Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 95: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MISSION OF GRAVITY thought of it—some three feet long, half the length of the canoe Barlennan had acquired. A slender rod extending several feet rearward held control surfaces at its extremity. The wings spanned a full twenty feet, and their structure of single main spar and numerous ribs was easily seen through the nearly transparent fabric that covered them. Within his natural limitations, Barlennan had done an excellent job of description. “What drives it?’ asked one of the _ watchers suddenly. “‘There’s no pro- peller or visible jet, and Barlennan Said it was silent.” “It’s a sailplane.” One of the meteorological staff spoke up. “A. glider, operated by someone who has all the skill of a Terrestrial sea gull at making use of the updrafts from the front side of a wave. It could easily hold a couple of people Barlen- nan’s size, and could stay aloft until they had to come down for food or sleep—I don’t know whether they sleep or not; do they, Charlie?’ “I believe not. This glider, then, might have come from an enormous distance, riding the winds of Mesklin ; is that right?” “It could have; my personal opinion is that it probably is from the islands Barl is approaching.” “Why?” “They are by far the closest bodies of land. The next nearest, as far as we've seen, is the continental mass that Barlennan’s ship left not long ago. If they could fly this far from any other continent, they could reach that one—and we didn’t see any; or rather, you didn’t. They should, in that case, be swarming all over the equatorial regions.” | “Good point, assuming that they are actually of Barlennan’s species. I hope we see enough of them to find out. I had pretty well estimated that 93 Barl represented about the top culture of the planet, roughly equal to Earth’s tenth century; now we appear to have a race that has learned to fly—under conditions much more difficult than those of Earth, as I understand.” “So it appears, Don. I suppose you'll want us to leave another vision set where you can get a look at their daily lives, too.” McKnight smiled and glanced at the other screen, which was showing a scene from the village of the river dwellers. “I might, at that. What are my chances?” “Negligible,” Lackland said flatly. “I sympathize with you, but basic research comes later. When—and if—we get that gravity data, the bright fellows may rig up something that will let you go down there your- self without having to live in a hydraulic hammock the whole time.” “That would be worth waiting for, I guess. I'll be patient. Of course, our little friend might have to buy his way out of a tight spot again.” The ethnologist turned back to his own screen and recorder, smiling. Lackland inned in return. “T’ll call you if he does.” The Bree’s crew were becoming a trifle nervous. The complete silence of the flying machine, their inability to see who or what was in it now that the Earthmen had explained its nature, bothered them; no one likes to be watched constantly by someone he can’t see. The glider made no hostile move, but their experience of aerial assault was still fresh enough to leave them uneasy about its presence. One or two had expressed a desire to practice their newly acquired art of throwing, using any hard objects they could find about the deck, but Barlennan had sternly forbidden this. They. simply sailed connicloooks com