Fiasco Read Free Page A

remembered how a colleague of his once tried that and fell over, taking the stool with him. "You mean Birnam Wood?" he added. "Am I supposed to flee now, or can we talk seriously?"
    Goss, ignoring this, continued:
    "The new trail cost a fortune. One had to nibble away, with successive charges, at that ridge of lava—the main flow from the Gorgon. Even the Mons Olympus of Mars can't compare with the Gorgon. Dynamite proved too weak. There was a guy with us, Hornstein—you may have heard of him—who proposed that instead of breaking through the ridge they should cut steps in it, make stairs. Because that would be cheaper. In the U.N. Convention there ought to be a rule barring idiots from going into astronautics. The Typhon Ridge, anyway, they breached with special thermonuclear bombs, after digging a tunnel. Gorgon, Typhon—we're lucky the Greeks have so many monsters in their mythology for us to borrow. The new trail was opened a year ago. It intersects only the southernmost extension of the Depression. The experts pronounced it safe.
    "Meanwhile, the migration of underground caverns is everywhere—beneath all of Orlandia. Three-quarters of Africa! When Titan cooled, its orbit was highly elliptical. It approached the Roche Zone, into which a multitude of smaller moons had fallen. Saturn ground them up to make its rings. So Titan cooled while boiling; great bubbles were created in the perisaturnium of the orbit, and they froze in the aposaturnium; then came sedimentation, glaciations, and this bubble-ridden, sponge-like, amorphous rock was covered and pushed underneath. It's not true that the Mare Hynicum flows in only during the ascension of all the moons of Saturn. The invasions and eruptions of geysers cannot be predicted. Everyone who works here knows this, and the carriers, too, including pilots like yourself. The trail cost billions, but it ought to be closed to heavy machines. All of us keep to the sky. We're in heaven here. Look at the name of the mine: Grail. Except that heaven has turned out to be damned expensive. The whole thing could have been set up better. The bookkeeping is a nightmare. Payments for those who die are hefty, but less money than it would take to reduce the danger. That's about all I have to say.
    "It's possible for the men to crawl out, even if they're submerged. The tide is receding, and the armor on a Digla can take a hundred atmospheres per square inch. They have oxygen for three hundred hours. Marlin sent out robot hovercraft and is having two superheavies repaired. No matter what you can accomplish, it's not worth it. It's not worth risking your neck. The Digla is one of the heaviest—"
    "You said you were finished," interrupted the pilot. "I have only one question, all right? What about Killian?"
    Goss opened his mouth, coughed, and sat down.
    "It was for this, wasn't it, that I was supposed to bring him?" added the pilot.
    Goss tugged on the bottom edge of the map, which made it roll up with a flutter, then took a cigarette and said over the flame of his lighter:
    "That's his specialty. He knew the terrain. Also, he had a contract. I can't forbid operators to do business with Grail. I can hand in my resignation, and I will. Meanwhile, I can send any hero packing."
    "You'll give me the machine," the pilot said quietly. "I can talk with Grail right now. Marlin will jump at the offer, give me the job, and that'll be that. You'll get an official pat on the back. Marlin doesn't care whether it's Killian or me. And the instructions I've memorized. We're wasting time, Mr. Goss. Give me something to eat, please. I'll wash up, and then we can go over the details."
    Goss looked to London for support, but found none in that quarter.
    "He'll go," said the assistant. "I heard about him from that speleologist who was at Grail last summer. This one's cut from the same cloth as your Pirx. Still waters. Go and wash, hero. The showers are below. And come right back up, or the soup will get cold."
    The