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They idled on through the gentle afternoon, not wanting to do anything to disturb the peace that lay all about them. They were like very young men in the presence of great beauty, of a fine and famous woman, afraid that by some word, some gesture, they might turn her face away, avert her loveliness and her kindly attentions. They had felt the earthquake that had greeted Chatterton, thought Forester, and they did not want earthquake. Let them enjoy this Day After School Lets Out, this fishing weather. Let them sit under the shade trees or walk on the tender hills, but let them drill no drillings, test no testings, contaminate no contaminations.
They found a small stream which poured into a boiling water pool. Fish, swimming in the cold creek above, fell glittering into the hot spring and floated, minutes later, cooked, to the surface.
Chatterton reluctantly joined the others, eating.
‘It’ll poison us all. There’s always a trick to things like this. I’m sleeping in the rocket tonight. You can sleep out if you want. To quote a map I saw in medieval history: “Here there be tygers.” Some time tonight when you’re sleeping, the tigers and cannibals will show up.’
Forester shook his head. ‘I’ll go along with you, this planet is alive. It’s a race unto itself. But it needs us to show off to, to appreciate its beauty. What’s the use of a stage full of miracles if there’s no audience?’
But Chatterton was busy. He was bent over, being sick.
‘I’m poisoned! Poisoned!’
They held his shoulders until the sickness passed. They gave him water. The others were feeling fine.
‘Better eat nothing but ship’s food from now on,’ advised Forester. ‘It’d be safer.’
‘We’re starting work right now.’ Chatterton swayed, wiping his mouth. ‘We’ve wasted a whole day. I’ll work alone if I have to. I’ll show this damned thing.’
He staggered away towards the rocket.
‘He doesn’t know when he’s well off,’ murmured Driscoll. ‘Can’t we stop him, Captain?’
‘He practically owns the expedition. We don’t have to help him; there’s a clause in our contract that guarantees refusal to work under dangerous conditions. So … do unto this Picnic Ground as you would have it do unto you. No initial-cutting on the trees. Replace the turf on the greens. Clean up your banana-peels after you.’
Now, below, in the ship there was an immense humming. From the storage port rolled the great shining Drill. Chatterton followed it, called directions to its robot radio. ‘This way, here!’
‘The fool.’
‘Now!’ cried Chatterton.
The Drill plunged its long screw-bore into the green grass.
Chatterton waved up at the other men. ‘I’ll show it!’
The sky trembled.
The Drill stood in the centre of a little sea of grass. For a moment it plunged away, bringing up moist corks of sod which it spat unceremoniously into a shaking analysis bin.
Now the Drill gave a wrenched, metallic squeal like a monster interrupted at its feed. From the soil beneath it, slow, bluish liquids bubbled up.
Chatterton shouted, ‘Get back, you fool!’
The Drill lumbered in a prehistoric dance. It shrieked like a mighty train turning on a sharp curve, throwing out red sparks. It was sinking. The black slime gave under it in a dark pool.
With a coughing sigh, a series of pants and churnings, the Drill sank into a black scum like an elephant shot and dying, trumpeting, like a mammoth at the end of an Age, vanishing limb by ponderous limb into the pit.
‘My God,’ said Forester under his breath, fascinated with the scene. ‘You know what that is, Driscoll? It’s tar. The damn fool machine hit a tar-pit!’
‘Listen, listen!’ cried Chatterton at the Drill, running about on the edge of the oily lake. ‘This way, over here!’
But like the old tyrants of the earth, the dinosaurs with their tubed and screaming necks, the Drill was plunging and thrashing in the one lake from where there was no returning to bask on the firm and understandable shore.
Chatterton turned to the other men far away. ‘Do something, someone!’
The Drill was gone.
The tar-pit bubbled and gloated, sucking the hidden monster bones. The surface of the pool was silent. A huge bubble, the last, rose, expelled a scent of ancient petroleum, and fell apart.
