The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers

by Alan Dean Foster

  Later that evening as the feasting was drawing to a close, Hunnar drew Ethan and Skua aside. They settled around a small table away from the noise of the main celebration.

  “I wish that we could persuade you and your friend Williams to remain awhile longer among us. There is still so much we must learn.”

  “Milliken’s sorry he was unable to attend,” Ethan replied, simultaneously envying their schoolteacher friend his decision to skip the wedding and remain behind in Brass Monkey. “I’m sure he’s as sorry as the two of us are that we have to leave, but we’re just not designed to survive on a world like Tran-ky-ky.”

  “I would say you have survived well. You are as resourceful as any Tran.”

  September sipped at his tankard of brew, letting Ethan do most of the talking. “You’re flattering us,” Ethan told Hunnar, “but even if we could survive here, we want to return to our homes, even as your people want to return to Wannome. It’s time. I’m not an explorer and adventurer by trade, you know. This whole business of Skua and Milliken and I coming to your world, landing among you—it was all an accident.”

  “Aye, that’s a fact,” said Skua. “He’s a salesman, he is, and that’s about as unadventurous a profession as a skyperson can pursue.”

  “You would give up all you have gained among us?” Hunnar stared at Ethan out of wide yellow eyes. “I could see you made a noble among my people. Vast tracts of land could be yours. The Slanderscree would be at your beck and call to carry you whence and whither you wished.”

  Ethan smiled gently. By Tran standards Hunnar’s offer was magnanimous, but it was insufficient compensation for the lack of heated plumbing.

  “Thanks, but right now all I want to see is a big city glowing with wasted light and full of naive customers with deep pockets.”

  “What of your intentions to do commerce among us, as you once said you had been sent here to do?”

  “No offense, but I’ve kinda lost my taste for working this territory. I’ll let some other representative of my company have that honor. I’m assuming that I still have a job, you see. Most companies frown on their employees’ taking a couple of years off without explanation.”

  “But surely once you tell your”—Elfa struggled for the proper word—“master of what has happened he will be understanding and allow you to return.”

  “Not master, just employer,” Ethan replied irritably, wishing he could scratch his chin but unwilling to pop the visor on his suit. “Although if I could talk to the big boss himself, I might be able to make him understand. I know my regional supervisor won’t.”

  She turned her penetrating gaze on Ethan’s companion. “And what of you, friend Skua? A warrior like yourself could command whole armies. There will be much fighting ahead. Not all will be persuaded to join the Union by sweet words. Your skills would be welcomed by our generals.”

  “You’re a darlin’, Elfa.” Ethan tensed but Hunnar only grinned, showing sharp canines. September had indulged freely in the local liquor. “But you don’t need me. With your combined forces you’ll be able to overwhelm the most powerful recalcitrant city-state. Don’t need me to make ’em see reason. I’d just be in the way, stealing the glory from some ambitious Tran warrior. Don’t want to step on somebody else’s career. Did that before, once, and it’s never left me. Besides, I’ve got business of my own to attend to.”

  Ethan glanced sharply at him. “What business? You never said anything to me about having any business to get back to.”

  “What did you think I was about, young feller-me-lad? Retirement?” There was a twinkle in his eye. “There’s this lady friend of long standing got herself a grant to do some studies on one of those out of the way recently discovered worlds Down-Arm. Fuspin—no, Alaspin the place is called. She’s an archaeologist. Been after me for years to give her a hand with one of her projects. Ought to still be out there, poking into alien thises and thatses, getting dirt under her pretty fingernails. Told me this Alaspin’s a jungle world. After our little stint hereabouts why, I’m ready for some sweat and humidity. That’s where I’m bound soon as we can take passage offplanet.” He smiled at Elfa.

  “Second time, nothing personal. Your world’s an invigorating place, but just a mite too much so for us humanfolk. So you’ll understand why we’re taking our leave.”

  “We will strive to.” She put a warm paw on September’s forearm. “We can offer you many things, but not a substitute for home.”

  Home, Ethan thought. Did he have a home? Different nights, different cities on different worlds and then on again. If anyplace were home, it was the long emptiness between stars. Nothingness is my home, he thought, trying to be flip but finding that considering the matter seriously made him uncomfortable. Travel, sign a contract, travel on. It was hard even to remember his world of origin.

  And what if he’d lost his job and couldn’t get it back? What to do then? Proceed to the nearest civilized world and seek new employment?

  No, he still had a job, was still a sales rep for the House of Malaika. He had to proceed on that assumption. It was all the security he had left. Maybe Elfa was right. Maybe his superiors would understand. One thing he could be sure of: they’d never heard an excuse for extended absenteeism like his.

  He was wondering if his samples still sat in the customs warehouse as the Slanderscree docked again in the harbor of Brass Monkey. The icerigger would wait until its honored human passengers rode back toward the stars in one of their skyboats. There was also the matter of stocking the big ship for the long journey homeward.

  One thing Ethan had already decided. If he were out of a job, he intended to claim his simple trade goods and give them to Hunnar and Elfa. Let the company sue him for the cost—if they could find him. A modern inert-element space heater would be worth a Landgrave’s ransom to the Tran.

  During their recent long journey to Moulokin, the outpost’s engineers had received and installed a deep-space communications beam. For the first time since the establishment of the outpost, its citizens were able to communicate directly with the rest of the Commonwealth without having to wait for the monthly supply ship to carry out messages. The difficulty Ethan faced in trying to contact his superiors was that the beam was booked up for months in advance by long-suffering, long-silenced bureaucrats and researchers. Having been denied regular communication via null-space with the rest of civilization, they were making up for lost years by using the transmitter around the clock. Ostensibly it was all official business. In reality they just wanted to talk.

  The solution to the problem of availability and cost was one and the same. Without it he couldn’t so much as think of calling company headquarters.

  Skua accompanied him to the gleaming underground communications center. Together they eyed the cluster of government functionaries and scientists gathered outside the broadcast console. The actual screen and its attendant instrumentation were enclosed in a bubble of smoked acrylic. As soon as one concluded his or her communication someone else entered the bubble. New hopefuls arrived in a steady stream. The number waiting to make use of the transmitter rose and fell without ever falling below a dozen.

  September eyed the line of hopeful supplicants. “How are you going to break into that? And if you succeed, how are you going to pay for this? Use your retirement fund? This ain’t like calling your old Aunt Tilly, you know.”

  Ethan smiled confidently. “You’re right on both counts, but I’ll manage. At least, I think I will.”

  He led September forward, pushing and excusing his way past irritated, curious members of the outpost population, until they were standing just outside the entrance to the broadcast bubble.

  “Hey, you,” snapped one of those in line, “there’s a queue here.”

  “Sorry.” Ethan flashed his most convincing smile. It was a salesman’s smile, a professional smile; well practiced, endlessly rehearsed, subtly effective. “First-priority communication.”

  A smirk appeared on the face of the midl
evel bureaucrat next in line. “First-priority? I don’t recognize you. You’re not government or research. You have any idea what a First-priority costs? Kitchen help couldn’t pay for a First if the whole crew pooled a year’s pay.” He bestowed the dubious eye on both of them. Battered by the time spent out on the ice, Ethan had to admit that he and September probably didn’t look like they could afford a short sentence between them.

  He just smiled at the man. “We’ll see. If you’re correct, we’ll be in and out of there in half a minute, won’t we?”

  The bureaucrat performed an exaggerated bow and gestured magnanimously with his right arm. “Leave us not waste unnecessary time then, shall we?” The woman standing behind him turned to her friend and giggled.

  As soon as the functionary inside completed his business, Ethan and Skua stepped inside. Some of those farther back in the line might have disputed Ethan’s right to try his luck even for a few seconds, but no one seemed inclined to strike up an argument with someone the size of September, which was why Ethan had brought him along in the first place.

  The beam operator was tired, near the end of his shift, but not too tired to regard the newcomers uncertainly. He was blond and pale, and Ethan decided his ancestors would have been more at home on Tran-ky-ky than any other humans.

  “What department are you two with? I don’t see any insignia.”

  “No department.” Ethan slid into the broadcast chair as though he owned it, trying to hide his nervousness. “I want to make a private call, First priority.”

  The middle-aged beam technician rubbed his golden crew cut. A single long, silver earring dangled from his perforated right earlobe. “A private call? First priority?

  That means clearing the lines between here and wherever you want to call to.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You know what that’ll cost? The amount of time and energy involved? Even if it’s Drax IV, and that’s the nearest world with a receiving station, the number of relays involved are …”

  “I don’t want to talk to Drax IV. I want to talk closed-beam to the House of Malaika, which is located in the city of Drallar, on Moth. Can you set that up?”

  The operator looked mildly offended. “I can set anything up—if you can pay for it. Right through Santos V and Dis and on to Terra. You’re talking a lot of parsecs, friend.”

  “Devil take the parsecs. Set it up.”

  The operator shook his head. “I don’t touch button one until I have some kind of financial clearance.” A hand hovered over instrumentation that had nothing to do with chatting in null-space.

  Ethan swallowed. “Enter code twenty-two double R, CDK.”

  Warily, the operator entered the information. “Mighty short code. This wouldn’t be some kind of joke, would it? I wouldn’t put it past Marianne and the guys.”

  A few moments fled before the words “Unlimited Credit” appeared on the small tridee screen near the operator’s elbow. His eyebrows lifted. He gaped at the two words but nothing else materialized, no elaboration, no explanations. Just the two words.

  “How’d you gain access to an account like this?”

  September put just enough of a Tran-like growl into his voice to be intimidating. “You a cop or a beam operator?”

  The man shrugged and turned to his instruments. “Hell of a distance,” he grumbled. “Have to patch in fifty stations at least.”

  “You can set anything up, remember?” Ethan taunted him gently.

  September leaned close and whispered, “How did you get hold of a code like that?”

  “Colette du Kane,” he reminded his tall companion. “Remember her? She said if I ever needed anything, to use that code.”

  “My kind of woman.” September had not forgotten the plump industrialist’s daughter who’d been marooned on Tran-ky-ky in their company. She’d proposed marriage to Ethan only to be turned down.

  “Let’s not make fun of her in her absence,” Ethan chided his friend. “Especially since she’s paying for this.”

  Despite his boasting it took the operator ten minutes to set up the call. Outside the communications bubble the functionaries who’d mocked Ethan cooled their heels while trying unsuccessfully to peer through the opaque plastic dome.

  The static-filled screen in front of Ethan cleared slightly and the first sound filtered through. It was distorted and incomprehensible, not surprising considering the distance it had to travel. The operator cursed softly to himself as he adjusted his instrumentation.

  Deep-space beams traveled in the mysterious region known as null-space, while KK-drive ships ploughed their way through space-plus. Sandwiched in between were stars, nebulae, and people in the region called normal space. Glory and a lifetime of ease awaited the physicist who could find a way for a ship to travel in null-space, a discovery that would reduce the travel time between the stars from weeks to minutes. Unfortunately, everything that ventured into that insane dimension came out scrambled, like eggs: Experimental animals sent through null-space arrived at their destination as soup. This muted the enthusiasm of potential human followers. So far, pictures and chatter were all that the Commonwealth’s men had figured out how to put back together again.

  The picture cleared, revealing a figure as massive as September but not nearly as tall seated behind a hardwood desk. His complexion was ebony and his beard rolled out over his chest like waves across a beach. Though his frame occupied most of the image Ethan could make out a few details behind him. There was the desk of inlaid rare woods, a glass wall, and in the distance a city glowing with light. Drallar. Only a name on company documents until now. No reason for salespeople in the field to visit Moth. Actually, he’d heard it was something of a backward world, largely unpopulated, successful only because of its extreme laissez-faire attitude toward commerce. As a result it was headquarters for a number of major trading houses, among which was the House of Malaika.

  Maxim Malaika regarded his caller across a distance of some seven hundred parsecs. The awesome gulf reduced his booming voice to a whisper.

  “Faida, but this is a surprise. I don’t take calls from lower-level field representatives, but then they usually don’t call from such a distance.” He paused while he glanced at a monitor whose screen was hidden from pickup view. “Tran-kee-kee, is it?”

  “Tran-ky-ky.” Ethan delicately corrected the pronunciation.

  “And I never get calls from lower-level field representatives that they are paying for. I am intrigued, Mr. Fortune. What prompts this extraordinary communication on your part? You must have concluded quite a sizable transaction or two to justify such a transmission.”

  “Actually, sir, I haven’t sold a thing in nearly two years.” Malaika said nothing, nor did his expression change. He was accustomed to receiving explanations. Now he awaited one.

  Ethan told him how he’d been outbound on the long run from Santos V to Dustdune when he’d stumbled into the kidnapping of the heiress Colette du Kane and her father, how they’d taken care of the kidnappers but crashed on the world called Tran-ky-ky, how they’d subsequently managed to strike up a friendly relationship with some of the natives, and how they’d spent the last year and more just surviving.

  More than surviving, they’d set in motion the unification of fiercely independent city-states, thus putting the Tran well on the way to forming a planetary government capable of applying for associate status within the Commonwealth. The Tran proved to be intelligent, eager to learn, ready to adopt new ideas. As long as corrupt officials like the late Jobius Trell could be kept away from them, they should develop rapidly.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Malaika approvingly. “A developing race is a consuming race.”

  Ethan hesitated. “Then I still have my job?”

  “Still have your job? Of course you still have your job. You did what you had to do. I’m sure you did not crash on this world on purpose. I don’t fire competent people because they’re caught up in circumstances beyond thei
r control. I am impressed with your resourcefulness and skill in surviving. I am so impressed I’m not even going to dock you your base pay for the past couple of years. Of course, you gained no commissions during that time but there’s nothing either of us can do about that.”

  Ethan was speechless. It was more than he had any right to expect.

  Malaika leaned forward and his face filled the distant pickup. “And who is the large economy-size gentleman standing next to you, Mr. Fortune?”

  “Just a friend. Skua …”

  “Davis,” September said. “Skua Davis.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Davis.” Malaika frowned. “That face. I’ve seen that face before. Have you always worn a beard, my friend?”

  “Not always.” September eased a couple of steps backward, taking himself slightly out of focus.

  Ethan’s expression twisted slightly. There had been several occasions when his friend had alluded to a checkered past. Ethan had pressed for details without ever obtaining any. Well, Skua’s privacy was his own business and as his friend he was duty-bound to respect it.

  “I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

  “Yes, you’re welcome.” Malaika reluctantly shifted his attention back to his employee. “Great things are in the offing for the House of Malaika, young man, great things. This past year has been rich with the unusual. I have done some traveling of my own, entered new markets, overseen the expansion of the company. Also met this extraordinary child, a young adult really, wise in some ways beyond his years and in others the epitome of the naive.” He shrugged. “But why burden you with the details of my life when yours has obviously been so much more interesting.”