“Okay, love,” he answered slowly. “Pretend you’re a hotshot pilot in a Hercules, sitting up in New Zealand at Harewood. You know there’s a couple of dozen people three thousand kilometres away who need rescuing. You don’t know exactly where they are. You can’t contact them by radio. You have no idea what the weather’s like anywhere between New Zealand and the South Pole. Your compasses are all cockeyed. Your plane’s electronics go bonkers now and then when another solar flare hits. And you and your crew have flown in the Antarctic before, so you know what you’re getting into. Are you going to roar off to the rescue?”
“If I had the balls God gave my grandmother, I sure would.”
Steve guffawed, turned over and hugged her.
“You don’t get off that easy,” she said. “There’s some other reason why you don’t want to send Al.”
“Two reasons. The first one you won’t like. I don’t want to leave. At least not till spring.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “There’s too much to learn here. And the risks of wintering over aren’t that high. I think most of the scientists feel the same, but we don’t talk about it much. The technicians want to get the hell out, and I don’t blame them, but we’ve got an opportunity here that’ll never come again, and I don’t want to miss it if I don’t have to.”
“I think that’s fine, Steve, but I don’t like watching you manipulate everyone just so you can stay and play with your seismographs.”
“The second reason is Al,” Steve went on, ignoring her. “He didn’t say much tonight, right? He’ll go if he’s asked, but he doesn’t want to. The poor bastard’s exhausted — and he’s the one who’s responsible for us. Not Hugh, not Carter, not anyone else. If Al makes a mistake, we’re finished. Tired men make mistakes.”
“…Okay. That I’ll accept.”
Thinking of Al made her think of all of them, of their fragility and transience. She could feel the strength in Steve’s arms as he held her, and remembered how that strength had sustained her in the long walk from the helicopter. All that strength could be mocked and annihilated by the blind violence of the ice and the wind.
*
Laputa continued its ponderous progress. When the drill at last reopened the hole through the ice, Will and Jeanne found that a strong current was running Grid South, away from the mainland. The water was extremely turbid: more meltwater than ever was coming off the continent under the glaciers, carrying millions of tonnes of clay and rock flour.
“If we continue on our present bearing, at our present speed of 4.5 kilometres per diem,” Will told a seminar in mid-March, “we can expect to reach Acapulco, Mexico, in two years.” There was enthusiastic applause.
Bad weather seemed to have settled in for good. Day after day snow and high winds made outside work difficult or impossible. Howie and Gerry tried another traverse, but bogged down in soft snow within three kilometres of Shacktown; it took them three days to dig out their Sno-Cat and crawl back in a near whiteout.
Daylight was going swiftly now. They would lose the sun completely in mid-April, though for some weeks after that there would be a long twilight until the sun sank well below the horizon. People reacted in different ways to the approach of winter. Some, like Suzy, seized any chance they got to get outside in daylight, even if the sky was overcast; others, like Ben, retreated to their cubicles to read, sleep and wait for the next day to come. Gordon Ellerslee did some quiet plotting.
*
On the afternoon of March 22, Al and Howie were doing some maintenance chores in the Otter’s flight compartment when Tom Vernon climbed aboard.
“Say, Al — when you get a minute — some of the guys want to see you — in the machine shop.”
“Got a poker game going?”
“No — just want to ask you something — any time you’re free.”
“Okay, give me ten minutes.”
John tramped out and Al turned to Howie. “Any idea what it’s about?”
Howie nodded his dark, shaggy head. “I think they want you to go to New Byrd.”
“Oh, for gosh sakes. Well, let’s get this finished first.”
A few minutes later they got out and walked across the oil-stained ice floor of the hangar to the machine-shop hut. Most of the station’s techs were there, crowded into the far end by the door that led down to Tunnel D. Gordon was sitting behind a desk, leaning against a wall solidly papered with old Playboy and Penthouse gatefolds.
“Hi, Al. Howie. You guys want a beer?”
“Sure,” said Al. Howie shook his head, and leaned silently against a filing cabinet. Someone found Al a chair, and he settled into it across the desk from Gordon. Simon handed Al a bottle of Kiwi Beer.
“We been talking things over, Al,” Gordon began. “And we all think something’s gotta be done about getting us outa here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s nearly winter. Pretty soon we’ll be stuck in this shithole till October, maybe longer. Hugh said the other day we shouldn’t try for New Byrd, but he doesn’t have any other ideas. Anyways, we figure the old man’s just doin’ what Carter and Steve tell him to do. Like he isn’t really himself these days, you know?”
Al swigged his beer.
“So we figure it’s time we decided things for ourselves. The scientists wanna play with their toys, and if that means we gotta risk getting killed, they don’t give a shit.”
“Hear, hear,” said Simon.
“Anyways, what we wanna do is, go to Hugh and tell him he’s relieved of his job, and we’ll have a committee take over until we’re outa here. Uh, the first thing the committee would do, is authorise you to take the Otter to New Byrd and maybe to the Peninsula.”
Al smiled. “Uh-huh.”
“Colin says we’re due for another break in the weather. Maybe forty-eight hours, starting sometime tomorrow. You and Howie been keeping the Otter in good shape, right? Shit, it’s worth a try — we’d be crazy if we don’t give it a try when we got the chance.”
“Just about sure to be our last chance, too,” Simon added.
“Really!” Gordon agreed. “Now or never. It all depends on you, Al. Y’know, I bet you’re itching to fly again after bein’ holed up all this time, eh? All you gotta do is say you’ll go, and we’ll tell Hugh.”
There was a long silence while Al finished his beer.
“You’re talking to an old Navy man,” Al said with a burp. “But you’re suggesting I join in what amounts to a mutiny.”
“Now, just hold on — ”
“You hold on, Gordon. Everybody here signed a contract with CARP, and that means everybody agreed to accept the leader CARP appointed. That’s Hugh, and Hugh said no flight to New Byrd.”
Gordon stood up and leaned across the desk; he loomed over Al like a tree. “Goddamn it, Al, this is life or death, not some picky little contract problem. We sure want you on our side, but if you don’t want to go along, we’ll fucking well make you go along.”
His eyes locked with Al’s for an instant. An instant later Al’s beer bottle flew past Gordon’s ear and shattered against the wall behind him. Gordon flinched and turned automatically; turning back, he found Al standing in front of the desk. Al slapped Gordon twice, the second time hard enough to knock him off balance. The Canadian crashed to the floor behind the desk.
Al turned slowly, looking coldly at each of the men. No one moved.
“The party’s over,” Al said, his voice thick with anger. “As far as I’m concerned, this meeting never happened. But if you guys pay any more attention to this… idiot, you’re as stupid as he is.” He jerked a contemptuous thumb at Simon, who looked almost as stunned as Gordon. “Get him on his feet.”
When Gordon was unsteadily upright again, Al looked up into his face. “Don’t ever threaten me again, Gord. Or anybody else.”
Gordon nodded slowly. He had bitten his tongue when Al slapped him, and blood glistened on his lips.
Al went through the door into the cold porch and down t
he steps to Tunnel D. Howie, after giving Gordon a glare of disgust, followed. One by one the others left quietly until Gordon and Simon were alone in the machine shop.
“Jeez,” Gordon mumbled, “the old fucker’s really fast.”
*
That evening, Will and Jeanne sat on the bed in the infirmary, watching Katerina light a cigarette.
“You are indeed pregnant. And you say conception was about three months ago?”
“Almost to the day,” Jeanne nodded. In her baggy pants and sweater she looked no different, but her face was a little fuller.
“Over twelve weeks. Why did you not tell me sooner?”
“I — didn’t think I’d have to. I thought we’d be back in New Zealand by now, and then — one thing led to another.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should have, I know.”
“You realise we are likely to be here until perhaps October or November, on short rations.”
“Yes.”
“Under the circumstances, I recommend you have an abortion. You have already endangered yourself enough. There is no need — ”
“I understand, Katerina. But I’m not having one.”
“Ah. Why do you decide this?”
“Well, I sort of like being pregnant. I feel really super, at least now. And I’m dying to see what the baby will be like.”
“Ach, that is absurd and trivial. You endanger yourself and everyone else, including the foetus.”
Jeanne laughed. “After all we’ve gone through, we’re not going to be wrecked by a little baby, are we?”
Katerina rubbed her face tiredly, put out her cigarette, and looked thoughtfully at Jeanne and Will. The girl was obviously the stronger of the two, though perhaps she didn’t realise it; Will had obviously known of her pregnancy for some time, yet they hadn’t come to Katerina until Jeanne had decided to. Despite the childish flippancy in her remarks, Jeanne was a tough young woman who knew her own mind.
“I think you are making a mistake, but I will do all I can to, to — shrink the mistake. We must work out a diet for you, and exercise plans, and I would like you to come and see me twice a week at least.”
“Whatever you say,” Jeanne grinned, and Katerina smiled back.
Someone came running down the corridor from the lounge, his big, booted feet making the floor shake. Roger Wykstra swung open the door, so hard that it struck Will’s shoulder a painful blow. Roger ignored Will’s surprised protest.
“Katerina — we got contact with Vostok. Your husband wants to talk to you.”
Chapter 8 – Vostok
The lounge, mess hall and kitchen were deserted; everyone had headed for the radio shack as soon as they heard the news. Roger almost had to force a path for Katerina through the crowd.
Carter Benson and Al Neal were standing by the transmitter, firing questions which Bruce relayed. The answers were faint but clear, in heavily accented English. Bruce broke off when he saw Katerina.
“Here’s your wife,” he said into the mike. Then, to her: “You know how to use this?”
“Yes, yes.” She held the mike tightly. “Ivan? Vanya?”
“Hello, Katya,” he replied in Russian.
“Oh, it’s so good to hear you! Is everyone safe?”
There was a static filled pause. “I don’t know. I was just telling your friends — most of the station was evacuated by tractor two weeks before the catastrophe. We don’t know if they reached the coast, or what’s happened at Mirny. Five of us stayed behind to close down the station. They were going to fly us out, but no plane arrived.”
“Ah — and everyone there?”
“Vitali Alexeyevich and Nikolai Mikhailovich are dead. The magnetics lab collapsed, in the catastrophe. At least it was quick for them.”
“And yourself? Who is with you?”
“We have some frostbite. Yevgeni Pavovlich is the worst off; Kyril Matveivich is the healthiest. I’m in between. Your friends say they will try to fly here to get us, but I don’t think they should. Half the airstrip is gone. There are crevasses all around us.”
“Vanya — if there is a hope, they’ll do it. Oh, I — I don’t know what to say. I’m so happy I want to cry.”
“Katya, we’re losing your signal. Can you still hear me?”
“Yes, just barely. Do you need to say anything more to the leader here?”
“We will be grateful for his help, but only if there is no risk to his people. Weather here is clear and cold, -60°. If they do fly in, it should be soon. Shall I repeat?”
“No, I heard you. Vanya, I love you.”
“I love you.”
His voice faded out. Bruce tried to renew the contact, but it had vanished.
Katya turned and embraced Carter. “Oh, he is alive, alive!”
“Isn’t it wonderful,” Carter laughed. “Wonderful.”
Al looked around at a ring of intent faces. “Let’s go talk in your office for a minute, Katerina.”
When she looked at the clock on her wall, she realised it had been less than ten minutes since Roger had come running down the corridor. A little absently, she wondered what had happened to Will and Jeanne.
“It feels so strange. Like a dream, you know?”
“I know. I’m really happy for you, Katerina.”
“A drink! Would you like some brandy?” she asked brightly.
“Love one — a little one. Thanks. I shouldn’t even have this one if I’m going to be flying in the morning. Look, Katerina. We’ll get the Otter ready tonight, and we’ll leave first thing tomorrow. Promise me one thing.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Don’t get your hopes too high. I may not be able to get there. Or I could get there and not be able to land. I’ll do everything I can. But it may not be enough.”
She put her hand on his. “I understand. I understand.”
*
It was almost midnight when Al and Carter went to Hugh’s room, which was quiet and chilly after the noisy bull session they had just left in the lounge. Hugh, looking better than he had in weeks, sat up in his battered swivel chair. He smiled at Al.
“Dicey business, this flight,” he said. “How d’you plan to get there and back?”
“Varenkov says they’ve got plenty of JP4 in one of their storage huts, so we should be able to refuel. Just in case we can’t, I’ll take six or seven drums along in the passenger compartment.”
“Fair enough. Is the Otter up to a flight like this?”
“Yeah. But I’m going to need a lot of JATO bottles. At 3,500 metres, the Otter takes off like a crippled brick.”
“Okay,” said Carter. “What can we do to help you get back?”
“Keep the TACAN switched on, and pray that I can pick it up. And set up some signal fires along the airstrip. We’ll be coming back at night, almost for sure.”
“You’ll need at least a couple of the chaps to help you,” Hugh said. “Any preferences?”
“I’d rather do it alone, Hugh.”
“Out of the question.”
“Then just one. No more.”
“It ought to be a scientist,” Hugh said. “This may be the last trip we make over the continent; pity to overlook the opportunity.”
Al laughed. “With friends like you. the scientists don’t need enemies. All right. Steve again?”
“I’d prefer Will,” Hugh said. “He’ll understand what the ice is doing.”
“Jeanne’s not going to like that.”
“No doubt. Well, he’ll jump at the chance. Go and ask him. Anything else?”
Al shook his head slowly.
“Good. For heaven’s sake, get some sleep and leave the mechanics in peace tonight.”
Will and Jeanne were sitting in their cubicle, talking quietly, when Al knocked on the door, opened it and walked in.
“Hi. Will, you want to go to Vostok?” They both gaped at him. “Hugh said you’d love to.”
“Good God,” Will muttered. “Hadn’t thought about it — other t
hings on my mind. It’d be great fun, but — ” He looked questioningly at Jeanne.
“Don’t ask me to make up your mind for you,” she said firmly. “I know that old male trick.”
Will spluttered with laughter and kissed her. Then he looked up at Al. “What time?”
“About eight-thirty. Sunrise will be just before nine, and we’ll need all the daylight we can get.”
When Al was gone, Jeanne reached out and touched Will’s face with both her hands. “You bloody bugger, you’d better come back alive if you know what’s good for you.” She pressed her fingertips into his cheekbones and kissed him hard.
*
The hangar faced Grid South, so that its doors would be in the lee of the prevailing winds off the continent. When the doors groaned open the next morning, the sky was a wild array of reds and oranges that turned the surface of Laputa to a glowing ochre. There was steady 10 k.p.h. breeze from Grid North-West and some drift across the ski-way. Floodlights illuminated the mouth of the hangar, where the Otter was being winched out.
“Looks like good weather,” Will yawned. “We’re in luck.”
Al grunted. When the plane finally stood outside the hangar and the doors shut behind them, he studied the dawn sky for a long minute. Then he handed Will a clipboard.
“Let’s go through the starting procedure, okay?”
Will stared at him. “You must know it better than you know your name.”
“Yeah, well. This is no time to forget something.” Al sounded embarrassed.
“Good enough; glad to oblige.” Will snapped on an overhead light, coughed, and recited:
“Parking brake.”
“On.”
“Pilot’s static selector.”
“Normal.”
“Radio and electrical equipment.”
“Off.”
“Circuit breakers.”
“In.”
As the checkout went on, Will felt a sting of anxiety. Was Al losing his nerve? He pushed the thought out of his mind by concentrating on the list. It seemed to take a long time to reach the last item.
Icequake: A Prophetic Survival Thriller Page 11