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

by Alan Dean Foster

  The door slid into the wall to reveal an awesome sight few human eyes had encountered, or would want to—Skua September clad only in his underwear.

  “Come in, young feller-me-lad, come in. In a little while I’ll be off and there’ll be time only to recall the things you wanted to say and didn’t.” He put a hand over the close control. Ethan stayed outside.

  “You won’t be off like that, I hope.”

  “Not on this world. It’s cold enough in the hanger. Come in, why don’t you, before we shock some passing technocrat?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Skua. You’re going to have to come out.”

  The giant’s huge bushy eyebrows drew together. “Don’t talk riddles with me, feller-me-lad. Not now. I’ve no business remaining here that requires my presence.”

  “There’s someone who disagrees with you.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “The new Resident Commissioner.”

  September glared at the floor. “How so? If they need some kind of deposition or statement from me, they can get ahold of me on Alaspin—if they can track down Isili’s site.”

  “It’s not that simple, Skua. She’s flagged your boarding pass.”

  “Splendid,” he muttered. “If some bureaucratic mama thinks she’s going to keep me off that shuttle, she’s got another thing coming.”

  “She sure does. You and me.” He checked his chronometer. “In twenty minutes, to be exact. In her office.”

  “What’s the point?” September made no effort to conceal his exasperation. “We’ve already entered everything that happened outside Moulokin in the official records.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Ethan advised him. An excited September was something even his friends didn’t want to be around. “I’m sure it’s just a last-minute formality of some kind. In five minutes it’ll be done with and you’ll be out of there and on your way. We don’t even know what she wants to see us for. Maybe just to say hello and, in your case, good-bye.”

  “She wants to see you, too, huh?”

  Ethan nodded. “Before you get yourself all exercised and overwrought let’s just go up there and see what she wants. Besides, aren’t you curious to see who the Commonwealth has sent out as a replacement for that schmuck Trell? It’s crucial to the future of the Tran.”

  “Aye, but not to the future of the September.” He sighed resignedly. “If she’s flagged my boarding pass I don’t have any choice. Wait while I find something to put on. Perhaps if she’s young and inexperienced she’ll need to have a private chat with old Skua to learn what this world’s really about.”

  “What about your shuttle?”

  “For the important things in life, one can always make time, feller-me-lad.”

  The office of the Resident Commissioner occupied the apex of the triangular structure which housed much of the local Commonwealth administrative complex. From its top it commanded sweeping views of the outpost of Brass Monkey, the modest Tran community which had grown up around it, and the fjordlike ice harbor beyond. Tran ice ships sat tied up to low stone docks, seeking protection from the stronger winds that blasted the open ice ocean.

  Ethan’s apprehension and Skua’s anticipation both turned out to be misplaced. The new Resident Commissioner for Tran-ky-ky was a pleasant, handsome woman in her mid-seventies. She wore a severe dress suit of light blue with Commonwealth insignia to match. Touches of the exact same shade of blue formed two parallel streaks in her otherwise silvery hair. She did not look like anyone’s grandma. Her movements were slow and her speech patient. Her name was Millicent Stanhope.

  “Be seated, gentlemen.”

  “Look, ma’am,” September said, starting in without waiting to be asked, “I can’t stay long. I’m booked on the Spindizzy, as you know, and I don’t want to miss her. I’ve been stuck on this world for too long already.”

  “Gently, September. I read your formal reports. I know that you’re anxious to be on your way. I won’t detain you long.” Her eyes flicked over to Ethan. “And you, Mr. Fortune, I understand will be staying with us for a while longer. That’s good. I’ll want to draw upon your unique body of experience.”

  “I’ll be glad to help whenever I can,” Ethan assured her, simultaneously realizing the truth of Maxim Malaika’s assertions.

  September was in no mood to be coddled. “If you’ve read our reports, then why the need for this meeting?”

  “Please try to relax, Mr. September, however much an effort it may be for you. I promise you won’t miss your flight.”

  September leaned back in the big chair but continued to glance pointedly at the wall chronometer even though ample time remained before the shuttle was scheduled to depart.

  “There is this business of the death of my predecessor, Mr. Jobius Trell.” Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “According to your report he was killed while making use of advanced weaponry in an attempt to enforce an illegal and extortionate trade monopoly on the native populace.”

  “That’s right,” Ethan told her.

  “Your description of the manner of his death is fuzzy as to details. I was wondering if you could be more specific.” Ethan glanced at September who regarded the ceiling with single-minded intensity. The awkward silence lengthened.

  “You see, gentlemen, I have a reason for asking,” Stanhope finally told them. “I have spent forty-three years in the diplomatic service. I am retiring in six months and I want nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to mar my record. I am searching for neither scapegoats nor assassins. I just don’t want any surprises. That’s all. I promise you that anything you tell me will remain confidential and will go no further than we three, but if I am to treat knowledgeably with the locals, I must know everything that happened.”

  Ignoring September’s silent protest, Ethan related the incidents which had led to the death of the former Resident Commissioner, telling Stanhope about his treacherous alliance with the former Landgrave of Arsudun and how he had manipulated the mad former Landgrave of Poyolavomaar. When he’d concluded the story, Stanhope leaned back in her chair and nodded gratefully.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fortune. I appreciate your candor. That is a word rarely employed in the diplomatic corps.”

  “Six months, you said.” Ethan strove to change the subject. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’m surprised they’d send someone like yourself to a place like this with retirement so near at hand.”

  She laughed lightly. “Oh, but I requested this post.”

  That brought September out of his pout. “You asked to come here?”

  “That I did. This is an outpost world, not even a formal colony, about as low a classification as you can find that rates someone with my seniority. Nothing happens here. Once a month the KK-drive ship that travels between Santos V and Drax IV pauses here. That’s it. For a diplomat, Tran-ky-ky is a dull, boring, and unprestigious place to be stationed, and that’s precisely why I wanted to come here.” Her tone darkened slightly, steel beneath the smiles.

  “Six months, gentlemen. Six months I have left. I want them to be as quiet and undisturbed as though they never were. I came here to be forgotten for half a year. Then I can retire to my modular on Praxiteles and work on my laserpoint.”

  “What are you going to do about the Tran?” Ethan asked her.

  “Actually, I think they’re cute, your Tran.”

  September guffawed. “About as cute as cannibals on ice skates.”

  “That may be. But as they appear to be progressing nicely on their own, thanks to your own philanthropic efforts, I propose to do absolutely nothing. I will stay out of their way. Out of everyone’s way, hopefully. If there are any matters that require my attention, I expect my aides and involved civilians such as yourself, Mr. Fortune, will bring them to my attention. In return for this advice I will do my best to stay out of your way.

  “I know that you intend to establish a formal branch of the trading house of Malaika here. I will do what I can to expedite
your work by burdening you with as little red tape as possible. In return I expect you and the others like you to serve as my eyes and ears among the natives. As for myself, I will count my tour of duty here a success if I never have to step outside this office save to eat and sleep. I hope I have made myself perfectly clear.”

  Ethan nodded. “Perfectly, Ms. Stanhope.”

  She glanced at September. “And I expect you to say nothing about your difficulties here, particularly as they concern the late Mr. Trell, for at least six months.”

  September adopted a dignified mien. “Ma’am, I assure you that unburdening myself to government officials is right near the bottom of my list of permanent priorities. I’m on my way to a world that makes this one look advanced so I can lose myself in an alien jungle for a year or two.”

  “Then we are all in agreement as to the direction of our futures. Good.” She rose. It was a dismissal. “Mr. Fortune, I imagine you have a great deal of work to do. Mr. September, you must have some last-minute preparations to conclude prior to your departure.”

  September approached the desk and took her hand in his. It vanished inside his massive palm. “Good to know the future of Tran-ky-ky’s in such understanding hands, for half a year, anyway.”

  “Mr. September, you are gallant.” She retrieved her fingers, sat back down. “Now if you will both excuse me, I have a great deal of nothing to do and I am anxious to be about it.”

  September wore a thoughtful expression as they took the elevator back to ground level. “Interesting old gal. Wish I’d known her twenty years back.”

  “A bit stiff for my taste,” said Ethan.

  “Don’t be too quick to judge, feller-me-lad. You never can tell about these steely-eyed types. Why, underneath that hard-shelled exterior there probably beats a heart of pure concrete.”

  The lift doors parted. As they exited they nearly stumbled over a preoccupied Milliken Williams.

  Like Ethan and Skua, the diminutive schoolteacher had also been in the wrong place at the wrong time when the kidnapping of the wealthy du Kanes had taken place, and like them, he’d been carried unwillingly to the surface of Tran-ky-ky. He was full of self-deprecation and apologies except when he was doing something like introducing the Tran to gunpowder and crossbows. Ethan thought he looked worried. That was William’s usual state of mind. He was always worrying about what was going to go wrong next, and if nothing went wrong, he worried why it hadn’t.

  “I was just coming to get you.” His eyes darted from one face to the other. “Could I have a moment of your time, do you think?”

  September rolled his eyes. “Everyone wants a minute of old Skua’s time. I’m running out of minutes, Milliken.”

  “Please. This is terribly important.”

  “What isn’t? All right.” He looked around, gestured resignedly toward the administration cafeteria. “I could use a bite to eat before getting on the shuttle.”

  It was between meal times and the room was almost empty. Tran furs and handicrafts decorated the walls and gave the otherwise bland hall a little character. Automatic food machines lined one wall. Ice particles formed abstract patterns on the exterior of a curved, triple-paned window as the wind smashed them against the glass. They ordered food and drink and settled into a booth near the window.

  “Skua,” Williams asked earnestly, “how set are you on leaving Tran-ky-ky?”

  September said nothing, simply sat and stared. “Is there some sort of conspiracy at work here that old Skua knows nothing about? First you, feller-me-lad, and now our over-educated little friend here.”

  “There is no such thing as overeducation,” Williams replied primly. “I asked you a perfectly straightforward question. And if we’re going to make comments about size, let me say I’d ten times rather be my height than a grotesque variant of a macrocephalian like certain people I know.”

  “You mean macrocerebral,” said September. “Forget it. It’s just that you’re not first in line.”

  “What’s going on, Milliken?” Ethan asked him.

  “There seems to be a bit of a problem. More than a bit, actually. A very considerable problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Ethan was patient with the teacher. He had a way of talking around a subject rather than going straight to the point. You had to prod him or the conversation would languish among irrelevancies.

  “It involves Tran-ky-ky.”

  “I figured that much. I don’t want to sound impatient, Milliken, but Skua has a shuttle to catch.”

  “Plenty of time before liftoff. I know. I checked the schedule. I was just wondering if you’d mind listening to a full discussion of this problem.”

  “Anything to get this over with.” September swallowed the rest of his snack in a single gulp.

  “You said it involves Tran-ky-ky,” Ethan reminded the teacher. “In what way?”

  “We’re not sure. The entire planet may be at risk.”

  Ethan sipped at his drink. “The sun’s not going nova or anything like that?”

  “No, no, nothing so immediate or dramatic. It’s just that, well, there’s a climatological anomaly that nobody has a decent explanation for and it’s driving the meteorology staff crazy. By now the members of the local scientific community know about the three of us and our experiences. They know that our knowledge of Tran-ky-ky isn’t theoretical, that we’ve had ‘hands on’ dealings with the world beyond Brass Monkey.”

  “Hands on for sure,” said September. “I don’t know that participating in the bashing of hostile locals qualifies us as scientific experts on much of anything.”

  Williams didn’t so much as crack a smile. “This is a serious business, Skua.”

  “Deity save us from serious business. What you’re saying is that some folks just want to ask us a few questions, right?”

  Williams nodded.

  “Milliken, you’re the only one of us who’s had anything that could be called scientific training. You’ve been everywhere Skua and I have. Why don’t they just talk to you?”

  “First because no one is yet positive this matter is of a wholly scientific nature and second because some of the staff doubt their own conclusions. They’re desperately searching for as many possibilities of confirmation as possible. They’re afraid of being ridiculed. Since the three of us have been out there and know what Tran-ky-ky is like, they’re fairly certain we won’t ridicule them. Argue and dispute, yes, but not ridicule.”

  September pushed away from the table. “Don’t let ’em be so sure. Let’s get on with it.”

  “Do we have to go outside?” Ethan stared through the cafeteria window at the blowing snow.

  “The main research center is reachable via the underground walkways, but it would be faster to cut across open ground.”

  “We’ll walk the extra meters,” Ethan told him.

  III

  DURING THEIR BRIEF STAYS in Brass Monkey neither Ethan nor Skua had had any reason to visit the research complex. It was the oldest group of buildings in Brass Monkey and the rationale for the outpost’s establishment in the first place. Scouts first, scientists after, lastly bureaucrats. Like the rest of the outpost complex it was largely buried beneath the ice and permafrost.

  The large meeting room Williams led them into lay several levels beneath the surface of Arsudun. Half a dozen curious faces turned to inspect them when they arrived. Out of this pack of intelligent speculation emerged a woman even shorter than the schoolteacher.

  She wore a bright blue jumpsuit with green and white insignia and patches. Ethan had expected a white lab smock. Her hair was straight, jet black, and cut off in a straight line just above shoulder level. She might have been thirty or sixty. Her handshake was firm.

  “I am Cheela Hwang. There are my fellow crisis mongers.” She introduced each of her companions in turn. “In case Milliken hasn’t told you, I am in charge of the meteorology department at Brass Monkey. As you might imagine, knowing Tran-ky-ky, we constitute a fairly large con
tingent here.”

  “Weather’d be about the only thing worth studying on this world,” September commented, “excepting the locals, of course.”

  She tilted back her head to try and meet his gaze. “Milliken forewarned me about your attitude as well as your sense of humor, Mr. September.”

  The giant grinned slightly. “I’ll try to comport myself in a civilized manner and not eat any of your subordinates.”

  “What’s this problem all of you are so exercised about?” Ethan asked her.

  “Over here, please.” She led them toward the far wall, fingering a small remote control she took from one of the jumpsuit’s pockets. The wall came to light. It was an integrated tridee screen, which explained why it was the only partition in the room devoid of pictures, photographs, or other hangings.

  “Perhaps you recognize this, Mr. Fortune.”

  “Just Ethan will do fine.” He stared at the wailful of whorls and swirls. The colors were bright, the outlines regular. “Infrared photographs, but of what?”

  “The ground we’re standing in, young feller-me-lad.” September gestured at the wall. “That blob up there, that’s Arsudun. Those smaller spots represent the Landgrave’s town, Brass Monkey, and the like.”

  “You have a fine eye for information.” Hwang sounded approving.

  September shrugged. “I’ve had some experience identifying topographic features from above. Why the infrared? Why not just a straight satellite photo?”

  One of Hwang’s colleagues spoke up, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “This is a minor outpost. We don’t rate a fully equipped survey satellite. No high-resolution cameras. Just straightforward instrumentation.”

  Ethan wanted to ask his friend where he’d gained experience “identifying topographic features from above,” but Hwang was pressing on, using her remote’s built-in pointer to trace features on the wall as the image changed.

  “Do you recognize this?” The center of the picture was an intense orange.