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

by Alan Dean Foster

  With sharp projectiles and grasping talons flashing around him, Moware sat high up in the rigging preserving the battle on his recorder, calmly adding explanatory notes where necessary. Tran yelled at him to come down. He ignored them, and it was possible he never heard them. Two snigaraka could easily have plucked him from his webbing and carried him off, or he could have been knocked from his perch to the deck or the ice. Of those potential disasters he appeared blissfully unaware, a delighted smile creasing his face as he imaged the attack for posterity, not to mention future study.

  Later that day, after the aerial assault had been beaten off, the xenologist played back his recording for the benefit of his fellow scientists. They sat clustered around the recorder as it played back the battle, offering comments and asking questions and completely ignoring the obvious danger Moware had placed himself in. It was wholly incidental to the information obtained. When an attacking snigaraka swooped down on Moware and the lethal jaws momentarily filled the recorder’s lens, the only comments to be heard involved the structure of the jaws: were they true jaws or a flexible beak?

  All the grumbling about the strange and disturbing actions of the scholars finally came to a head when one of them asked Third Mate Kilpit if they might seek out another flock of the airborne assassins in order to complete their documentation of the snigaraka’s method of attack.

  “It is one thing to convoy these alien creatures to an unknown land,” Kilpit told Ta-hoding, “another to deliberately place ourselves in danger to satisfy their strange and inexplicable desires.”

  “Did anyone get in your way during the attack?” Elfa asked the mate.

  “Well, no, my lady.” Kilpit dug into his pelt for a persistent nibbler and looked uncomfortable.

  “Was anyone injured because of something the humans did?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then you have no complaint.”

  Hunnar was more understanding. “Some of the crew are confused. That which is new and different is always confusing. I will talk with the scholars.”

  What he did was convey the disquiet to Ethan, who agreed to have a chat with Hwang’s group.

  “You have to understand,” she said when he’d finished relaying the Tran’s concerns, “that it’s difficult for us to restrain our enthusiasm. After years stuck in offices, we’ve suddenly been given a whole world to examine.” Her manner was formal without being standoffish.

  “I understand,” Ethan replied, “and Hunnar understands, and Elfa and probably Ta-hoding understand, but the common sailors and soldiers in the crew, they don’t understand. And they’re nervous about what they don’t understand. They watch while you run your experiments and engage in inexplicable activities and they conjure up all sorts of superstitious nonsense.”

  “We keep too much to ourselves. You and Milliken and September move freely among them, have for a long time now, so they accept you and your individual idiosyncrasies.” Blanchard supported his chin with his left hand. He wore his mustache, Ethan mused, like an afterthought. “We may not be athletes, but after two years and more on this world we’re in pretty good shape. You have to be to qualify for posting to a world like Tran-ky-ky.” He glanced up at Ethan.

  “Because of our arrangement which involved sending a large portion of the ship’s complement home, it is presently minimally crewed.”

  Ethan nodded. “That’s so.”

  Blanchard regarded his colleagues. “We’ve all done heavy work in survival suits. Perhaps we could help.”

  “No, no,” Ethan told him. “Ta-hoding looks like a jolly, easy-going type, but he’s not where his ship’s concerned.”

  “We wouldn’t try anything we couldn’t handle.” Almera Jacalan, the resident geologist, flexed an arm. “We’re intelligent enough to know what we can and can’t do.”

  “Put it to the captain,” Hwang decided. “It might be fun.” Murmurs of agreement came from her colleagues.

  “Sure.” Jacalan laughed at the prospect. “I can pull a pika-pina cable with the best of them, and we know we won’t have to swab the decks. You can’t wash outside on this world because any liquid freezes instantly. Besides,” she added, “the crew ought to know that in a tight spot they can call on us for assistance.”

  “I’ll suggest it.” Ethan sounded doubtful.

  He was honestly surprised when Ta-hoding agreed. “A couple of extra hands, be they furred or not, would be welcomed. By all means let the scholars learn the ways of the Slanderscree. One need not be an experienced sailor to help pull in an anchor.”

  It was as Blanchard had hoped. With the humans working alongside, the crew came to know them as individuals. They gradually put aside their fear and suspicion and before many more days had passed were enthusiastically demonstrating how to do everything from adjusting the spars to scraping the sails. Everyone was able to relax because all knew the arrangement was only temporary. They would take on additional, experienced hands at Poyolavomaar.

  Everyone was relieved at the cessation of tension and surprised at the feeling of camaraderie that quickly developed. While learning how the icerigger was handled, some of the scientists began to give the Tran short courses in geology and climatology. The lessons generated grudging admiration among the sailors, while the scientists ceased to view their furry, big-eyed companions as primitive aborigines.

  Meanwhile the Slanderscree followed its zigzagging course southward to Poyolavomaar as Ta-hoding made skillful use of the ceaseless wind.

  Not long ago they’d traveled that same section of ice. It should have looked familiar to Ethan, but he wasn’t a Tran. Ice was ice. Ta-hoding or any of his crew, on the other hand, could have pointed out specific cracks in the ice sheet, could have identified individual folds and subtle discolorations. Streaks and striations were as clear to a Tran as lines on a road map. For beacons they relied upon the stars, for direction the wind.

  He wondered how much Commonwealth participation would change his friends. Civilization dulls the senses.

  Having learned their lesson, the snigaraka stayed clear of the icerigger. So did the rest of Tran-ky-ky’s lethal lifeforms, though they did encounter a rarity called a dyella.

  To Ethan it resembled a gigantic snake, though he knew that was impossible; a cold-blooded creature couldn’t survive long enough on Tran-ky-ky to reproduce. The dyella was twenty meters long, legless, and covered with fine maroon and pink fur. Flanks and top were rounded and it slid along on its flattened underside, special glands secreting a hot lubricating slime which enabled it to slip quickly across the ice. Twin rills or sails ran nearly the length of its back. By twisting and turning these to catch the wind it sailed along as efficiently as the Slanderscree.

  Several of the sailors yelled to Ta-hoding to swing sharply to port so that the icerigger’s metal skates would cut the carnivore in half, but the human contingent would have none of it. Moware was frantically trying to reload his recorder while Jacalan and the rest of the nonbiology specialists fought to make records of their own. In coloring and size the dyella was far and away the most impressive lifeform they’d yet encountered.

  The creature let out a rumble incongruously like a threatening mew and moved slightly sideways, paralleling the icerigger at a distance of some thirty or forty meters. It neither attacked nor retreated:

  “One small bite …” said Ta-hoding as he stood by the rail watching their unwelcome escort. He brushed the points of his claws against the palm of his other paw. “Dead meat. Poisonous.”

  Ethan looked forward. Moware and his colleagues were all but falling overboard in their haste to snap close-ups. “Don’t tell the scholars. They’ll want to obtain a sample of the toxin.” He turned his gaze back to the dyella, fascinated by its supple, seemingly effortless method of propulsion. It had no trouble keeping up with the Slanderscree.

  “What do they eat out here? That’s a big animal, and you don’t need poison to take down pika-pina.”

  Ta-hoding leaned forward so he
could peer toward the bow, grunting as his belly was indented by the railing. After a few moments he pointed sharply to the southeast. “There, achivars!”

  The herd to which the captain was referring soon came into view and Ethan realized the dyella hadn’t been following the icerigger. It had been pursuing the herd of herbivores. Each achivar was about the size of a pig. In addition to their fur, the achivar were covered with meter-long spines. At the tip of each spine was a small winglike membrane. By raising and lowering their spines and adjusting how they lined up, the achivar could catch the wind and sail efficiently across the ice, like the dyella and the Slanderscree, and dozens of other ice dwellers.

  The icerigger plowed into the herd without running over a single member of the group. Even the youngsters spun and turned with incredible agility, their massed spines flashing as they caught the sun. They had large, brilliantly intense red eyes, tiny heads that hugged neckless bodies, and broad flat feet that had evolved into flat, slick pads. The dyella raised its long rills to catch the maximum amount of available wind and tried to cut the herd off, to steal the wind from their spines much as ancient seagoing men-of-war tried to capture the wind from an enemy sailing ship in order to deny it speed and maneuverability. The tactics of consumption instead of the strategy of war, Ethan reflected.

  The dyella was having a hard time. The achivar were as fast and much more agile. September joined Ethan in viewing the spectacle.

  “Ice-skating porcupines,” he grunted, glancing at Ta-hoding as the captain yelled a casual command to his helmsman, “Are those spines as sharp as they look?”

  “Every bit of that,” Ta-hoding replied. “Their small wind-catchers notwithstanding. The trick in hunting achivar is to surprise them when they are resting or feeding and their spines are relaxed.”

  “Moware asked me to come up here.” September gestured toward the bow. “They’d like to capture a specimen to take back to Brass Monkey. I tried to tell him and the others you wouldn’t go for it.”

  “These achivar are neither asleep nor feeding, and if we were to come to a stop the dyella might decide spineless Tran are more agreeable prey than speedy, spiny achivar. Therefore we will not stop. You must convey my apologies to your scholars.”

  “Not me. I agree with you completely.”

  Ethan stepped away from the railing. “I’ll tell ’em. They’re the ones who are in a hurry to get to the southern continent. I’ll remind them that you’re only doing as they requested.” Ta-hoding nodded his approval.

  As the icerigger left the achivar herd and its tormenting dyella behind, Moware fumed but had to be content with the images and sounds his recorder had captured. Much later the frustrated xenologist drew Ethan and Skua aside. “Who’s paying for this trip?”

  September merely grinned and turned away to continue his surveillance of a line of distant granite teeth poking through the ice. “Ask that of Hunnar or Ta-hoding or any of the other noble Tran and you’ll have the chance to study how tight a U-turn this ship can execute.”

  “Surely it would not destroy their scheduling for us to stop occasionally to gather specimens.”

  “You’re the ones who wanted speed, remember? The Tran agreed to take you to the southern continent as fast as possible. That’s what they’re doing. You don’t alter plans in midjourney. It’s not their way. These people have put off seeing their friends and loved ones for another few months to help you out. Be satisfied that you’re on this ship at all. Don’t push your luck with the Tran. They have short tempers and long memories. Irritate them now and you’ll have the devil’s own time getting them to help you in the future.”

  Moware mulled over September’s advice. “If you say so—but I’m not happy about this.”

  “Nobody said you had to be happy.”

  The xenologist bridled slightly but his position was weak and September knew it. His colleagues might sympathize but they wouldn’t risk the good will of the Tran to advance his argument. The meteorologists needed to get to the southern continent, and the geo people like Jacalan and Blanchard had nothing at all to study out on the ice. They weren’t about to insist on detours and unscheduled field trips.

  The next day they entered the first extensive pika-pina field and no more was heard from Moware as he embarked on a detailed study of the vast reservoir of flora. He was too busy recording the new wonder to argue about stopping. All he had to do to collect a week’s worth of specimens was drag a collecting net alongside the speeding icerigger for ten minutes.

  Ta-hoding guided the ship through the endless field of greenery, avoiding the larger, thicker stands of pika-pedan. The icerigger’s metal skates sliced cleanly through the water-filled greenery, leaving pulp, other organic detritus, and new shoots already climbing in its wake.

  “Noticed something different here lately, young feller-me-lad?” September joined Ethan in staring over the bow sprit.

  “That’s an open question.” Ethan idly checked the thermometer built into the wrist of his survival suit. It was a brisk ten below that morning. Not bad considering that just before sunrise the reading had fallen to minus sixty.

  “It’s our good friend Williams.”

  “What about him?” Ethan stared up at September curiously from behind his survival suit’s visor.

  The giant nodded toward the four scientists clustered together amidships. Ethan recognized Williams immediately by the teacher’s battered survival suit, so different in appearance from the shiny unmarred attire of his companions.

  “That’s our friend Hwang he’s hanging around with.”

  “So? They’re observing together. I’m not surprised. After over a year of having to try to make conversation with a couple of simpletons like you and me, I’d expect him to spend as much time as possible with people of a similar mental bent.”

  “Been doing nothing but observing together. Ever since we left Arsudun.”

  “You wouldn’t be insinuating that there might be something more than a professional relationship developing between them, now would you?”

  “Oh, no, not me, not me, lad.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Ethan watched as Williams put his faceplate close to Hwang’s. Natural enough, given the limited range of the suits’ speaking membranes. “I’m not sure our friend Hwang is capable of anything more than that.”

  “Don’t let her attitude fool you, feller-me-lad. Even steel can smolder, given the right conditions.”

  “Sorry. I just can’t think of our Milliken as a right condition.”

  “Can’t you now? Adjust your perspective, feller-me-lad. Among that lot Milliken’s stature is considerable, and I ain’t referring to his size. He’s seen stuff these stay-at-homes can only dream about—and lives to tell about it. And he’s a bona fide hero to the Tran. Don’t think our calculating friends miss things like that. Someone like himself comes marching into Brass Monkey on a ship of his own design, crewed by Tran he’s helped to make allies of, and the status of a fancy degree goes right down the chute. Can’t you see how someone like Hwang could be taken with a figure like that?” There was definite merriment in September’s voice.

  “Maybe so, but all that time we spent out on the ice, I kind of got the feeling that maybe Milliken was … you know.”

  “I thought similarly, feller-me-lad, which makes recent developments all the more intriguing. You think about it, though, and everything matches up pretty well. Our friend Cheela’s a bit on the domineering side, for all that she’s a petite little package, and …”

  “Don’t you have something of more consequence to speculate on?” Ethan said disgustedly.

  “I sure don’t,” September replied cheerfully. He waved at the ice sheet speeding past, the broad monotonous plain of pika-pina. “Not out here I don’t. I was just wondering what the Tran would make of such goings-on. Species or no, this is a bunch of sailors we’re keeping company with. Sailors are sailors no matter what shape their pupils or feet.”

  “Just keep it to
yourself, Skua. What you find amusing they might consider blasphemous or bad luck or something. We don’t know their attitude toward shipboard romances.”

  “Tran wouldn’t be like that, but you’re right about one thing, young feller-me-lad. I should keep my big mouth shut.” He nodded toward the quartet of scholars. “It ain’t going to be easy to keep it a secret the way those two are carrying on. Why, do you realize that yesterday they…?”

  The wind roared over the bow, drowning out the rest of his words as he strolled away.

  Now that the idea had been planted Ethan found his gaze drawn back to Williams and Hwang like filings to a magnet. Damn September anyway for distracting him with inconsequentials. It was none of his business or anyone else’s what the two were about. If it were true, though, he was happy for Milliken.

  He discovered he was grinning to himself.

  The following afternoon they encountered not a herd of the achivar but a veritable spiny army, sweeping toward them from the south. Brown and blue spines stretched from horizon to horizon. Females and offspring swerved neatly around the Slanderscree’s skates while an occasional larger male would try to jab the metal supports with his forespines. The icerigger sailed on through an ocean of flag-waving spikes.

  “Must be a hundred thousand of them!” yelled the ecstatic Moware as he tried helplessly to decide which way to aim his recorder.

  Hunnar and Ethan watched the astonishing spectacle side by side. “Never have I seen or heard of a migration so large. It is not the proper time of year.”

  “Maybe their habits are different in this part of the world,” Ethan suggested.

  Hunnar executed a gesture of concession. “Perhaps. You would think they would stop in such a rich region to graze, yet they push steadily northward. One would almost think they were running away from something.”