The Ice Fortress

by Hannah Ross

  Tahan nodded. “It’s in the blood, yes.”

  “Not just blood… every part of the body reflects this heritage. And if you and the Basque people have a common ancestor, it might be possible to show this by genetic testing.”

  Her face lit up with excitement. “I would so love to know – and I’m sure all of the Anai would, too! When do you think it will be possible, Scott?”

  “It will take some time. I will check all the materials I have available, make all the right comparisons so I’m sure I’m not just being carried away by fancy. Then I draft a proposal for the Antarctic Committee, and hope they are willing to back my research up… but first, I would have to go to McMurdo.

  “You could go back with Annette Geels, could you not? Where is she, anyway? Don’t tell me she is still in the cave with Ne Tarveg?”

  “Yes, why? Are you afraid Ne Tarveg might leave her there to vengeful Spirits and come back alone?”

  Tahan shook her head, unable to suppress a grin. “It’s just that… well, she doesn’t get along so well with Ne Tarveg.”

  “Who does? I have great respect for him, but he’s not a… not a type to please people,” Scott finished, softening the original expression he had meant to use.

  “He never was, that’s true. But he was not always so surly. When he was younger, he was just shy… a little gruff perhaps. I suppose, with the years…”

  “And with his disappointment,” Scott nodded significantly, “over you.”

  Tahan’s cheeks turned a slightly brighter shade of pink. “I am not to be blamed for his shortcomings.”

  “Certainly not. He is to blame for choosing to dwell on what he could not get. First it was you, now it is proper revenge for his father’s death. I sometimes think it would have been easier for Ne Tarveg if his father had been killed by some villain like Victor Nash, someone he could rightfully hate and pursue and kill. The way it is…”

  The conversation was cut short by Egan running in from outside and announcing, “they are back! Ne Tarveg and that woman in orange clothes!”

  Scott and Tahan fell silent at once, and Scott went to move the entrance flap aside like a gracious host. To his surprise, Ne Tarveg did not stride as fast or as purposefully as he did on his way to the cave. He appeared to be immersed in conversation with Annette, who seemed to be explaining something to him with lots of hand gestures. He shook his head, but not haughtily, and the expression of his face as he approached the house was good-natured enough – for Ne Tarveg, that is. He is not scowling, which means progress, Scott thought to himself.

  “All done, Annette?” he asked. “Why don’t you come inside and have something to eat and drink? You are welcome too, Ne Tarveg,” he added in Anai.

  “I thank you, but I was going to –“

  “Come inside, both of you,” Tahan called from the hearth. “Surely you can sit with us a little, Ne Tarveg.”

  Hesitantly, the big man ducked his head under the entrance frame and went inside after Annette.

  They sat around the warm hearth, Scott and Ne Tarveg directly on the woven grass rug, Annette on a sitting cushion. Tahan offered a cushion for Ne Tarveg as well, but he declined, and sat in a straight-backed, cross-legged position. With some awkwardness, he accepted the cup of grass brew Tahan offered him, and a bone skewer of roast penguin meat. Annette declined to accept anything but herb tea.

  Ne Tarveg took a measured sip, evidently ill at ease. Now that Scott thought about it, this was the first time Ne Riorag’s son crossed the threshold of their home. Not that he visits much with people anyway. Ne Tarveg looked around, and Scott, unable to help it, tried to read his face for clues of any remaining partiality to Tahan. Does he still pine for her? I wouldn’t blame him if he did. The thought made him uncomfortable, but he and Ne Tarveg had made their peace long ago, and he hoped the Anai warrior was no longer resentful.

  “This is a good house,” Ne Tarveg ventured to say, looking at the neatly stacked stone walls, the carved shelves with a multitude of utensils hanging from them, made of seal and whale ivory, the rich furs on the sleeping platform, the woven grass hangings and the many tall storage baskets. “Warm enough during the dark season too, right?”

  Tahan nodded. “Ki Daygan had worked on it diligently.” She threw a half-apologetic look at Scott, but he didn’t mind her talking of her late husband. He will always be a part of her. I wouldn’t want to change this, just as I would not erase the years I spent with Brianna.

  “You must be awfully clever, Scott, to have learned to speak this language,” Annette said, trying to discern a familiar word in the exchange of phrases. “It is unlike anything I have ever heard.”

  “It’s just the immersion. I live with the Anai… I am Anai now. And this is the only language in which I can speak to Egan, for now, anyway, though he is picking up English surprisingly fast. Trust me, I’m no prodigy.”

  “Will you be flying back to McMurdo with us? You really ought to see the eggs again. And images of the embryo scans. It is amazing – truly amazing.”

  Scott frowned, thinking about it. Tahan laid a hand on his arm. “You should go,” she told him quietly in Anai. “If for no other reason, to read what you need about the… the tongue of those distant people, and how it might be like ours. It would be comforting to know that, somewhere in the world, there are people related to us, however distantly.”

  ~~~

  The incubator was an impressive contraption. Enormous and well isolated, it had no less than five monitor displays attached to the side of its transparent tank. And there, on a great steel rack, evenly spaced, the ten giant eggs lay in two neat rows. The eggs were about as large as an emu’s, but more elongated, and each one had a slightly different hue. Scott could not deny that they were beautiful, and despite everything, the scientist in him thrilled at the thought of an introduction to the creatures within.

  “When do you expect them to hatch?” he asked Adam, who stood next to him, taking notes of the temperature and humidity. The young man shrugged.

  “Might be next week. Might be another month, or more. We’re ready in any case. Annette, Chris and I turn them ourselves three times a day – too important to trust any kind of machine to do that. And we’ve set up a nice warm terrarium for the young ones.” His face shone with enthusiasm. “I expected that my time here would be fascinating, but I never dreamed I’d be able to take part in something like this!”

  After visiting the incubator, Scott would have been happy to go straight to the library and start working on his theory regarding the Iberian origin, but Anders Lindholm caught up with him. “Very glad to see you here, Buck,” he said. “It’s fortunate, actually. I had half a mind to go to the Anai Valley to consult with you.”

  “You should come. Tahan and the others will be happy to see you. But what did you want me for?”

  “To ask for your input regarding your… Russian pals.”

  Scott frowned. “Have there been any problems?”

  Anders shrugged. “You could say that. I think Ray would want to speak to you about this too, however.”

  Scott groaned. “Anders, do me a favor. I don’t have time to see Douglas right now. What can he have to say to me? Does it have to do with the Anai?”

  “No… at least, not directly. But… well, you had better hear this.”

  Resigned, Scott followed Lindholm all the way across the station and to the overseer’s office. Ray Douglas sat hunched close to the screen of his laptop, typing frantically, and though he muttered “come in”, he did not raise his head until Anders Lindholm cleared his throat.

  “Ah, Scott, you are here too. This is a pleasant surprise. Although pleasant might not be quite the… hmm… word.”

  “What is this about, Ray?”

  “Have you seen or heard from Sergey Pechersky lately?”

  “Pechersky?” Scott was taken aback. “No, why?”

  “Because the man is turning out to be a pain in the rear.”

  “I’m afraid I don
’t…”

  “You haven’t been outside Antarctica since before the War, have you, Scott? The world is in disarray. Whole countries have disappeared from the map, societies disintegrated, capitals lie in ruins… but the worst of all, I’d say, is the scarcity of land. We didn’t have nearly enough before the War, and now…”

  “At least now the world has less people,” Lindholm quipped.

  Ray looked shocked. “This isn’t funny, Anders. The pollution has turned whole countries into uninhabitable areas, which has led to a severe crisis…”

  “Cut it, Ray. Scott hasn’t been living under a rock. He knows what’s happening in the world.”

  “Right. The southern hemisphere is relatively better off, compared to Europe and North America, but we have suffered severe consequences as well. Hence Wellington’s project to turn some of McMurdo’s adjacent areas into permanent residence for civilians. You know, a regular village with family apartments, schools, all necessary facilities, and so on…”

  “I have heard of the project, but I’m not convinced it would be cost effective. The isolation, the logistic difficulties of raising a family in such a climate… and what about the Antarctic Treaty?”

  “The Antarctic Committee is sympathetic to the worldwide plight. Everybody is well aware of the shortages of land and clean air and water. As important as it is to leave Antarctica intact, a pristine wilderness in a world that has suffered severe damage due to expansion of mankind, people do need to live somewhere. If a very minor, very closely monitored introduction of civil population to Antarctica can help alleviate the living conditions of some… no, the Committee will not stand in our way. We have already drafted the proposal of setting up a residential area between McMurdo and Scott Base.”

  “So what does this have to do with Pechersky?”

  “Well, he has the audacity to claim the entire area for the use of his fellow-countrymen.”

  “I don’t understand. On the basis of what? Russia has no authority here. Even that station, Siyanie, seems controversial to me. Of course…” Scott was about to go on, but bit his tongue. He had promised Sergey Pechersky he would keep his secret.

  “You are quite right, of course. But Pechersky claims, essentially, that the whole land division of Antarctica was obliterated following the War, and just as McMurdo had entered into New Zealand jurisdiction, so other areas can be claimed by Russia. Still, he expects us to set up the residential area,” Douglas shook his head. “Can you imagine anything more deluded?”

  “It sure sounds… preposterous,” Scott said.

  “You don’t sound shocked, though,” observed Lindholm. “Neither am I, to be honest. The Russian land policy has always bordered on… piracy.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to call Pechersky a pirate,” Scott said, though a little, brutally honest voice in his head suggested that this isn’t so far from the truth. “I would like to speak to him. Is he here at McMurdo?”

  “No, he had gone to the Russian station. He wants to be at leisure to harass the Committee, I presume.”

  “I must say, this Pechersky behaves in a very odd way,” Lindholm noted, closely observing Scott. “Why this fixation on a tiny strip of land in Antarctica that would perhaps be habitable? Russia has plenty of land. Much of it a frozen wasteland in Siberia, granted, but it’s still easier to settle than whatever can be set up here.”

  Lindholm was still staring at Scott with his penetrating blue eyes surrounded by many furrows and crinkles. “You’ve visited the Russian station, haven’t you, Scott? Tell me, what is Pechersky really about?”

  “He is not…” Scott struggled with how much he should say. “He doesn’t mean to cause trouble, I believe. He has his own… motives, but I’m not sure how trustworthy he is.”

  “Not at all, I’d say,” Douglas put in.

  “I’d like to talk to him. If there’s satellite coverage, I’ll try to contact Siyanie.”

  “Hmm.” Lindholm pursed his lips. “Try to make him see sense, Scott. We don’t want to wake up one morning and see a Russian flag waving just outside the borders of McMurdo. It could cause tremendous diplomatic confusion. You put Pechersky in his place, or things might get ugly soon.”

  The signal was patchy, but eventually Scott was able to get through to Sergey Pechersky via video chat.

  “Ah, hello, friend,” Pechersky’s voice sounded gritty, and his face was all in a blur on the screen. “I have wanted to talk to you. What a disappointment, yes? No place for us beyond the valley of the Anai. Now there is new project near McMurdo, but I doubt that will…”

  “Listen, Sergey, you can’t just go ahead and try to take over territories,” Scott said. “I understand your despair, but as the Russian representative…”

  “I don’t want to represent Russia. I represent my people. So few of us left, and we need a safe place to live…”

  “Why not move out of Russia, to a neutral country? There are many countries that wouldn’t permit any sort of racial discrimination, especially in an, er, unusual case such as yours.”

  “Immigration laws are stricter than ever after the War. Could it be that you don’t know?”

  Scott thought about this for a moment. “Then do what I told you before. Come out with the truth before the United Nations, and ask for international recognition as a minority, and for protection. Once you have that kind of support, your government can no longer discriminate against you.”

  Pechersky gave a short, bark-like laugh. “You can’t wrap your head around this, as Americans like to say, can you? The Russian government will continue doing what it always did, that is, whatever it wants. I need to protect my people. They are counting on me.” He paused. “The world is big. There must be a place for us somewhere.”

  “Yes, there must. But somehow, I get the feeling that you’re looking in the wrong place, Sergey.”

  Chapter 12

  Though engrossed by the Russians’ plight, and fascinated by the still-dubious story of their origins, Scott was determined to start working on his theory regarding the Anai. He headed straight for the library and spent several hours there, paging through files and digging deep into the special access inner net. He sat for a long time before a list of so-called core words, the basic words most likely to be similar between two languages with the same source, comparing Basque and Anai. At times he was almost certain of his theory, at others it seemed far-fetched and impossible. He was no linguist, however. He needed real experts to help him with this research, and before he retired for the darkless night, he sent an email to the University of Wellington, addressed to the department of linguistics, and another to the department of genetic research. After a brief hesitation, he forwarded the email to the University of Basque Country in Bilbao, northern Spain, which was one of the few remaining intact large cities in Europe.

  He stretched and yawned, rolling his head from side to side to dispel an annoying crick in his neck. He knew he needed rest, but there were still some things to be done, and snowmobiling alone to AN-85 was out of the question with winds picking up and the threat of a blizzard. He therefore went to his quarters, which felt unhomelike and desolate compared to the cozy stone house in the Anai valley, with the hopes of getting his head down for a bit.

  Unbidden, images of Wisconsin crept into his head – the neat, respectably busy streets of Madison, the calm surface of the lakes with the wind creating a gentle ripple over the water, the fiery autumn leaves falling down upon the crystal clear surface every fall… if there is one thing I miss here in Antarctica, it’s trees, real trees, large trees. The Anai valley was warm enough to sustain lush vegetation during the light season, but as it was completely dark half of the year, only a very few types of perennial plants were adapted to survive these conditions. The short, shrub-like trees of the valley were nothing like the tall oaks and elms he had known back home. He had shown pictures to Tahan, who opened her eyes in wonder.

  Scott got up and pulled the dark curtains more closely over the wind
ow, blocking the sunlight. He stretched out on the narrow bunk bed, yearning for the first time for the old home that was no longer there. It is no good. Wisconsin is gone forever, with Mom and Dad… and Brianna, too. I have a new home here, one that I love. Sleep was tardy in coming, but he ended up sinking into a fitful slumber.

  He didn’t quite remember, at first, where he was when he woke at the sound of someone tapping briskly and impatiently at the door. Still groggy with sleep, Scott raised his head from the pillow and rubbed his eyes. “Who is it?” he called, trying to sound civil.

  “Scott, it’s me,” he heard Adam’s voice, which was shaking with barely suppressed excitement. Scott thrust his feet into a pair of rubber slippers and walked over to the door, trying to smooth down his hair.

  “What’s up, Adam?” he asked, suppressing another yawn.

  “It’s happening, Scott! They’re hatching!”

  All sleepiness gone at once, Scott made a half-jump as if jolted by an electric current. “The eggs? They are hatching? Why didn’t you give me a ring?”

  “Annette tried, but you didn’t answer… we figured you must be asleep. The process is really under way now. It was Annette’s watch, and she woke me and Chris. Come on, Scott, before we miss it!”

  Scott didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly laced his work boots and put on his orange parka, and followed Adam out of the warm building and into the ice-blasted grounds of the station. They crossed to the hangar, where they were met by Annette, who was quivering with excitement.

  “You’re here, good. I thought you’re going to want to see this, Scott.”

  “I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world. Thanks for letting me know, Annette.”

  The four of them sat in front of the incubator’s glass wall and watched. It didn’t seem like a very productive pastime at first – two of the eggs were intact, two others had intricate spider-like cracks running down their length, and after watching for some time, Scott felt his eyes glaze over. “How long do you reckon it’s going to take?”