Wind Page 3

* * * * *

  Jan puffed at the Heerenbaai-Tabak and cogitated. The place was aptlynamed. It was a ratty community. The boy was a dark-skinned littleSpaniard--of Mexican origin, perhaps. But he was a boy, and a humanbeing.

  A thought occurred to him. From what he had seen and heard, the entireeconomy of Rathole could not support the tremendous expense of sendingthe boy across the millions of miles to Earth by spaceship.

  "Who's paying his passage?" he asked. "The Dutch Central Venus Companyisn't exactly a charitable institution."

  "Your _Senor_ Dekker said that would be taken care of," replied Sanchez.

  Jan relit his pipe silently, making a mental resolution that Dekkerwouldn't take care of it alone. Salaries for Venerian service were high,and many of the men at Oostpoort would contribute readily to such acause.

  "Who is Diego's father?" he asked.

  "He was Ramon Murillo, a very good mechanic," answered Sanchez, with asliding sidelong glance at Jan's face. "He has been dead for threeyears."

  Jan grunted.

  "The copters at Oostpoort can't buck this wind," he said thoughtfully,"or I'd have come in one of those in the first place instead of tryingto cross Den Hoorn by land. But if you have any sort of aircraft here,it might make it downwind--if it isn't wrecked on takeoff."

  "I'm afraid not," said Sanchez.

  "Too bad. There's nothing we can do, then. The nearest settlement westof here is more than a thousand kilometers away, and I happen to knowthey have no planes, either. Just copters. So that's no help."

  "Wait," said Sanchez, lifting the scalpel and tilting his head. "Ibelieve there is something, though we cannot use it. This was once anAmerican naval base, and the people here were civilian employes whorefused to move north with it. There was a flying machine they used forshort-range work, and one was left behind--probably with a little helpfrom the people of the settlement. But...."

  "What kind of machine? Copter or plane?"

  "They call it a flying platform. It carries two men, I believe. But,_senor_...."

  "I know them. I've operated them, before I left Earth. Man, you don'texpect me to try to fly one of those little things in this wind? They'retricky as they can be, and the passengers are absolutely unprotected!"

  "_Senor_, I have asked you to do nothing."

  "No, you haven't," muttered Jan. "But you know I'll do it."

  Sanchez looked into his face, smiling faintly and a little sadly.

  "I was sure you would be willing," he said. He turned and spoke inSpanish to Mrs. Murillo.

  The woman rose to her feet and came to them. As Jan arose, she looked upat him, tears in her eyes.

  "_Gracias_," she murmured. "_Un millon de gracias._"

  She lifted his hands in hers and kissed them.

  Jan disengaged himself gently, embarrassed. But it occurred to him,looking down on the bowed head of the beautiful young widow, that hemight make some flying trips back over here in his leisure time.Language barriers were not impassable, and feminine companionship mightcure his neurotic, history-born distaste for Spaniards, for more thanone reason.

  Sanchez was tugging at his elbow.

  "_Senor_, I have been trying to tell you," he said. "It is generous andgood of you, and I wanted _Senora_ Murillo to know what a brave man youare. But have you forgotten that we have no gasoline engines here? Thereis no fuel for the flying platform."

  * * * * *

  The platform was in a warehouse which, like the rest of the structuresin Rathole, was a half-buried dome. The platform's ring-shaped base wasless than a meter thick, standing on four metal legs. On top of it, inthe center, was a railed circle that would hold two men, but would crowdthem. Two small gasoline engines sat on each side of this railed circleand between them on a third side was the fuel tank. The passengersentered it on the fourth side.

  The machine was dusty and spotted with rust, Jan, surrounded by Sanchez,Diego and a dozen men, inspected it thoughtfully. The letters USN*SESwere painted in white on the platform itself, and each engine bore thelabel "Hiller."

  Jan peered over the edge of the platform at the twin-ducted fans intheir plastic shrouds. They appeared in good shape. Each was powered byone of the engines, transmitted to it by heavy rubber belts.

  Jan sighed. It was an unhappy situation. As far as he could determine,without making tests, the engines were in perfect condition. Twoperfectly good engines, and no fuel for them.

  "You're sure there's no gasoline, anywhere in Rathole?" he askedSanchez.

  Sanchez smiled ruefully, as he had once before, at Jan's appellation forthe community. The inhabitants' term for it was simply "_La CiudadNuestra_"--"Our Town." But he made no protest. He turned to one of theother men and talked rapidly for a few moments in Spanish.

  "None, _senor_," he said, turning back to Jan. "The Americans, ofcourse, kept much of it when they were here, but the few things we taketo Oostpoort to trade could not buy precious gasoline. We haveelectricity in plenty if you can power the platform with it."

  Jan thought that over, trying to find a way.

  "No, it wouldn't work," he said. "We could rig batteries on the platformand electric motors to turn the propellers. But batteries big enough topower it all the way to Oostpoort would be so heavy the machine couldn'tlift them off the ground. If there were some way to carry a power lineall the way to Oostpoort, or to broadcast the power to it.... But it's alight-load machine, and must have an engine that gives it the necessarypower from very little weight."

  Wild schemes ran through his head. If they were on water, instead ofland, he could rig up a sail. He could still rig up a sail, for agroundcar, except for the chasm out on Den Hoorn.

  The groundcar! Jan straightened and snapped his fingers.

  "Doctor!" he explained. "Send a couple of men to drain the rest of thefuel from my groundcar. And let's get this platform above ground and tieit down until we can get it started."

  Sanchez gave rapid orders in Spanish. Two of the men left at a run,carrying five-gallon cans with them.

  Three others picked up the platform and carried it up a ramp andoutside. As soon as they reached ground level, the wind hit them. Theydropped the platform to the ground, where it shuddered and swayedmomentarily, and two of the men fell successfully on their stomachs. Thewind caught the third and somersaulted him half a dozen times before heskidded to a stop on his back with outstretched arms and legs. He turnedover cautiously and crawled back to them.

  Jan, his head just above ground level, surveyed the terrain. There wasflat ground to the east, clear in a fairly broad alley for at least halfa kilometer before any of the domes protruded up into it.

  "This is as good a spot for takeoff as we'll find," he said to Sanchez.

  The men put three heavy ropes on the platform's windward rail andsecured it by them to the heavy chain that ran by the dome. The platformquivered and shuddered in the heavy wind, but its base was too low forit to overturn.

  Shortly the two men returned with the fuel from the groundcar,struggling along the chain. Jan got above ground in a crouch, clingingto the rail of the platform, and helped them fill the fuel tank with it.He primed the carburetors and spun the engines.

  Nothing happened.

  * * * * *

  He turned the engines over again. One of them coughed, and a cloud ofblue smoke burst from its exhaust, but they did not catch.

  "What is the matter, _senor_?" asked Sanchez from the dome entrance.

  "I don't know," replied Jan. "Maybe it's that the engines haven't beenused in so long. I'm afraid I'm not a good enough mechanic to tell."

  "Some of these men were good mechanics when the navy was here," saidSanchez. "Wait."

  He turned and spoke to someone in the dome. One of the men of Ratholecame to Jan's side and tried the engines. They refused to catch. The manmade carburetor adjustments and tried again. No success.

  He sniffed, took the cap from the fuel tank and stuc
k a finger inside.He withdrew it, wet and oily, and examined it. He turned and spoke toSanchez.

  "He says that your groundcar must have a diesel engine," Sanchezinterpreted to Jan. "Is that correct?"

  "Why, yes, that's true."

  "He says the fuel will not work then, _senor_. He says it is low-gradefuel and the platform must have high octane gasoline."

  Jan threw up his hands and went back into the dome.

  "I should have known that," he said unhappily. "I would have known if Ihad thought of it."

  "What is to be done, then?" asked Sanchez.

  "There's nothing that can be done,"