The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (92 page)

“What makes you think I’m going to put myself in a position to be killed? You heard Hwang and the others. A straightforward little scouting expedition to check out some weather, that’s all. No barbarian hordes to battle. No exotic cities of unknown persuasion to win over to the union cause. Why should we have any trouble?”

“Because there’s still this world to deal with. Tran-ky-ky. Damned little we know about it after more’n a year sailing its ice. No, you’d get yourself killed for sure without me to yank you back from the brink of disaster, young feller-me-lad. You’re too nice, too empathetic, and far too understanding for this business. Me now, I’m none of those. So I’m still alive when I should’ve been deaded ten times each of the past forty years.

“And if you persist in committing suicide in spite of anything I can do, at least I’ll be around to see to it that you get a decent burial, or cremation, or whatever form of final send-off tickles your soul.”

“Your concern for my welfare is touching, Skua.”

“Yeah, well.” The giant looked over his head, up the corridor. “Just don’t mention it to anyone else, okay? Give me a bad name in certain circles. Let’s get out of here, get something to eat.” He headed up the corridor that led to the central part of the outpost complex. Ethan had to hurry to keep pace with him.

“What do you want me to say if someone asks me why you chose to stay behind?”

“Tell ’em I overslept,” said September irritably.

Only later did it occur to Ethan wonder if his friend might have had some other reason for missing the
Spindizzy
’s departure. As September had admitted on more than one occasion, he was a man with a varied and not altogether benign past. Something might have convinced him that it would be in his own best interests to remain on an isolated, unvisited world for another month or so. Maybe there was someone on the KK-drive ship he didn’t want to encounter. Maybe he didn’t want to go where it was going just yet. Maybe, maybe…

Too many maybes for a mind already swamped with plans for the new trading station and the forthcoming expedition. If September was frustrated by his own inability to leave Tran-ky-ky, Ethan knew that frozen world would provide the giant with numerous opportunities to work off his unease.

P
ROVISIONING AND PREPARATION OF
the
Slanderscree
proceeded apace, thanks to the scientific establishment’s open-ended credit account. In a couple of days the icerigger was bulging with supplies. Only Hunnar’s embarrassment finally put an end to Ta-hoding’s unending requests for still more food, still additional extra rigging and sail. If they didn’t depart soon, the clever and acquisitive captain would have overstocked the ship to the point that no room would be left for her crew. As it was, by the time they were ready to leave, the icerigger was almost bursting.

Those Tran who had volunteered to crew the
Slanderscree
bade farewell to their colleagues and cousins who would be riding a hired merchant ship back to Sofold. Ethan and Skua had made many friends among the crew and there were handshakes and backslaps to be given in addition to the traditional Tran gestures of parting.

Cheela Hwang, Blanchard, and the four other scientists who’d been nominated to go on the expedition were busy checking over their gear. Besides Hwang and the geophysicist there was another meteorologist, a glaciologist, a geologist, and a xenologist. Moware, the last of the half dozen, had been included not for the help he might provide in determining the cause of the climatological anomaly but because the chance of a long trip away from already over-studied Arsudun was too valuable to pass up. He’d already expressed his intention to do photos and in-person studies of everyone they met during the course of the journey.

“Just don’t study them too close up,” September advised him. “You never can tell about the Tran. Why, they can be chatting with you friendly as can be one minute and slip a knife across your throat the next. There’s them that would spill your guts just for the metal in your belt kit.”

Ethan overheard and sidled over to stand next to his tall friend. “Come on, Skua, you know that isn’t true.”

“Do I now? Are we already experts on the Tran? Just because we’ve spent some months among them doesn’t mean we really know them. We know their language, the habits and culture of a few, the attitudes of several more, but we don’t
know
them. For all their cheery hellos and how-do-you-dos they’re still an alien people. They’re not human. They’re not even anthropoid.” He turned and stalked away.

Moware was the oldest member of the scientific team. He had the visor of his survival suit flipped back, as did all the humans, and he regarded September’s retreating back with interest. “I don’t know your big friend very well, but I think he carries a considerable mental burden with him wherever he goes. He jokes with his words but not his eyes.” He looked over at Ethan. “You’re good friends, though.”

“Very good—I think.” Ethan searched for September, but the giant had already disappeared. “He’s right, though. We don’t really know the Tran.”

And I don’t really know you, do I, Skua September?

He strolled over to where Hunnar and Elfa were bidding a final farewell to those members of the crew who were staying behind.

“In Wannome we will meet soon and drink and sup by the great fire in the Hall of the Landgraves.” Hunnar clasped the old warrior by both shoulders and Balavere Longax returned the gesture. Then Longax was embraced by Elfa.

“May the good spirits stay with you, princess, and carry you safely back to us. Your father will be disappointed to find you not among us.”

“My father will grumble and return to his business,” she replied with a smile. “You’ll still have stories to tell him when we finally enter Wannome harbor, for we’ll be back before your voice and imagination run dry.”

Then it was Ethan’s turn. When the ceremonials had concluded, Longax searched the busy crowd behind them. “Will not the great September come to bid us farewell?”

“He’s sulking,” Ethan explained. “Making a big show of how upset he is at coming with us.”

Longax made a gesture of understanding. “The September is much like a small meat-eater called the
toupek.
It is solitary, hunts by itself, joins with others of its kind only to mate, and roars like thunder, but it is only this big.” He held his paws a foot apart.

“I don’t know. Skua talks about us not knowing you. Sometimes I think I know you and Hunnar and Elfa better than I know him.”

“A strange one, your large friend,” Longax agreed solemnly, “even for a human being. I think he prefers to sail against the wind.”

“Why should that bother him?” It took Ethan a moment to realize he’d just made a joke that only another Tran could understand. Translated, it would have meant nothing to someone like Cheela Hwang. He’d been here a long time for sure.

Longax’s party left the icerigger and lined up on the stone dock. A blast of subzero cold slapped Ethan in the face and he snapped shut the visor of his survival suit. Through the polarized glass he watched while Longax and his companions bowed somberly toward the ship.

Ta-hoding took up a stance behind the ship’s wheel and bellowed commands. The wind which had stung Ethan bothered the captain not at all. Tran mounted the rigging and adjustable spars. Sails woven from pika-pina fabric began to unfurl.

Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the icerigger’s departure. There were a number of humans from the research station, running their recorders while murmuring notes into the aural pickups. A three-masted, arrowhead-shaped ice ship mounted on five huge skates fashioned of metal salvaged from the ruined shuttle craft which had originally brought Ethan and Skua and Milliken Williams to this world, the
Slanderscree
was a wonderment to all who set eyes on her, Tran and human alike. There was nothing to compare to her anywhere on the planet. Her ancestors had once carried tea and porcelain and passengers across the two great oceans of Earth. Milliken Williams had adapted those designs to the necessities of Tran-ky-ky and its frozen oceans.

Using the wind as skillfully as a flutist, Ta-hoding backed the huge vessel away from the dock. The watching humans were too busy with their recording and note taking to cheer, while the Tran observing the departure had no reason to do so. Formal farewells had been concluded. As far as Balavere Longax and his companions were concerned, their friends and shipmates were already out of sight.

Under Ta-hoding’s direction the icerigger pivoted neatly around its fifth skate, the stern rudder which was used to steer the ship. Wind filled the sails as the spars were adjusted. Picking up speed, the
Slanderscree
headed up the narrow ice-filled fjord that formed Brass Monkey’s harbor.

On our way again, Ethan mused as he watched the frozen terrain slide by. Outward bound and still not for home.

He expected that Hwang and her people would keep to their cabins; the deck of the
Slanderscree
under full sail was not a relaxing place to be. But he was wrong. Having been confined to a single island for their tours on Tran-ky-ky, the researchers were delighted to finally find themselves out on the great ice sheet itself. They embarked on a nonstop round of activity and experimentation, to the point where nighttime measurement taking began to interfere with normal shipboard routine.

“I was sleeping soundly, Captain,” Second Mate Mousokka explained to Ta-hoding while Ethan and Hunnar looked on, “having seen to the setting of the anchors for the night, when suddenly I hear the sound of many feet on the deck above. Too many for the night watch and in the wrong place. So I arise from a warm hammock and steal onto the deck to espy what’s happening. I am thinking perhaps we have been attacked and the night watch has already had their throats cut.

“But all I see are the furless beings—no offense, Sir Ethan—prowling about the deck setting up strange metal tubes. They stare through these and I look in the same direction, but all there is to see is the ice.”

“They were studying the phosphorescent algae that grows on the ice,” Ethan explained uncomfortably, having familiarized himself with that particular experiment. The second mate and the captain looked puzzled while Hunnar was merely amused. “
Eorvin
,” he told them, finding the proper Tran name.

Mousokka squinted at him. “They were looking at eorvin? In the middle of the night? In the cold dark?” Ethan nodded, a gesture that meant the same among the Tran as it did among humans.

The second mate thought this over before replying. “I will tell the others that they must watch your friends carefully, lest in their single-minded staring they fall beneath the ship or out of the rigging.”

“Not a bad idea, but they’re not as crazy as you think.”

“They are scholars.” Hunnar punctuated the comment with a grunt. “It is much the same thing.” There was no literal translation in Tran for scientist, Ethan knew, and the natives had decided to use the nearest formal equivalent.

“I would not know,” said Mousokka. “I am but a simple sailor.”

“Just make sure they keep out of your way,” Hunnar instructed him. “We don’t want them interfering with normal routine
or
hurting themselves.” He glanced at Ethan to insure this met with his approval.

“Don’t be obvious about it and it’ll be okay. I doubt they’ll notice anyone keeping an eye on them anyway. They’re too busy with their work. Preoccupied. You have to understand that because of Commonwealth regulations, they’ve been cooped up in Brass Monkey ever since the place was established. Now that they’ve been allowed out to see more of your world, they don’t want to miss a single thing. They want to see everything.”

“Eorvin.” Mousokka left muttering to himself.

The activities of the human scholars remained a mystery to the Tran, but at least the sailors and soldiers were sufficiently sophisticated not to ascribe everything Hwang and her people did to witchcraft or sorcery. It was much simpler just to explain that the scholars were all slightly daft.

Such as the morning when a ravenous flock of carnivorous
snigaraka
was driven by hunger to move against the ship. A lookout spotted them and gave the alarm as they wheeled above the ship’s path and prepared to attack. When they finally dived at the deck, unarmed personnel had already taken refuge below and the soldiers were ready to meet them. Arrows and crossbow bolts picked one fanged flyer after another out of the sky.

One fell close by Ethan’s feet. It was two meters long from nose to tail, with a gaping mouth lined with spikes. The latter were not teeth but the sharp, jagged edge of two horny plates which formed the jaws. Like every successful Tran-ky-ky lifeform it was covered with a coat of fine fur. Unlike the Tran, the bristles of the snigaraka were hollow to conserve weight while maximizing heat retention. Their wings were short and broad, more like those of a hawk than an eagle. The tails were the most distinctive feature in that they were held vertically instead of horizontally, and there were two of them.

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?