Before & Beyond

by Patrick Welch

  There were apparently no women on this detail because the young fool had difficulty looking her in the eye. "Randall, Lieutenant Randall," he stammered as he shoved his hand forward.

  "Lieutenant Randall," she said with a smile, taking his hand with both of hers and pressing it against her bared bosom.

  "You had invited us to dinner, I believe." I tried not to chuckle as I interrupted his fantasy.

  He withdrew his hand reluctantly. "Yes, of course." He bowed awkwardly. "Please, this way." I ignored his small talk as he led us to his quarters. Thank the gods I had brought a bottle of sundew to temper the awaiting tedium.

  The meal was all I had expected, which was nothing. Now we were enjoying my gift of sundew and engaged in the smallest talk possible. The lieutenant had surprised me in one fashion, he did have a copy of my Incomplete Works and I had dutifully signed it for him. Despite his overtures, however, I refused to ask if he tried to write himself. Instead I forced the conversation to more practical concerns. "How soon can you take us to the planet?"

  "To Paglinowski? Why would you want to go there. Don't you know ..."

  "...Paglinowski has a circumference of 8,493 kilometers. The day is 36 standard hours long. Temperature remains at freezing or below year-round except at the equator. The atmosphere is breathable if an oxygen-booster is used. It is virtually uninhabited and uninhabitable. It is a very boring place to visit. I wouldn't want to live here. What interesting data can you add to my computer files?"

  "It's just that..." He stopped, afraid to challenge me. "We will accommodate your wishes in any way we can," he offered finally.

  "Excellent." I downed the last of my sundew. "If you will excuse me, I am tired. Grenya?"

  She smiled. "I would prefer to talk with Lieutenant Randall about Paglinowski a little longer, my darling. Perhaps he will give me that one bit of information I need to create my masterpiece!"

  I bid my leave and hastened to my ship and the more relaxing companionship of my liquor supply. Grenya's planned indiscretion bothered me not in the least; the knowledge might provide useful leverage later. Besides, she was always more enthusiastic after she had bedded another man. I was whistling as I opened another decanter of sundew.

  "I can't talk you out of this?" the lieutenant whined like the guilty dog he clearly was.

  "Grenya has a will like a mountain. Once set, only the strongest forces of nature can move it." I made no effort to hide the impatience in my voice, his fawning having long ceased to amuse.

  The man grimaced, then acquiesced. "Just be careful of Hancock. He has worked alone on Paglinowski for the past dozen years. Hasn't left the planet once. Only contacts us when ice is ready or he's low on supplies."

  "He sounds like a veritable social butterfly. You contacted him of course."

  "Yes, of course." He attempted a smile. "He was not pleased but after some negotiations he agreed to meet you. I don't know what else to tell you. I don't believe he'll harm you."

  "I believe he sounds fascinating," Grenya said as she struggled into her form-fitting heat suit. We were forced to borrow two from the station, and they were not designed to accommodate breasts. I decided she had earned her discomfort.

  "I am sure if we face any difficulties your cavalry will arrive in the proverbial nick of time."

  "My what?" he asked but I refused to educate him. So he turned his attention to my paramour. "Be very careful. Paglinowski can be dangerous. I wouldn't trust Hancock otherwise, but if you are out there with him, do what he says. No one knows more about Paglinowski than him."

  "Than he. Yes, of course. Come, my dear." I brushed past the chastened soldier and pulled us into the shuttle. I could tolerate the lieutenant no longer; even the creature awaiting us should prove better company.

  Our shuttle was not built for comfort. Three seats, a computer, an engine… fortunately, the ride would last only 45 minutes. There was not enough sundew in the universe to keep me sane otherwise. Grenya, of course, was excited by the novelty of it all. Of course she was also excited by the ghettos of Griswold, so there you are. "It takes your breath away," she said as she stared at the barren rock rushing toward us.

  "I do hope you recapture it. A shame to perish this close to paradise."

  She kissed me on the cheek. "You're always thinking about me; you are so sweet. Fear not for me, my love. Here the greatest ballet in the universe shall be created. I can feel my inspiration stirring already!"

  What I felt stirring was a knot in my stomach. I sat in one of the cramped console seats and made my mind blank, a talent honed after years on the banquet circuit. I lost all sense of time until a gentle bump and a scream of excitement warned me we had entered Eden. We unstrapped ourselves, rechecked our suits (imagine the humility of freezing to death because of a loose fastener) and opened the airlock.

  A lumbering figure in a dirty heat suit stumbled up to us. His long unkempt hair tangled in the breeze and he wore a beard if you can imagine. I cringed involuntarily at the sight of him. Grenya was enthralled.

  "What do you want? Why are you here?" he demanded in a rusty voice.

  "The pleasure of your company, of course." I forced a smile to cover his poor manners. "I am Dannel Habersham. This is my compatriot Grenya. We have heard so much about your beautiful world we thought we would drop by for a visit."

  He studied us with a long insulting silence. "The Space Corps said I have no choice."

  "An accurate assessment of the situation."

  "You will not like it here," he promised and started to walk away.

  That is an accurate assessment also, I thought as we hurried after him.

  "What do you want?" he repeated himself after we had made ourselves reasonably comfortable in his quarters. Outside his heat suit he wasn't nearly as formidable. Just over two meters tall, dressed in denim and flannel, fabrics long out of fashion in the civilized worlds. Rugged features well-hidden by his full, unsightly beard. An asteroid miner or freighter rat, long ago perhaps a lumberjack. An anachronism to be sure. The lieutenant was correct, the man had to be mad.

  "My daughter has always been fascinated by ice sculptures. She wanted to visit the world that has contributed so much to such a fascinating art form," I lied smoothly.

  "Your daughter?" He turned his icy gaze on Grenya. She looked much more attractive out of her heat suit. She favored him with a smile that should thaw the coldest heart. It had no impact on him. "You will not find me a good host," he turned back to me. "I am a very busy man. My employers impose a demanding production schedule. Now what do you want?"

  Grenya spoke for the first time. Until now she had been sizing up our surroundings and Hancock like a thief. Which, in a sense, she was. "My father may have misled you. I am an artist, Mr. Hancock, an artist following the ebbs and flows of my creative soul. They have told me to come here. To you and this world. I shall find the inspiration I seek upon this frozen soil. Here I shall create my ultimate masterpiece!"

  Hancock sipped his coffee and studied me. His thoughts were as obvious as his breath. "How long may I expect the pleasure of your company? Since I have no choice in the matter."

  "That is up to Grenya and her reluctant muse. I assure you we will stay no longer than necessary." Believe that.

  He gnawed on a hangnail, then came to some kind of decision. "I have work to do. If you will excuse me."

  "Oh, let us come with you," Grenya gushed like a love-struck geyser. "I must experience the wonders of Paglinowski's Planet!"

  "I have much work to do and no time for guided tours," the brute snapped. "It is not pleasant outside.”

  Nor in, I decided after a hasty survey of the shambles that were his living quarters. "Your company shall take the bite from the arctic air," I said, rising. "Coming, dear?"

  Our conveyance was an open-air mining tractor with caterpillar treads. We sat in front with Hancock, unfortunate but unavoidable since the four cargo pods behind us were not equipped with seats.

  Hancock proved as hos
pitable as the terrain. He said not a word as we passed mile after mile of rock and ice. Even Grenya, for all her charms, could not elicit a smile from her new Prince Charmless. I chuckled as she finally sat back in disgust, crossed her arms and sulked. Our adventure in this winter wonderland might prove short after all.

  I swear to this day that Hancock spent the next few hours driving in circles. The glacier he finally chose to mine looked no different than dozens we had passed previously. Not that we were uncomfortable, our heat suits performed excellently. But it was so boring. Still I was grateful to get out and stretch.

  Grenya, ever the curious child, shadowed Hancock while he readied his equipment. There wasn't much: several anti-grav plates, some rope, metal spikes, a hammer, and something that looked like a hand laser but wasn't. He ignored all her chattering. Instead he removed his helmet, set it carefully within the tractor, then walked toward the huge glacier before us. With nothing better to do, we followed.

  I will admit the glacier was impressive. It would have been more so if floating in an appropriately-sized goblet of sundew. "He's not going to climb that thing, I hope," I said to Grenya over the radio in our helmets. "We'll be here all day."

  He wasn't. Instead he stood on one of the anti-grav plates and let it lift him gracefully in the air. He hovered before the massive ice sheet, studying it. Then he withdrew his odd pistol, adjusted it, and pointed it at the glacier. I expected to see some kind of ray emerge. Instead I saw nothing except an occasional puff of snow erupt as he drew a giant square on the frozen surface. Next he attached a smaller anti-grav plate to the ice, then moved on to another section and repeated the process. And another, and another. Until four plates were stuck to the glacier.

  "Isn't this fascinating?" Grenya asked as we watched him float to the very top of the ice.

  "And me without my opera glasses." I've seen bowel movements that were more interesting.

  "You... sometimes!" She hit me on the arm in childlike exasperation and turned her gaze upwards.

  Hancock appeared to be pounding something into the ice, although from our vantage point it was hard to be sure. If there was anything nearby more entertaining I would have watched that, but, unfortunately there wasn't. So I was a reluctant audience as he floated back to the surface and strolled toward us, dragging the heavy rope. He didn't say anything as he passed, merely motioned us to follow as he made his way to the tractor. He tied the cord to the last car, then jumped into the driver's seat. Assuming we were to follow, we followed.

  He had put his helmet back on, and for the first time during our trip deigned to talk to us. "You might find this interesting," he said over the radio as he started the engine. "Watch the glacier."

  I looked back and noted that the cable stretched far and high onto the top of the glacier, where it split into four separate segments. Then, even through the insulation of my helmet, I heard a low, rumbling sound. And suddenly the side of the glacier was erupting and tumbling toward us.

  I heard someone (probably Grenya) gasp in fear and awe as part of the massive ice front fell. Now I understood the simplicity of ice mining; the cables, attached to spikes on the top of the glacier, were pulling the giant chunks of ice forward. The ice separated cleanly, as if carved on a lathe. As the great blocks tumbled, the anti-grav plates turned toward the ground. So rather than shattering on Paglinowski's rocky soil, the blocks now hovered silently and unharmed mere inches above the surface. Ready to be loaded into the cargo bins for destruction by some talentless artistes off-world.

  Satisfied, Hancock stopped the tractor and clambered outside. He herded the giant ice cubes into their respective trailers, no great task thanks to the anti-grav plates. Grenya, bless her, continued her mindless adorations throughout the mercifully short ordeal. I was more interested in his technique; now I understood why he was the only miner on the planet. In truth they needed no one else. The question was why he was content to be so.

  "Interesting," I offered over our evening meal. Some reconstructed mush or somesuch and I would not grace it with my precious supply of sundew. "That is no ordinary laser, I take it."

  "Not a laser at all," he muttered between mouthfuls of gruel. The sight did not encourage a vigorous appetite. "The flute works by ultrasonics. Once I tune it to the glaciers, I can cut as large or small a block as I want."

  Grenya's eyes brightened; from interest, surely not intelligence. "You tune the glaciers! Do you talk to the glaciers? Do you hear them sing?"

  He avoided her gaze. "I don't tune them and I wouldn't call it singing. Yet if you listen, you can hear them even in here. They are never silent, never still," he added unnecessarily.

  "I told you!" she exclaimed, turning her attention to me. "The song of the glaciers. That is the inspiration I have been seeking. They will create the rhythms for my grand ballet!"

  "The chorus of ice on rock, the melodious air of friction. Yes, I believe the galaxy at large will be in awe."

  "Actually the voices of the glaciers can be melodic, haunting even," the oaf chastised me with a raised eyebrow.

  I accepted the gauntlet. "Oh, really? And what do you know of music or art? Of the ultimate blending of intellect, emotion and craftsmanship that creates a work that speaks to one man and All Men? Exiled as you are in this," I gestured at the walls around us, "eclectic tundra."

  "Perhaps I am like your daughter. I found my muse here as well."

  "She is not my daughter!" The nerve of that simpleton! I set down my coffee before I hurled it at him. It was too valuable to waste on a fool.

  I could feel the barbarian studying me like one of his glaciers. I determined then and there I would stay no longer on Paglinowski's Planet. "You are renowned as an expert on art, Mr. Habersham," he muttered. "In my own way I am something of an artist myself. Would you honor me with your presence at my exhibition?"

  "Why, I would be delighted, Mr. Hancock. I am sure it will prove most enlightening." And amusing.

  "If you really want to hear the glaciers, you shouldn't wear the helmet," Hancock told Grenya as we entered our heat suits. Then he glanced at me. "Don't worry, we won't be going far."

  I've always believed that the ability to avoid all unnecessary physical discomfort was one of the boons of our advanced society. Grenya looked at me, the eager student awaiting teacher approval. I set my helmet down. "Of course. Let us not miss nature's lovely chorale."

  Grenya, the minx, clutched his arm. "I will feel much safer if I'm close to you," she breathed.

  Hancock looked my way with a raised eyebrow, but I ignored him. It would be amusing to watch her continue to ply her charms on this iceberg of a man.

  It was very cold outside. And, as Hancock had promised, very noisy as well. There was a constant low-pitched groan coming from the mountains and the glaciers beyond, as if some unseen giant were suffering intestinal distress. The lovebirds stopped, and Grenya began to sway awkwardly to some primordial rhythm. I had to smile despite the cold as Hancock tried to pull Grenya forward. The fool had yet to learn that one must tolerate her mulish whims.

  Besides, the cold soon discouraged her and we managed the short distance to Hancock's storage shed with little more than frosted earlobes. "You are an artist, I will be curious about your opinions," Hancock said as he fumbled with the lock. An unnecessary precaution, I thought, since he was normally alone. Then we were inside and he threw a switch. Light flooded the building. Grenya gasped and I finally knew how he had spent his wages.

  This storage shed was three times larger than his living area. Some of it held the tools of his trade, but the majority displayed his avocation--ice sculpture. There were perhaps fifteen frozen sculptures scattered around the room, each protected within its own stasis field. A stylized lion, rampant, rose above us. Two men engaged in an endless game of chess. A woman nursed her infant. Grenya paused longest before two embracing lovers. Her eyes were agleam when she finally spoke to Hancock. "You created these?"

  He shrugged, trying to hide his pleasure. "
I have lots of time."

  "But you should try to sell these! They are so beautiful. Don't you think so, my love?"

  "They appear competently done," I offered finally, not wanting to encourage him.

  "'Competently done,'" she said and snorted. "I think they're beautiful."

  Hancock surprised me. "I tend to agree with Habersham. If I were to pursue regular sculpture, I would prefer to work in stone. A single stasis field costs me three months wages."

  "Ask for a raise," I said.

  "But he could sell them," she insisted.

  Once again I felt it necessary to enlighten her. "Some artists pursue their muse for personal satisfaction only. Perhaps our host does not wish his art brought before public scrutiny. Some so-called artists should not." I approached a carving of a tree bending to the force of some unseen wind. Inspired by a holograph, obviously. "There is technique here, I agree. Competency. Still, technique does not make art. Technique does not make a statement. Technique is the key to the door that reveals the truth, the soul, within. What I see and feel below the surface is what I see on the surface. Craftsmanship, not inspiration."

  I expected Hancock to protest, but again he surprised me. "I have no more qualms about commercializing my art than you do, Habersham. In fact, if I am successful, I will create the most commercial work of art of all time."

  I had to accept his gauntlet. "Until patronage by government or the elite again becomes standard practice, then I see no reason why an artist should not be properly reimbursed for his talents. I hardly would call that 'commercializing my art.' If you have followed my career at all, then you know how often and eruditely I have spoken upon that subject. So pray tell me, what art work are you planning? Surely not these," I gestured to the cold whittlings around us.

  "In a fashion, but one that involves an entirely new technique. An entirely unique approach to ice sculpture. Come this way."

  We followed him to a darkened corner of the storage shed. He turned on a light and we found ourselves before another stasis field. This one, however, held a giant cube covered by a black tarp.