?”
His eyes twinkled and he turned his grin back on Williams. “Like a ramp.” He let them mull that thought over, then continued. “See, we form and shape this big ramp out of ice using the coring drills and hand tools, ran it right to the crest of the pressure ridge. Then we back the Slanderscree off a fair ways”—-he illustrated the necessary maneuvers with great sweeps and twists of his long arms—“as far to the west as required, put on all sail, and bring her in to the ridge at an angle with the wind strong behind us.
“We go up that ramp,” he said as he slid one palm sharply against the other, “and over the top. That’s it, we’re through. We don’t have to cut through the damn ridge, all we have to do is go over it.” He coughed into a closed palm. “And make a respectable landing on the other side, of course. One thing about ice: It may be sharp-edged and cold and uncomfortable, but as long as you’ve got some tools, good cold weather, and a heat source or two you can sculpture it as easy as you would a bar of soap.”
His companions’ response was underwhelming. “I would prefer to transit the ridge another way,” Williams said finally.
“So would I.” This from a doubtful Ta-hoding. “I find your thoughts intriguing but impractical, friend Skua. As you have said, the critical problem is one of velocity.”
“Are you kidding? The Slanderscree only put on all her sail once or twice. You know how fast she could go.”
“On the level ice, yes,” the captain admitted, “but uphill? Such a thing has never been done in a large ship. It is a maneuver left for sport, on chiv or in a very small light craft.”
September looked at Hwang. “Run some calculations. Mass and velocity, wind speed—let’s find out if it’s theoretically possible, at least. We can make the ramp as graduated, as long as necessary.”
“Not too long.” Ta-hoding the sailor had an excellent grasp of elementary geometry, not to mention the physical capabilities of his crew. “We have only so much time.”
“We’ll manage,” said September impatiently. “We’ll do whatever we have to do. I’m sure we can gain the necessary speed and hold the ramp.”
“That is not what troubles me.” All eyes turned to Hunnar Redbeard. “Let me see if I understand this novel sky-people notion.” He employed his arms and paws in rough imitation of September’s aerodynamic gestures. “We retreat a certain distance, put on all sail, and catch the wind full behind us.”
“That’s it, that’s right,” said September excitedly.
“We sail up this ramp you propose to construct”—he raised one paw skyward—”and launch ourselves over the top of the bent ocean with enough force to carry us across the far side of the barrier and onto the navigable ice on the southern side.”
September looked pleased. “You’ve got it, Hunnar.”
“I have no doubt we can attain the required speed, and I believe it may be possible to maintain enough control at that speed to sail up this ramp. Yet I worry still.”
“About what?”
“The Slanderscree is a large, heavy ship. It was designed to chiv”—and he made a shoving gesture with his right paw—“across solid ice. It is a strong vessel and many times have we learned the strength of the wondrous metal we cut from your small ship to fashion the great runners and their braces. Still, for all it has accomplished and all it has survived, it was not designed to be dropped from a considerable height.” He stared at September.
“If all goes as you plan and we overfly the Bent Ocean, what will happen to us when we strike the unyielding ice on the far side? The ocean will not break. That is something that cannot be said of the Slanderscree. What would it profit us to cross the barrier if we destroy our ship in the process?”
“That’s one thing I don’t have any way of predicting,” September replied somberly, “and despite all their instruments and learning, I don’t think Williams and his friends do either.”
“The ship’s whole weight will come down on the bow runners, then the stern and the rudder,” Ethan murmured. “If we try this, and I don’t have any better idea, we need to pull everything out of storage that can be used for padding. Spare clothing, extra pika-pina rigging, everything we’ve got. If we cram it all between the runners and their braces, it’ll help absorb the shock.”
“That’s the spirit, feller-me-lad!”
“Those braces can only cope with a certain amount of shock,” Ta-hoding reminded them.
“They’re duralloy from the skin and guts of a lifeboat,” September said. “So are the bolts and sheet bracing. The woodwork’s the product of Wannome’s finest carpenters and shipwrights. Even if we do bust a brace or two we can still rig something temporary to hold the runners in place until we can get the ship back to a repair yard.”
“If only it were that simple.” Ta-hoding gestured toward the bow. “If we break off more than one runner, we will have to anchor the ship so that we can make these temporary repairs you speak of so casually. Remember that the rifs can catch us as easily on the southern ocean as on this side, should we become trapped in this place. With damaged runners we could not even run before the wind. The ship could be torn to pieces.”