Colony

by Benjamin Cross

  With a sudden growl, Fenris burst forward and tore the end of the belt out of his hand. Before he could regain his grip, the dog had raced off around the corner and out of sight.

  There was a scrabbling noise up ahead, and Fenris howled out.

  Callum brought the rifle back into his shoulder, but a second later the dog reappeared, Lungkaju by his side.

  “Oh, thank God!” Ava shrieked, her voice swollen with relief. She ran over and threw her arms around Lungkaju, almost knocking the rifle from his hands. “You beautiful man!” She smothered the side of his cheek with kisses. “You beautiful, beautiful man!”

  Darya was close behind her. “I can’t believe we find you,” she said, throwing her own arms around him.

  “Believe it, sister,” Ava said. “We’re saved! We’re gonna go back to the ship, take a shower, get some food and forget that any of this ever happened!”

  By now Callum had made his way over, and Darya pulled him into the group hug. For the first time in what seemed like days his chest felt light. His heart wasn’t racing with fear any more, but excitement. He glanced at his watch. And there was still an hour until his video link-up with Jamie.

  “My friends,” Lungkaju said. “You are alive. I cannot believe it—”

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” Callum said, grasping his hand and shaking it. “My mind ran away with me. I was starting to think that we were stranded here.”

  “My friends—”

  “I thought we were going to die,” Ava said.

  “It has been like nightmare,” Darya added.

  “My friends, you—”

  “Look, we need to get off this island as soon as possible,” Callum said. “There are creatures living here – we had a run-in with them earlier this morning. We’ve got to get out of here before somebody gets killed.” Before he could stop himself he continued, “I’ve arranged to speak to Jamie in an hour’s time. Do you think we can be back on the Albanov in an hour? Where’s the Kamov?”

  Darya squeezed the back of Callum’s arm suddenly. She was staring at Lungkaju, her expression changed from delight to puzzlement. “Lungkaju, what is wrong?”

  Lungkaju’s smile had disappeared. His eyes were closed, and his face looked so much more haggard than Callum remembered; he wasn’t certain, but he thought that he could smell the same tang of smoke on the man’s clothing as he’d smelt on Fenris.

  Looking hard into Callum’s face Lungkaju said, “I am sorry, my friend. But the Albanov is gone.”

  There was a brief silence before Ava said, “Gone? What do you mean, gone? Where the hell would it go?”

  “No, Doctor Lee, I am sorry, but you do not understand.” He passed his sunken gaze across each of their faces, before returning it to Callum’s. “I am sorry, but the Albanov has been destroyed. We cannot leave the island.”

  5

  “This is a joke, right?”

  Looking as if he hardly believed it himself, Lungkaju replied, “I am sorry, Doctor Ross, but no. We do not know what has happened, but there was an explosion, and the ship has been destroyed.”

  For an instant all that Callum could think about was Jamie. He’d been making progress, slow but sure, winning back the boy’s trust one video call at a time. They were becoming friends again. And now… in an hour’s time it would all have been for nothing. Lost. He could see the look of disappointment on his son’s face as he gave up waiting. He could see the excitement leave his lips once more and the dullness creep back into his eyes.

  Deep inside his pocket, his hand clenched around the quartz pebble. “What about everybody on board?”

  Lungkaju shook his head. “The five of us and the soldiers are the only survivors.” He recounted what had happened to himself and the soldiers that day, starting with the failed rescue of Doctor Semyonov.

  In disbelief, Callum looked to Darya. She and Ava were crouched together at the base of a rock formation. Ava’s face was drained of all colour. Darya’s was pale but stoical as she continued to comfort her.

  “What about the other helicopter?”

  “It is also gone. It was on the Albanov.”

  “So, what? We’re really stranded here?”

  “For now,” Lungkaju said. “But now that communication has been lost with the mainland they will know that there is an emergency and they will send a rescue team.”

  “And how long will that take? Hours? Days?”

  “I do not know.” He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Starshyna Koikov says that it could be weeks.”

  Ava screamed out suddenly and dropped her face into her hands. Her pale skin had turned a disturbing shade of grey and her tears bled out through the gaps between her fingers.

  Lungkaju walked across to her. “Please, Doctor Lee,” he said, placing a hand gently on top of her head, “I know that this is a shock, but you must try and be quiet.”

  She knocked his arm away. “No, to hell with being quiet! What the hell’s the point of being quiet? We’re all dead anyway! We’re trapped on here with no way off and there are things and oh, Jesus, Jesus, what the hell are we going to do now?”

  “It is okay, Doctor Lee,” Lungkaju persisted. “We will meet up with Starshyna Koikov’s team. They have weapons and ammunition. We will be safe with them.”

  “And where do we meet up with them?” Darya asked.

  “There is the old military compound in the south-west of the island. Starshyna Koikov told me to meet him there. We will have shelter. There might be an old radio and together we will be safe.”

  “The south-west?” Darya said. “But, Lungkaju, we are in the east. It will take us a day just to walk there.”

  Having surveyed much of the southern part of the island himself, Callum knew that she was right. It would take them a day’s walking at a good pace to reach the compound, and the state Ava was in, a good pace would be asking a lot.

  “I know this,” Lungkaju replied. “But there is nothing else for us. We must try.”

  For several minutes the only sound was that of Ava’s continued sobbing, as the four of them tried to get their heads around the situation and contemplate the task ahead. On his haunches beside Lungkaju, even Fenris seemed to sense the gravity of their circumstances, and he kept quiet and still.

  The silence was broken suddenly by the sound of Ava pulling herself to her feet. With Darya steadying her, she wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. “So what are we waiting for? The sooner we get there, the sooner we get safe, right? So let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The others stared at her briefly, as if waiting for a punchline. Her skin retained its pallor, her eyes were red and her cheeks still wet. But her jaw was set firmly and it was clear she meant business.

  “She is right,” Lungkaju said, seizing the new momentum. “We should begin. I still have my emergency equipment, so we can pitch a tent when we need to rest.” He turned to Callum. “We have the only rifles, so one of us should go first, the other at the back.”

  “I’d rather go ahead,” Callum replied. “But you’re the one who knows where we’re going, so it should probably be you.”

  Lungkaju nodded. “You will need to be very careful at the back, because there is nobody to watch for you.”

  “Tail end Charlie, I know.” Callum rolled his lips. “Let’s do it. I’m not sure whether my life expectancy could get any lower anyway.”

  Lungkaju reached out his hand and the two men shook.

  Callum went to release his grip, then retightened it at the last second. “Just one question.”

  Lungkaju waited, reasserting his own grip.

  “How did you know that we were out here in the first place?”

  “I did not,” he beamed. “It was Fenris that knew you were alive, my friend. I just followed his nose.”

  * * *

 
Ptarmigan threw open the Centaur’s main hatch and looked around. He was inside a large, natural inlet, concealed from the coast by a barrier of rock. An opening had eroded some fifty feet or so up, allowing daylight to pour down into the interior. A substantial seal colony was sprawled around the rocks lining the cavern’s walls. Their cacophony of barks merged into one deafening echo, and their stink hung thick in the unexpectedly warm air.

  Something glimmered towards the back of the cavern. Ptarmigan could see that it was a small, white vessel of some kind, moored up next to a stone ledge. As he ran his eye up and along the ledge, something else caught his attention. From amongst the shadows, a tiny spec of red appeared, darting upwards and intensifying briefly before returning to its original position. He could tell immediately that it was the end of a cigarette.

  Without bothering to resecure the hatch, Ptarmigan dropped back into the cabin and manoeuvred the Centaur to rest beside the other craft. It was a second submersible. It was smaller than the Centaur, probably only one, two-occupant capacity tops. He knew that technologically it was unlikely to be the Centaur’s equal, or anywhere close. But it looked otherwise sleek and advanced.

  He used the pincers to anchor the Centaur loosely to the natural harbour wall, powered down and climbed out. The tumble of rocks which greeted him formed a convenient, if unstable, stairway up to the ledge.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he said, scrabbling to the top. “I’d been kidding myself that you were gonna stand me up.”

  The contact said nothing but remained in the shadows and took another drag on his cigarette. Unnerved but not deterred by the silence, Ptarmigan tried again. “So Finback sent you to meet me, huh?”

  This time the man shifted and replied in a well-spoken Russian accent, “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?” Ptarmigan said. “Unless by some gazillion-to-one chance you’re just caving in the wrong place at the wrong time buddy, then you’re Finback’s man.” He paused. “Say, have we met before? You sound awful familiar.”

  The man took a commanding step forward into the light.

  Chapter 10

  Finback

  1

  The man in front of Ptarmigan was imperiously tall. He wore a dark woollen hat pulled down over his ears, a navy-blue jacket and a pair of highly polished black boots.

  “Mr Peterson,” Volkov said, his eyes piercing in the gloom. “How nice that you could make it.”

  Peterson attempted to speak, but the sides of his throat felt as if they were glued together.

  “Congratulations are in order,” Volkov continued. “You have done very well. Please excuse me.”

  There was a sudden flash, accompanied by a loud bang. Peterson jumped at the sound of the gunshot, while around the cavern every last seal dived from its perch and disappeared from view. Silence descended.

  “Apologies,” Volkov said, reholstering his pistol. “But I do not like to shout.”

  Still tongue-tied with shock, Peterson could only nod.

  “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Congratulations. You have carried out your task with dedication and professionalism, and I thank you.”

  “You… you thank me?” Peterson stammered, slowly regaining his voice. “But… I destroyed your ship. All of your equipment, your research…”

  Volkov laughed out loud. It was a coarse, braying laugh that tore into Peterson’s ears. It was a laugh that made the former seal chorus sound like the tittering of a new-born. “Nonsense,” Volkov said. “You destroyed exactly what I wanted you to destroy. An old ship that should have been decommissioned years ago, a bunch of foreign meddlers and very little else.”

  Peterson shook his head. “An old ship? I took the tour, remember? That ship was state of the art.”

  “Correction,” Volkov replied. “The parts of it that you were allowed to see appeared state of the art. But there was no equipment of any real value on board, and I assure you, the restricted areas were clear of valuable restricted activity and personnel. In reality, your target was only a shell. A floating hotel, and a small price to pay.” A menacing grin cut across his cheeks, and his pale, emaciated face glowed in the gloom like a fresh skull. “You would do well to learn that all that glitters really is not gold.”

  Peterson fought to reconcile the flood of new information. “I don’t understand. Do you work for Finback too?”

  Volkov’s grin disappeared. He drew himself up and raked a finger through his neatly trimmed moustache. “According to Forbes magazine, I am currently the ninth richest man in Russia, with a net personal fortune of some ten billion of your American dollars. Of course this is an oversimplification of my circumstances, but suffice it to say that I own hundreds of companies across the globe and have substantial shareholdings in everything from office stationery to space technology.”

  Peterson’s jaw dropped. “You mean… you’re Finback?”

  Volkov nodded then raised a small voice distortion box to his lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Ptarmigan.”

  Sure enough, it was the same robotic drawl that had so raised Peterson’s hackles over the phone. Just the sound of it again was enough to jolt him out of his stupor. “But I still don’t get it. I mean, are you nuts or something? Why the hell would you authorise an attack against your own venture? Your own damn ship?”

  Volkov tossed the voice distorter carelessly into the sea. “It may not surprise you to learn that one of my principal shareholdings is in the Russian partner company in the G&S Consortium.” He indicated the G&S emblem on the shoulder of his dark-blue jacket.

  “But—”

  Volkov held up a gloved hand.

  Peterson thought about carrying on and having his say regardless. Then he closed his mouth. The one fact staring him straight between the eyes was that Mr ninth-in-Forbes didn’t really have to tell him anything at all. In fact, he hadn’t even had to turn up for their little rendezvous. He could have said to hell with it, and there wouldn’t’ve been a damn thing Peterson could’ve done. But he had turned up. So far he was keeping his end of the bargain, sort of. And if he was willing to spill a few beans, then it would be well worth keeping schtum.

  Volkov: “As I mentioned during our little show-and-tell hour back on the Albanov, Russia continues to lead the world in the production of natural gas. What I did not mention is that we have been spoilt by our vast inland reserves.” He began pacing slowly back and forth, his eyes trained on Peterson’s. “Until recently there has been little incentive for investment in our off-shore Arctic drilling capabilities and we have been forced to turn to our international neighbours. Our Norwegian partner company has been invaluable in passing on hard-earned experience, some of it knowingly, some of it not so knowingly.” He paused to take a last drag on his cigarette, before dropping the nub to the floor.

  “But Russians have always been fast learners, Mr Peterson, and our need for foreign input is over. My associates and I are now confident that we have the knowledge and techniques to allow us to benefit from our off-shore Arctic resources without the need for further international assistance.”

  “So you’re cutting them loose?” Peterson said.

  Volkov’s eyes met with his. “As we speak, a buy-out is being finalised by a consortium of other interested parties.”

  “Let me guess. Volkov Associates Limited?”

  Volkov smiled. “You can be very insightful, Mr Peterson. That is one reason why I selected you for this project.”

  Peterson scoffed. “Dare I ask the others?”

  “Your passion for the environment, your experience of clandestine eco-terrorism—”

  “Cut the crap!” Peterson spat. “This has got nothing to do with the environment or eco-terrorism. It’s about getting your Norwegian partners to hand you control of the entire company. You’re hoping they’ll baulk at the failure of your sham little operation out here and c
ut their losses, right?”

  “A bonus, nothing more.”

  Peterson found himself speechless once again.

  Volkov: “I see that your insight stretches only so far.”

  Given the circumstances, the remark packed a disproportionate sting. If Volkov hadn’t had ten billion gees and a loaded pistol, Peterson was certain he would’ve swung for him. Instead he swallowed his anger. “So, what? You just needed a little extra excitement in your life or something? Where the hell do I fit in to all of this?”

  “You are the reason why I no longer have to worry about the interference of the Arctic Council in my affairs,” Volkov replied. “You are the reason that the truly state-of-the-art Albanov II will arrive from my dockyard near Murmansk, fully equipped and fully staffed within the month. You are the reason why construction of the Harmsworth Gas Processing Plant will begin this year, rather than in ten years’ time when every little fish and flower has been removed to safety.” He paused then added, “You do not merely fit into all of this. You are the reason for it, and I thank you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  A shadow seemed to pass over Volkov’s face. “Did it not strike you as odd that an American citizen was allowed to get within a thousand miles of this project?”

  “No, it didn’t,” Peterson responded. “The Cold War’s over, Volkov. Wake up and smell the concord, would you? Your scientists and ours have been collaborating peacefully for years. The world’s moved on.”

  Volkov dragged out a sigh. “The roots of political enmity run deep, Mr Peterson, and the peace between our nations remains fragile as ever. Just look at the recent unpleasantries in Ukraine.”

  Peterson rolled his eyes. “So what’s your point? That super-powers don’t trust each other? Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “The point is that by allowing foreigners of any nationality, let alone an American, onto one of our most sensitive installations, Russia has made a massive concession to the will of both the Arctic Council and the United Nations, and a progressive leap in terms of Russian-US relations. We have demonstrated our openness and willingness to engage in international cooperation in the responsible exploitation of the Arctic. The Harmsworth project was to be a united flagship, spearheaded by tolerance, the first step in a peaceful partnership that would have seen harmony in the Arctic, rather than a hostile smash-and-grab.” He levelled the full weight of his gaze at Peterson, that hideous grin reblossoming. “And you, my American friend, have quite literally blown it.”