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

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Then this is settled,” said Hunnar firmly. “We will refuse his offer.”

  “But not right away,” Ethan cautioned him. “We have to make it look like you’re hesitating, have to buy some time until we can figure out a way to break out of here so we can warn the authorities. If this is such a benign enterprise whose primary beneficiaries are supposed to be the Tran, let’s let the Commonwealth Xenological Society debate its merits, not us.”

  “It does not matter.” Kilpit suddenly rose and headed for the door. “You have made your decision. We have made ours.”

  “We?” Hunnar’s fur bristled.

  Ta-hoding rose and his eyes narrowed. “Kilpit, you have been a good and faithful mate, but now you go too far. You forget yourself.”

  “On the contrary, Captain mine,” the third mate said with a hint of the old deference still detectable in his voice, “it is myself I must not forget.” Mousokka moved to join him in flanking the exit. “Myself, my relatives I have not seen in more than a year, and my friends.” His eyes darted around the room.

  “Listen to yourselves! You have been among skypeople so long that you have forgotten what it is to be Tran. I have not forgotten. It is about surviving the best one can. It is striving to obtain an advantage for yourself and your family.”

  “We had no argument with the concept of a greater union,” Mousokka said, “since within it, Sofold would always be first among equals. You are prepared to cast aside a still greater opportunity. We are not.” He opened the door.

  Armed sailors filed into the room. Though they held tightly to their weapons few of them could raise their eyes to meet Hunnar’s or Ta-hoding’s. That they were carrying arms at all was enough to explain what was going on, since Corfu’s troops had disarmed the crew earlier. Ethan strained to see past them, out into the hallway, trying to count the number of mutineers.

  “You have cast night soil on your heritage,” Hunnar said tightly. “You have foresworn your duty to city and Landgrave and have gone over to a foreign king.”

  “We have done no such thing,” said Mousokka uncomfortably. “It is you who have gone over. Over to these skypeople.” He jerked his head in Ethan’s direction.

  “And who have you gone over to,” Elfa asked contemptuously, “if not to skypeople?”

  “Massul is Tran. So is Corfu. The human thinks he uses them; they think they use him. It does not matter. These skypeople have light weapons and sky boats. They cannot be stopped. Martyrs are fools. I am not a martyr.”

  “They can be stopped,” Ethan told him, “once we break out of here and get back to Arsudun.”

  “You are not breaking out of anything.” Corfu shouldered his way into the room. “Thoughts of flight are futile. At least these right-thinking Tran”—and he indicated Mousokka and Kilpit—“have sensed which way the wind is blowing.”

  “The wind,” declared Ta-hoding with dignity, “blows always to the east.”

  “Not always.” Corfu grinned. “These skypeople have machines that can bend the very wind and sun to their needs. These things they can do on behalf of those willing to work with them.” He allowed himself a slight chuckle, which among the Tran consisted as much of whistling as anything else. “Did you truly believe we would let you hold council and make a decision which might not be in our interests without taking care to secure allies among your own people as rapidly as possible?” He looked past Ethan and September to Hunnar and the other Tran in the room.

  “Come, use your heads, my friends. Join us. Your city-state or union or whatever you want to call it can become first among all Tran-ky-ky. Do the sensible thing for your children and grandchildren if not for yourselves. For it is certain a new age is upon us.”

  “It became necessary to destroy the world in order to save it,” September murmured, but in Terranglo so only his fellow humans would understand him.

  Corfu glowered in his direction, executed an expressive gesture with the short sword he carried. “No talking in skypeople words. In my presence you will speak properly.” Ethan noticed that not all the armed Tran who had filed into the room were members of the Slanderscree’s crew. Corfu was making sure Hunnar’s eloquence could not sway the hesitant mutineers at the last minute. Not a good idea to change your mind with a beamer stuck in your back. The merchant’s people would not be affected by Hunnar’s outrage, Elfa’s contempt, or anything he or September could say.

  Ta-hoding was talking to the deck. “My fault. All my fault. A captain who cannot maintain the allegiance of his crew is not worthy of the title.”

  “Do not blame yourself,” said Kilpit compassionately. “This is nothing to do with you or your abilities, Ta-hoding. It is to do with what we think is best for ourselves and our future.”

  “We linger too long.” Mousokka stepped aside, gestured at the open door with his sword. “We have spent too much time already listening to the words of these skypeople and doing as they ask without question.”

  “Who do you think pulls this puppet’s strings?” Hunnar nodded toward Corfu.

  “No one pulls my strings but me!” The merchant waved his sword a centimeter from Hunnar’s muzzle.

  The knight replied with a thin smile. “Yes, it is evident what a brave warrior you are on your own.”

  The two glared at each other for a long moment. Ethan held his breath. Then Corfu took a deep breath and stepped back. “I am bound by agreement—agreement, you hear, not an order—not to harm any of you for now. I agree to this to please my friend, the skyperson Bamaputra.” He looked around the room.

  “Those who have joined with us will be watched, but eventually all will be given an important place in the new ruling caste: The rest of you will be given time to think and hopefully to learn whence your true destiny lies.” He gestured with his sword. “Come now.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Ethan. “I thought we were going to be allowed to stay on the Slanderscree.”

  “You were allowed to return to have your discussion in familiar surroundings. Nothing was said about letting you remain longer.” Corfu smiled wolfishly. “If you were to be allowed to remain here, you might waste your time on thoughts of escape instead of considering where your destiny lies. Thoughtful as he is, Bamaputra would spare you such wasteful distraction,

  “For myself, I do not think you could escape all the guards and slip away with this ship, but I have learned that skypeople do not like to take chances. You are to be returned to the skypeople’s house to meditate upon the error of your ways.”

  This was bad, Ethan knew. As long as they were on the ship there was always the chance of cutting the anchor cables, slipping their bonds, and overpowering or eluding Corfu’s minions. If they could maneuver the Slanderscree back out onto the open ice where the wind blew hard, they might even be able to outrun a skimmer.

  Within the installation their every breath was likely to be monitored by advanced surveillance devices. They wouldn’t be able to go to the bathroom undetected, much less break through a real door. Bamaputra wasn’t taking any chances.

  “What about our friends?” He indicated Elfa, Hunnar, and the others. “They can’t stand the heat inside the installation.”

  “Their health is not my concern,” said Corfu brusquely as they were herded out of the mess under the watchful eyes of beamer-wielding guards. Those members of the icerigger’s crew who’d gone over to the other side made way for the column. Some of them looked as though they might already be having second thoughts, but no one had the guts to express that kind of opinion in the presence of the handguns. Ethan thought most of them could be made to see the error of their ways, but doubted he or anyone else would be given the opportunity to win back their loyalty.

  “Understand,” Kilpit was saying earnestly as they were marched onto the deck, “we do this thing for our families and for the traditions you have forgotten. Wannome first, last, and always. So it has always been among the Tran of Sofold and so it will be again.”

  “It doesn’t have
to be,” Hunnar was muttering. “It doesn’t have to be. Sometimes times themselves must change.” No one paid any attention to him.

  Once more they found themselves forced to make the steep climb from Yingyapin to the underground installation. With night beginning to fall the humans were grateful to reach the Earth-normal temperatures inside the mountain.

  A quick head count revealed that less than half the icerigger’s crew had joined Bamaputra’s domesticated Tran (that was how Ethan had come to think of them). The mutineers did not join in the ascent but were left in possession of the ship.

  The sheer number of captives presented a problem. Despite their insistence that they be allowed to remain together, Tran and their human friends were separated. No doubt Bamaputra hoped to convince the reluctant to join him. Hunnar, Elfa, and the others were herded into a large, empty food storage room where the internal temperature could be kept at a level more to their liking.

  As the humans were thoroughly searched by Bamaputra’s security team, Ethan noticed that Skua was eyeing one of their captors with particular intensity. He remarked on it.

  “Funny, young feller-me-lad. Time passes in a twinkling but it’s hard to forget certain faces.”

  Ethan gaped at him, then at the big man who appeared to be in charge of security. “You know that one?”

  “That’s the Antal Bamaputra mentioned. Devin Antal. He and I were in a bit of a war together, on opposite sides. If he’s the same man he was, then he won’t make things easy on us. A real do-as-you’re-told type, but if push comes to crunch, the type who’ll make sure to look out for himself. There might be an opening there for us, if we pay attention.”

  Sure enough, the man Skua called Antal introduced himself as Bamaputra’s foreman. He showed them their new home, an unused workers’ dormitory that could be sealed from the outside. After a short speech warning them to stay put and not make trouble he departed for parts unknown.

  In a war together. On rare occasions September had alluded to a conflict in which he’d played some important role. That was hardly pertinent to their present predicament, Ethan mused dourly as he sat down on the flexibunk. It was more comfortable than any bed he’d slept in since leaving Brass Monkey, but he still didn’t think he was going to rest easy.

  “Our guests are situated.” Antal flopped down on a couch in Bamaputra’s above-ground observation room-cum-office. “Didn’t have any trouble with the people from the outpost. Their Tran were a little more rambunctious. Corfu’s boys had to crack a couple of skulls.”

  Bamaputra turned away from the window. “I don’t want anyone killed. Each of them is potentially useful to us.”

  “Hey!” Antal raised both hands. “I told Corfu I’d hold him personally responsible. He didn’t like it, but he got things quieted down. I should have taken some of our own people off the line instead of letting Massul’s stooges handle it. You know how these natives are.”

  Bamaputra pursed his lips. “Fractious. Undisciplined, combative, unable to live in peace among their own kind. At times they remind me of humanity prior to the Amalgamation. The Dark Ages.”

  Antal casually struck a narcostick alight. “What are you going to do with them?”

  The installation director frowned at the cloying smoke that filled the room, but he didn’t demand that his foreman extinguish it. The relationship between the two men was of almost equals, like a pair of boxers who never fought because they were ganging up on a third opponent but who fully expected to face each other in the ring one day.

  Not that they wouldn’t have enjoyed a good fight, though it wouldn’t have been much of a contest. Antal was a big, broad-shouldered individual in his late thirties, a menial laborer with a degree. He outweighed Bamaputra by forty kilos. But he didn’t think of taking a swing. They needed each other everyday. Antal ran the day-to-day operation of the complex installation that was gradually transforming Tran-ky-ky’s atmosphere and melting the ice sheet. If anything went wrong mechanically, he knew how to get it fixed. If anything else went wrong, well, that was Bamaputra’s business. He knew why things broke. He also saw to it that the credit kept flowing.

  It was an awkward relationship, but it worked. The installation had suffered a minimal number of breakdowns under their dual supervision. None of the clandestine shuttle drops had been detected by the government people at Brass Monkey. No reason why they should be: Tran-ky-ky was a big world, difficult to survey. Their supplies always arrived timed so they would not conflict with the arrival of the regular Commonwealth liners.

  So what was a Tran ice ship doing probing the continental shelf with a half dozen human scientists aboard?

  “I thought they’d get curious about the warming trend hereabouts, but I didn’t expect they’d be able to make an on-site inspection.”

  “It would not have been possible,” Bamaputra muttered, “without this extraordinary ice ship and the cooperation of its Tran crew. That, and the three men who have apparently lived for some time among them. A strange story, that. If not for their intervention, albeit involuntary, these Tran would still be huddled inside their own city-states doing traditional battle with their neighbors and the plundering nomadic hordes which migrate around the planet, not setting off on missions of unification which can only inconvenience us.”

  Antal puffed on his narcostick and relaxed. “Damned inconsiderate of ’em.”

  Bamaputra glanced sharply at his foreman. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Would I do that, Mister Bamaputra, sir?”

  The administrator let it pass. Now was not the time for him and his foreman to get into one of their little fights. “It’s fortunate we spotted them and were able to bring them in. If they’d been able to turn and run before the skimmer with the cannon had been able to arrive all might be lost.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t and we’ve got ’em.”

  “I’d hoped this was a problem we would not have to deal with until both you and I were dead of old age.”

  “Well, we’re not. What do you want me to do with them?”

  “The Tran we will sit on and try to bring over to our camp. As for these other meddlers, I would much prefer to dump them into a hole in the ice and then allow it to freeze over. While that is an appealing scenario, I fear it is impractical. If they do not return, they will be missed. Not that those bureaucrats at Brass Monkey can do anything without skimmers, but in the event of a mass disappearance they might be able to secure a waiver of regulations. That would mean more of the same types snooping around here. We can do without that kind of attention. Therefore we cannot kill them—yet. Nor can we let them leave.

  “Those Tran who remain obstinate can of course be disposed of.”

  “What about this trio of outsiders, this guy Fortune, the schoolteacher, and September, the big guy? I don’t imagine they’d be missed.”

  Bamaputra shook his head. “Killing them would only make the rest that much more obstinate.”

  “Are you thinking of persuading some of them to work for us?”

  “The thought had occurred to me. I don’t know any of them yet. Money is available for such purposes. That might swing one or two of them over to us, but not all, I’m afraid. I fear several are idealists.” He sniffed. “There is no place in science for idealism.”

  “What if we kept the women here as hostages?”

  “Too risky. It would only take one to give us away. The ones we allowed to return to the outpost might harbor hidden dislikes for those we held here. We absolutely cannot allow any of them out of the installation.”

  “So what do we do?” Antal put his feet up on the couch. Bamaputra eyed him distastefully, but said nothing.

  “If we cannot persuade them to join us and we cannot dispose of them, we will simply have to keep them alive and quiet. There is no hurry. They will not be expected to return for some while and so we will have time to think. In time we will come up with an appropriate solution. Or they may. For now let us do this: We can have them make a r
ecording. Let’s say our studious guests have encountered an unexpectedly advanced Tran community boasting a unique social order which they wish to study while they pursue their investigations of local meteorological anomalies. The Tran in question have agreed to put them up until they have completed their studies. All of this can be put on a recording chip and sent back with some of our own Tran in a small ice ship. These people did bring recording equipment with them, I trust?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been through all their stuff. Gauges and samplers and so forth. What you’d expect. No weapons.” He grinned. “Can’t break regulations, you know. They had a good field recorder.”

  Bamaputra nodded approvingly. “Everyone on the recording will be all smiles and contentment. Its arrival should allay any worries on the part of both the outpost scientific and government administration. And I understand the new Resident Commissioner has arrived. She will be too busy settling in to concern herself with a group of explorers who by their own admission are in no danger. What do you think? Will they cooperate and make the necessary recording?”

  “I don’t think there’ll be any problem with that. I’ll stick a beamer in somebody’s ear and threaten to pull the trigger. That ought to eliminate any hesitation. This doesn’t strike me as an unusually brave or foolhardy bunch.”

  “Fine. Meanwhile we will continue operations normally. When the next supply vessel arrives we will relay news of this awkward development back to headquarters. Let them chew on the problem and come up with a final determination. That way it will be out of our hands. I don’t want the responsibility. Our task is to see that our work here continues uninterrupted.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What kind of watch do you have on them?”