Toller could trace the flow and counterflow of air with precision because the columns of vapour from the pikon reduction pans along the shore were drifting inland only a short distance before rising and being wafted back out to sea.

Above it and moving in the opposite direction was a westerly wind streaming down from the Haffanger Plateau. It was making steady progress, but what its captain had apparently failed to appreciate was that the onshore breeze in which he was travelling was very shallow, with a depth of not more than three-hundred feet. The vessel was heading directly towards the shore, its blue-and-grey envelope foreshortened to a circle, a tiny visual echo of Overland. In spite of the foreday glare a number of stars were visible, including the nine brightest which made up the constellation of the Tree.Īgainst that backdrop the airship was drifting in on a light sea breeze, the commander conserving power crystals. The background was a familiar one to anybody who lived in those longitudes of Land - flawless indigo sea, a sky of pale blue feathered with white, and the misty vastness of the sister world, Overland, hanging motionless near the zenith, its disk crossed again and again by swathes of cloud. He shaded his eyes from the sun to harden his perception of what was happening. “What does the fool think he’s doing?” Toller said, speaking aloud although there was nobody within earshot. It had become obvious to Toller Maraquine and some others watching on the ground that the airship was heading into danger, but - incredibly - its captain appeared not to notice.

The Ragged Astronauts by Bob Shaw