Andrew had spent five days constructing the crude observation balloon, its tether and the harness for his sensor package; he was eager to use it. He had based its design on the premise that warm air, being less dense than cooler air, will rise. When the warmer air is confined by a balloon, the lift generated by the warmer air can be used to carry a substantial weight. Thus, the balloon was a fiber-reinforced, ten foot diameter spherical bag with a small, tubular, tail-like opening at the bottom. Fastened securely by the three-centimeter-wide straps of the harness and just below the opening were the air heater and an energy cell to power it and the instrumentation package. The air heater was connected to the balloon's opening by an elasticized tube running from the forced-air duct of the heater up to the balloon.
After checking the bag one last time for leaks, he suspended his improvised sensor package from the harness at the bottom of the balloon, switched on the power supply and released the weights holding everything down. The makeshift dirigible floated slowly upward, trailing a thin tether beneath it. When -- after thirty minutes of intense monitoring, watching the microcable to avoid knots and carefully unreeling the winch -- it reached an altitude of fifteen hundred meters, one thousand meters short of the tether length, he switched the instrument package from energy-conserving standby to active mode with his ground controller.
His sensor package took a few seconds to warm up after he switched it on, but soon the static turned to the comforting hum of a datastream. He plugged the receiver into his pocket desk; he didn't need to sit there and stare at the display when the computer could do the work.
Howe began cleaning up the scattered tools and putting them back in their pouches. When he was nearly done, the pocket desk began to chatter. Andrew glanced at it, expecting to find an error message on the screen.
"ARTIFACT LOCATED," the dialogue flashed at him.
Howe hurriedly punched in instructions to verify; but the computer insisted it was not an error.
The scanning gear indicated a steel and aluminum structure with a radioactivity rating way above the background average for this planet.
He began to reel in the balloon right away; he was ready to scour his newly-accumulated data for a quick pathway to the clearing where the structure was located. He wanted to begin his journey there within minutes, although he knew that it would be impossible to arrive at the structure before nightfall. And Andrew did not want to spend a night in unprotected jungle.
The work of determining the best possible route overland was hard, however, as he had only the incomplete data available from his balloon's instrumentation to guide him. His picture of the country to the east lacked good data on the eastern slopes of the low mountain ranges in that direction. He'd have to crest each ridge in turn before he would be able to find a good route down the other side. That would make his trek significantly harder.
That knowledge delayed him 'til morning, but he spent a largely sleepless night in the bunker going over his next day's journey again and again. There were only three ridges between him and the valley the artifact was in; unladen, taking into account the underbrush and terrain, he thought he could make the trip in about three hours. But with the gear he had already packed, it would be a much longer hike.
After a final check of his pack and a pause to secure the hatch, Howe marched against the jungle like a kamikaze hiker, forceblade waving before him against the treacherous limbs of the forest. The growth swelled to counter his blows, slipping under his blade as though consciously willed into evasiveness. Andrew chopped vigorously, striking out at the tangle of amarillo and vermilion like a child in a tantrum. The soil beneath his boots, still muddy from the previous night's rain, caked his feet with a kilo of red dirt and yellow fiber. The sap draining from the slashed branches clung to his clothing and skin like cement, stiffening his joints and drying out his skin. After only a few minutes of slothlike progress, Howe was exhausted.
He looked back at the way he'd come. He could still see the pinnacle of the bunker through the torn jungle, barely fifty meters behind him. Ahead lay only a labyrinthine weald.
Thrusting himself forward once again into the jaundiced embrace of the forest, Andrew swung his forceblade mercilessly against the interfering foliage. He was determined to vanquish this planet or die trying. His trail grew, each lunge of the blade clearing a narrow pathway between walls of yellow leaves, individual plants indiscernable against the background of jungle.
The sounds of the forest percolated through the vegetation; to his right at some distance he heard the rustling of a herd of herbivores as they snorted and rooted through the vegetation. After fifteen minutes their noises faded into indiscernability. The usual howls and calls of the other fauna in the jungle contiued to filter through to him as he panted onward.
After about an hour of travel, Howe noticed that he was beginning to climb. He glanced at his compass and the computer-generated partial map his instruments had produced.
First ridge
As Andrew Howe reached the top of the second ridge, the sun gleamed through the thinning trees into
Third ridge