The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (8 page)

She noticed his gaze. Defiantly, she sat straight and let the old man’s arms slip away. He didn’t protest. She tried to turn that overwhelming glare on him but it wasn’t there this time, and she looked away awkwardly.

“I suppose you think I was frightened of that thing.”

“Well, that’s okay,” began Ethan. “Nothing to be ash—”

“Well I wasn’t!” she shouted. Then she grew quiet again. “It’s just … I’m not afraid of anything real, anything tangible. But since I was small, I’ve … I’ve always been afraid of the dark.”

“It’s her mother, you see—” du Kane started to explain, but she cut him off.

“Be quiet, father … and get some sleep. I’ve got thinking to do.”

Ethan rolled over and stared at a place on the floor that sent the firelight back into his eyes. He thought, too.

The wind had dropped some but still blew steadily from the west. The sun had been up for a couple of hours already, though Ethan thought anything that put out so little decent heat unworthy of the name. He took his own good time getting up. After all, there was no great hurry. His first appointment wasn’t for half a day, yet.

In an attempt to conserve their rapidly dwindling supply of wood, the fire had been allowed to pass on to wherever it is dead fires go. Williams was industriously arranging twigs, needles, and dried lichen-substitute for the evening blaze. The du Kanes were devouring a breakfast of hot cereal without either making a demand for eggs Benedict. Colette, he noticed, was apparently on her third helping. He sighed for lost dreams.

He got off his elbows, sat up, and trapped knees to chest.

“Morning, schoolteacher. Where’s our beastmaster?”

“Gone outside again. His tolerance for this weather is absolutely amazing, don’t you think?” He reached across the ready pyre, tossed a cylindrical package back at Ethan. “He told me he doesn’t sleep much. Wastes time.”

“Huh.” Ethan grunted, started to tear at the top of the package. At the last moment he noticed that the red arrow on its side was pointing down. Hastily he reversed the container. Sighing at his own clumsiness, he gripped the tab again and tugged.

Off came the top, activating the tiny heating element in the packaging. Sixty seconds later he was sipping the hot soup he’d almost dumped into his lap.

After finishing most of the pack, he stood up. Either he was adapting to the temperature or his nerve endings had become so numb that he was divorced now from such mundane concerns as knowing when he was frozen.

Why, it was a perfectly lovely day! Couldn’t be more than, oh, fourteen or fifteen below.

He downed another swallow of the soup, which was already barely lukewarm.

“I’m going out,” he announced to no one in particular, “for a breath of fresh air. It’s getting positively tropic in here.”

“If that’s an attempt at humor,” Colette began, pausing with spoon in mid-flight, “I never …”

But Ethan was already dogging the crumpled door shut behind him.

He flipped down his snow goggles and peered along the center aisle of the boat. He found September examining the edges of the big gap on the port side of the vessel. It was indeed larger than it had been yesterday.

Wishing he could shrink himself and go swimming in the cup of soup, he strolled over. The self-heating liquid was struggling manfully. But it was badly overmatched in this super-arctic climate. He gulped down the last.

“Good morn, Skua.” He had to move closer and repeat himself before the other looked over at him.

“Hmmm? Oh, I suppose it is, since we’re all still about to see it, young feller-me-lad. What do you think of that, eh?” He stepped away from the wall and pointed.

Ethan didn’t have to look closely, nor ask for explanation, to see what his companion was studying. The wind hadn’t made those deep, curved gouges in the duralloy. There were six of them, spaced in groups of three. Others were visible high up on the plating.

“At first I thought it was the wind done it,” Skua said academically. He shook his maned head. “You think we could expect a return visit from that … what did you call the thing?”

“A Droom,” Ethan replied. He ran a gloved thumb along one of the grooves in the metal. It fit snugly.

“The recordings didn’t go into detail on animal life. I don’t know anything about its habits.” He paused, staring at the rough surface of the stripped wiring running through the hull wall.

“Look, I know I wasn’t much help last night. That screaming and tearing, I—” A big hand came down on his shoulder, comfortingly.

“Now don’t you waste another thought on it, me lad. Why, that monster would’ve chilled the guts of many a dozen professional soldiers I’ve known.”

Ethan turned to face the other. “You didn’t freeze, though. Are you a soldier? Or what? We don’t know much about you, do we? We know the du Kanes, and Williams and certainly Walther, and I’ve talked about myself. What
about
you?”

September shrugged, turned away and stared out across the bleak landscape. The wind had blown away most of the light snow. None had fallen last night, since early evening. The endless icefield sparkled from a billion flaws, except where red-green patches of the hearty pika-pina grew. They were marooned on a diamond.

“Let’s just say I’ve seen worse than that thing,” he muttered softly. “I might also tell you, though I don’t know why I should, that I’m a wanted man. On at least four planets my head, not necessarily delivered in conjunction with the rest of my corpus, could bring you upward of a hundred thousand times ten credits.” He turned and stared down at Ethan with shining eyes, the thick frosted brows crashing together.

“What do you think of that?”

“Very interesting,” replied Ethan levelly. “What did you do?”

“That’s enough for you to know, me lad … for now. Maybe sometime I’ll tell you more.”

Ethan was a good salesman. He knew when to press for a commitment and when to change the subject. He ajudged correctly this was the right time for a change.

“What did you throw at the thing, anyway. The scream it let out was enough to chill your blood … if it wasn’t frozen already.”

“Salt,” replied September, as though they’d been talking of nothing else. “From my dinner pack. There wasn’t much of it left. But then I don’t expect the creatures on this world have much contact with it anyway, especially in the raw state and powdered.”

“I suppose they can get all they need from licking the ice,” mused Ethan, “since it’s frozen sea water. But try
your
tongue on it and it might never come loose. I’d have tried a brand from the fire.”

“That would have come next. The salt seemed as good a bet, and safer.”

“Safer?”

“Sure. Listen, me lad. There are worlds where fire is a lot rarer than it is on humanx-type planets. This would seem to be one. It’s only a guess, but on similar worlds I’ve seen beasties charge straight for a flame and attack it. They think it’s some new kind of enemy. A living creature. Saw one roll over and over with a burning log in its mouth. Clawing and chewing at it. The fire, not the log. If your Droom—”

“It’s not
my
Droom,” Ethan protested.

“—had reacted likewise, it might have charged even harder instead of backing off from that busted door. We won’t know, because the salt worked. The fire might even have attracted it. On a world like this I’ll bet plenty of animals can sense heat at a fair distance. Our fire might have put out as much as another Droom, say. Are they territorial?”

“I don’t know that, either,” confessed Ethan.

“Hard to leave much of a spoor on naked ice.” September pulled a now familiar red-green stem from a jacket pocket, started munching on it. Ethan could hear it crunch.

“Does taste rather like parsley. How does it grow so far out onto the ice?”

Ethan reached under the hood of his coat, rubbed his scalp. “As I remember the tape, the root system extends out to a certain distance, putting out branch roots and surface stems all the way. When it reaches that point, growth halts and the end of the main root begins to swell. Nutrients are delivered from whatever central land mass the plant is based on. In that way it builds up a good sized food-rich node at its far end.

“The plant puts out just enough heat to slowly melt its way through the ice. The new nodule acts as a springboard, or advance base, putting out new roots in several directions. If the roots from one node encounter another they grow together, whether they’re from the same parent plant or not. This broadens and strengthens the network, insuring survival of the whole if a central branch is knocked out.

“There’s a giant variety called pika-pedan that grows up to three and four meters high. Its nodes can grow to be several meters in diameter.”

“I see.” September hummed to himself a moment. “Then if we follow an outcropping of this weed, we’ll eventually come to land?”

Ethan smiled. “Good thought. Trouble is, there are reports from the single Commonwealth survey of green patches growing fifteen hundred kilometers and more from the nearest body of land.”

“Oh,” said the other simply. He looked disappointed. “Look, I haven’t had my breakfast. You?”

“Just some soup. I could do with something solid.” He tossed the empty cylinder out of the boat, watched it bounce and roll across the pale surface.

“Okay, after breakfast, what do you think we ought to do, leader?”

“Well,” Ethan considered, “I definitely think we shouldn’t remain here.” He looked at the other for confirmation, but the big man just stared back. He continued.

“We’re not making any progress toward Brass Monkey by sitting here. A really first-class blow could send this whole boat spinning. I think the first thing we should do is look for some more substantial shelter. Maybe a cave on a big island. You circled this one the other day?” September nodded.

“As I said then, it’s not very big. Certainly saw nothing we could use as shelter, unless we dig our own. Given the likely consistency of this frozen earth, I wouldn’t care to try.”

“Swell. After you eat, then, I think if you’d climb—”

“Climb? Uh-uh, not me.”

“All right.
One
of us ought to climb the tallest tree on the island and get a good look around. Maybe we’ll see something.”

“Like an ice-cream stand?”

September guffawed, slapped Ethan on the back. “A good thought, young feller-me-lad. But first I’d better get about putting something substantial in my belly. Otherwise I won’t have the strength to watch you fall.”

“Even if we should spot another body of land,” asked Colette du Kane, “how do you propose reaching it?” September worked on his oatmeal while he considered her question.

“You said yourself that walking on this ice is damned tough even with makeshift aids,” she continued doggedly. “Since there’s nothing within easy walking distance, any trek we try will measure in the kilometers. This may be swell for you, but I’m not built for cross-country hiking. And father would never make it.”

Du Kane started to protest, but she raised a hand and smiled.

“No, father. I know you’re willing, but corporate directorship doesn’t inure one to much physical hardship.”

“Something more corporate directors should note,” said September, putting down the empty container.

“Despite what you may think, young lady, I don’t relish trying such a hike myself. We’ll have to try and rig up some kind of sled. Maybe we can break loose a torn section of hull. If we could sharpen some long branches to a good point, maybe tip ’em-with metal, we might kind of pole our way along. Be slow and ugly, but better than walking. Not exactly the Intercity Central on Hivehom, but we ought to be able to take along most of our supplies.”

“The weather would have to hold,” said Colette thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I could take another night like the last, and out on the bare ice.”

September looked troubled. “I’ve no way of knowing that myself, Miss du Kane. It’s not a pretty thought. And if another of those snaggle-toothed nightmares happened onto us, why, we’d be just so many cold hors d’oeuvres.

“One thing’s for sure, though. We wouldn’t be any worse off than we are in sitting here. And at least we’ll be making some sort of progress toward the settlement.”

“But what if someone should send over a rescue shuttle?” put in du Kane plaintively.

Ethan surprised himself by answering.

“It’s most unlikely anyone would think to search the surface for survivors, sir. If they did, they’d have the whole planet to choose from. Not much chance of picking us out against this ice, us with no power, nothing casting. But if by some wild chance someone did come looking for us and did find the wreck, they’ll assume we’ve started off toward Brass Monkey. They’ll trace us back along the most likely routes. We can leave signs. At least we know it’s somewhere to the west.”

Well, he said to himself, a bit startled, you’ve just articulated your own probable demise, Mr. Fortune. Rather a sad end for the fair-haired young sales genius of Malaika Enterprises, hmmm? That’s right, go ahead and shiver. Tell yourself it’s the cold.

“Like it or not, we’re on our own, as the young fella says,” September added.

Ethan heard himself speaking again. “There is one other possibility, of course.” Even September looked startled.

“His people might decide to come looking for us.” From his corner Walther glared back at him.

“Not a chance,” the little kidnapper spat. “They’re not that imaginative. We’re as good as dead right now. All thanks to
him.”
He looked at September with bitter hatred.

“There’s enough rough metal around,” the big man replied easily. “You can cut your throat any time you want to.”

“Or yours, maybe?”

September just smiled slightly. “You’re welcome to try, any hour of any day you choose. One way or the other, it would be a solution of sorts for you, wouldn’t it?

“Right now, though,” he said briskly to them all, “I think we should all take a little stroll around the chunk of dirt we’ve run up against. It’s not very big, but it’s home. For another day, at least. Besides, most of you haven’t been outside. It’s time you started getting used to the kind of country you’ll be spending a long, long time with.”