Shivering World

by Kathy Tyers

  “Nothing.” Kevan’s voice sounded triumphant. “Absolutely nothing. It can be blowing a gale up top, and down here it will be warm enough to thaw meat—slowly. Cave temp is a constant three above. I’ve done wind measurements of the part of the cavern I’ve explored so far. Unless I slipped a decimal, given current atmospheric pressure, this is a half-­million-­cubic-­meter cavern.”

  Trev blinked. “That’s a lot of calcite.”

  “Not enough to sell offworld.”

  So why was the young prospector so excited about this place?

  Half an hour’s scramble from that spot took them to a wall so flat it looked unnatural. “This is a fault line.” Kevan slapped it. “End of the limestone, end of the passageway, so far as I can tell. Faults are prime mining sites.”

  Oh. “Fault lines? With all these quakes and volcanoes going off, aren’t you afraid the thing will slip?”

  “It’s possible. But this one looks like it’s been inactive since Goddard lost its first water.”

  Only slightly mollified, Trev peered closer. “What’s all over the floor?”

  “More calcite. I knocked it off the fault wall.”

  It seemed a shame to destroy such jaw-­dropping beauty, but Trev understood the prospectors’ urge to hurry Buyout. It would make the colony free—and maybe make them rich.

  “We’re exploring along this wall,” Kevan went on. “There are several narrows close by where we’ve blasted but haven’t gotten through. Maybe you could.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Trev frowned. So what if he wasn’t as big as the Lwuite prospector. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll try.”

  The first passage back toward the fault defeated Trev’s efforts at wriggling in, despite Kevan’s instructions to rotate, twist, and turn. A scab on his forehead scraped loose, and a fresh warm trickle of blood started down beside his nose.

  Deep down the second side passage, Trev found the fault again, a solid straight wall at the end of the line. “It goes to the fault,” he shouted back at Kevan, “but there isn’t much surface showing.”

  “I’ll check it out later.” Kevan brushed him off once he reached the main passage again. “Think your old man might be interested in our chances?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Probably.” Trev wiped his forehead and hoped it was true. “He goes for the exotic. This qualifies.”

  When they reached the dugout, Yukio’s condition hadn’t changed, though Kevan’s sheets needed to be washed. “Saved them for you,” Nick said. “I tried calling both Axis and Center. Still too much storm interference.”

  “Thanks.” Trev ran a hand across his forehead and cheek. His palm came away marked with a red smear. “Can I have some salve?” he asked.

  After gooping his scrapes, he ran Kevan’s sheets through a small sanitizing unit. He felt thoroughly wretched about their predicament. Yukio had crashed the plane on his own, but it was Trev’s idea to disconnect communications. Otherwise, they might have had warning of the storm.

  After sharing a pot of plain noodles, first Nick and then Kevan stretched out and fell asleep, side by side on Nick’s narrow bed. Trev could no more sleep beside Yukio than stand on his head. From the rock-­slab shelf where Kevan hung his tools, he pulled one of the lamp helmets and a rock hammer, then eased down through Kevan’s access hole at one end of the dugout, back into the cavern.

  The endless crystals reminded him of one of his father’s costumes. Blase might be interested in the claim—might be intrigued. But how to get him out here before he took his revenge on Axis?

  Dazzled, Trev followed Kevan’s well-­scuffed path to the fault line. Backtracking along piles of blast rubble, he found another crevice too narrow for Kevan to have entered.

  The silence was eerie. He almost felt as if ghosts were watching over his shoulder, yet this world was too new to have ghosts.

  Except Jon Mahera’s, he decided. And please, not Yukio’s.

  That passage ended within a few meters, and he tried another one. Fired by the drive to go where no human had ever entered—Blase might relate to that!—he twisted sideways and edged in, first one arm and then his shoulder. His head wouldn’t go. He turned it back into the passage as far as his neck would stretch, then tried worming up and down on his toes. It hurt, but he kept pushing—was through!

  Kneeling, he tapped crystals from a boulder and piled them beside the crack where he’d entered the new passage. That way, he might find his way back.

  Cautiously, he went on. His head lamp threw short eerie shadows that kept startling him as they moved close by.

  For a few meters, he could walk upright. Then the ceiling dropped again, but he could crawl. At every junction point, he stopped to pile crystals. Stone everywhere, above and below him, hung like oppression visualized. The main passage seemed obvious, a rounded floor that looked as if water flowed through it for centuries. Before long, he could walk upright again. Not far beyond, the ceiling leaped out of lamp range.

  This passage, this room—this view—was all his own. An exclusive. Of course the whole claim belonged to Nick and Kevan, but they had never seen this. The ceiling here was even higher than that of the first room Kevan had showed him. One flat wall was obviously the fault. With his borrowed hammer, he slammed hard at the crystal face. Hundreds of tiny jewels sheared off and fell to the floor. He was picking up a handful when he realized that the rock wall was a different color here—black, like glittering jet.

  Impressed, he hammered off a chunk of the new stone and stuffed it into a pocket. Then he sat down with his back to the faulted wall and stared up at a crystal-­coated ceiling.

  The sense of oppression melted away. If a person really wanted to hide, this was the place. This was exactly the place.

  He followed his trail of crystal piles back to the main path, struggled through his narrows, then retraced Kevan’s path to the dugout. Yukio lay still, so Trev tried firing up Kevan’s audi rig.

  There was still no signal.

  When he showed Nick and Kevan the black rock the next morning, Nick took it casually. “We’ll know in a minute. Where was it?” He lifted a piece of electronic gear lashed to a pack frame from one shelf along the wall.

  “On your fault line. What’s that?”

  “X-­ray crystallography. It’s for”—Nick touched something, and as the unit started to hum, he scratched his cheek, parting his thick auburn beard—“atomic identification.” He touched something else and then reached for a rock hammer. With practiced ease, he flaked one crystal along an axis. “In you go.” He dropped the flake into a chamber, then leaned close to a binocular eyepiece.

  “All right,” Nick announced, pressing his forehead to the instrument, “we have carbon . . . no surprise . . . traces of calcite . . . dust, probably . . . and bor—” His narrative ended mid-­word. “How much of this was there?”

  “I only knocked crystals off one section of the big flat wall. I don’t know how much more there might be.”

  “Kevan, get a look at this.” Nick backed away and let his taller partner lean over the eyepiece.

  Kevan bent down, gazed briefly into the eyepiece, then straightened up, staring at Nick. Nick raised an eyebrow. Kevan barely shrugged.

  “What is it?” Trev doubted that instrument would tell him anything, but he did know one thing. Boron was something people wanted. It had something to do with stabilizing cross-­space drives—and not the little ones that drove ExPress shuttles. They kept habs stabilized, too.

  “It’s a boron compound,” Kevan confirmed. “One I never saw before.”

  “LZalle,” Nick added, “this could be a high-­temp rock vein. There’s so little boron in the free state you can’t even mine it on asteroids.”

  “Hey, I know that.” Trev tossed his head. They didn’t need to talk down to him.

  “It’s . . . where?” Kevan asked.

  “Show us,” Nick demanded, thrusting one arm through a pack strap.

  “You big guys will have to blast a wider way in.” T
rev glanced at the bed. “And who’s going to stay with Yukio? I need to show you how to get there.”

  Kevan made a strangled noise. “I will,” he said, “but get back quick.”

  ―――

  Two hours later, they sat at the table again, drinking coffee Kevan had stirred together. To the top as far as Nick’s hammer would throw, and clear to the bottom, and to both sides of the wall, the black vein went on. “Gaea would get 30 percent—that’s the contract, no matter what we find.” Kevan’s wide eyes and little-­boy face made him look ten years old.

  Nick nodded.

  “Of the rest,” Kevan explained, “40 percent goes to the colonial treasury, the rest to the claimant.”

  “So you get 60 of 70,” Trev murmured. “Too bad it isn’t more.”

  “It’s fair,” Kevan continued, “because the colony pays for developing. Depending on how deep that vein goes, we might not be worrying about the price of shoes for a good half century.”

  Trev glanced down at Yukio. “All I want is enough to buy Blase LZalle off my back. After that, it’s all yours, for all I care.”

  “Freedom. Yeah. Small enough item.” Kevan picked dust from under his thumbnail. “Yeah. Really, forty of the seventy, after Gaea takes its cut, could be enough—if the vein goes—to put a substantial payment against the colonial loan’s principal.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because.” Nick rolled his eyes as if he were addressing a small and stupid child. “After Buyout, the next strike is almost all ours.”

  Kevan eyed Nick, pointedly excluding Trev. “You know who really wants freedom?” Kevan asked. “My brother. And the rest of them, back there in the crater bottom.”

  Nick nodded somberly.

  Trev decided he might as well play along. “They’ll put up statues of you, maybe.”

  “If it weren’t the law,” Nick said, “we’d love to keep it all for ourselves.”

  “Rocks won’t do any good in our pockets.” Kevan reached deep into his coveralls and pulled out the frayed inner pouch of a hip pocket. “We haven’t got the connections, or the technology, to independently transfer this stuff offplanet to industrial markets. And I don’t guess even your father could manage that.”

  “Don’t bet against my father’s pile.” Trev rested one elbow on the tabletop. Could this be happening? Could he actually be glad to be related to Blase LZalle?

  “Nick, where’s your pocket memo?” Kevan asked.

  Holding the memo on Record, Kevan roughed out an agreement between himself, his partner, and the LZalles. Trev would be loaned two thousand maxims as soon as extraction began. After that, 2 percent of all profits went to Blase if he helped market the colonists’ share offworld. “If there are any profits,” Kevan added.

  Snorting, Trev agreed. He typed in his USSC identity number, then his name. Nick did the same, then Kevan. To Trev’s shock, the big man’s surname was DalLierx.

  “Your brother.” He gaped.

  “Yeah,” Kevan said, “you probably know my brother. You’re not the first one who wanted to leave home.”

  ―――

  Lindon fidgeted with the handle of his coffee mug. Sarai’s face seemed to hover in the air in front of him, frightened eyes accentuating her thinness. He saw her everywhere he looked.

  Taidje FreeLand sat in the CA office’s extra chair. His white hair, freshly cut, lay almost invisibly on his head. “Chenny HoNin’s office assures us Hannes is doing all it can.” He turned toward Lindon, who saw compassion in the sad set of his gray eyes. “I’m sorry,” he added softly, “but I have to agree with Coordinator MaiJidda that we should not involve the D-­group.”

  Lindon nodded. “I understand.” He’d called another emergency meeting of First Circle members. “Kenn?”

  Kenn VandenNeill stood near the door, tapping his square chin with his pocket memo. “As much as I’d like to see the girls rescued immediately, I agree. It’s a police matter, not a D-­group issue. Hannes has its own police.”

  Lindon thumbed a button and erased one section of notes on his pocket memo. “But we shall demand immediate extradition if Will Varberg can be taken into custody before his shuttle arrives. He must serve out his manslaughter term at the very least.” It wasn’t recompense he wanted this time but revenge. Varberg had dared to scar his young daughter’s mind, and that scar would never go away. He knew he should forgive. He knew vengeance belonged only to God—but he also knew letting go of this debt would take all the charity in his soul . . . and more.

  There had to be consequences.

  “Definitely.” Ari seemed to agree with him.

  “Of course,” Taidje said, then he hesitated. “I do wish we could press attempted murder charges immediately.”

  Kenn dropped his pocket memo on the table. “You already have the vote for this one, Lindon, but I’ll make it unanimous.”

  “Thank you.” Lindon touched the Erase button again. “One other thing seems urgent enough to consider today, and I’ll let you go. This regards Graysha Brady-­Phillips. We’ve been concerned for some time about the lingering possibility of her reporting back to the Eugenics Board.” He paused, glancing at each of the officers. Late last night, his heart had made peace with his mind . . . though his spirit still whispered doubts.

  For this matter—unfortunately—he also needed to consult the committee. “Yet we’ve known for some time that she wants her own genes fixed if possible. I think I’ve thought of a way we might ensure she does not report to her mother.”

  “Go on” stares from all, even Ari, encouraged him.

  “If this committee would approve Port Arbor research into treatment for Flaherty-­syndrome chromosomes, and then a gene-­fix for her, she would be so deeply indebted to us that we might lay the worry to rest.”

  Kenn took a step back. Taidje folded his arms over his chest. Ari frowned, leaned one forearm on the table, and said, “She is not one of us, nor is she eligible by . . . by . . . Good God, Lindon, you’re not suggesting . . .”

  Kenn cocked his head. Taidje’s expression, closed like a door, defied interpretation.

  “Perhaps I’m being dense,” Kenn said. “Lindon, what does she mean? What do you mean?”

  He was committed now. “If the procedure would be okayed by this committee, I would be willing to . . . qualify Dr. Brady-­Phillips for it.”

  Ari pushed back from the table. “He means, VandenNeill, that he would propose marriage.”

  “If she’s willing to make a spiritual commitment first,” Lindon murmured. She’d already rejected the apostate church. He saw the deep hunger left in her heart.

  Still, it was a terrible risk.

  Taidje laced his fingers and said nothing. Lindon couldn’t read his expression. Kenn gaped.

  “Ari is correct,” Lindon added quietly. “Attaching her to the group by marriage would make her eligible, by our laws, for gene work. It would ensure she stayed on Goddard.”

  “Not here at Axis,” Ari insisted, jabbing the table with one finger. “Not with the spaceport right here.”

  “I think,” Taidje said, “that it is a proper, worthwhile idea, provided both you and Dr. Brady-­Phillips are willing and that she accepts the idea of marriage before you mention genetic alteration.”

  Ari whirled aside. “Taidje, you’re crazy. The woman is probably an EB agent. Look at the way she solved the . . . the attack on Lindon. She knows far too much about investigative methods.”

  Kenn pursed his lips.

  “She’s a microbiologist,” Lindon said.

  Stepping closer to Kenn, Ari drew up tall. “Kenn, Lindon can’t vote a measure he proposed. Break the tie.”

  Kenn tilted his head left, then right, then shook it. “I can’t,” he said. “You both have valid arguments. I propose we table the matter until after the election.”

  Lindon drained his black coffee. Kenn probably hoped Lindon would change his mind. He also followed trends, in the congregation and at work. If Ari w
on the election, Kenn would side with her.

  Well, that was that. At least they hadn’t forced him to justify his feelings for Graysha. How did a man explain the moment when he realized that he cared too deeply to turn aside? Didn’t the great apostle Paul say that “the greatest of these” was love?

  He pushed Graysha out of his thoughts. “Other new business?” he asked softly.

  None was suggested. Taidje scooted back his chair. Kenn hurried out.

  “May the best candidate win tomorrow,” Taidje said on his way to the door. “Good luck to you both.”

  Ari lingered behind the spare chair, barely smiling. Lindon raised an eyebrow at her.

  “When the count comes in,” she muttered, “remember you did it to yourself, last meeting.”

  “Some aggression is important,” he answered. “There are things worth dying for.”

  “Ooh.” She raised both eyebrows. “Too bad you didn’t say that on the vidi net, too.”

  “I said that for you. Males do not need to be repaired. You and I are supposed to complement each other.”

  She balled a fist on one hip. “That is a part of your religion I don’t need.”

  “You want this colony to ‘stand behind the D-­group and declare itself,’ ” he reminded her. “That would take a good deal of aggressiveness.”

  Ari rolled her eyes. “That’s a rumor, Lindon.”

  “It started with you.”

  “No one can prove that,” she said darkly as she strode out the door.

  He stared after her. Ari would never win the sympathy vote. It might swing his way, with Sarai in Varberg’s hands. Still . . .

  He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could trade away every sympathy vote, along with every vote of confidence in his abilities, for a chance to hold his child.

  ―――

  Carrying additional explosives and their crystallography unit, Nick and Kevan squeezed down through the dugout’s floor hole. Trev washed Yukio again, then returned to the audi rig.

  Half an hour later, voices started to gibber through static in Axis’s direction. Repeatedly Trev tuned them down to speaking pitch and tried to break through. All channels were locked tight.