Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“Mr. September, you are gallant.” She retrieved her fingers, sat back down. “Now if you will both excuse me, I have a great deal of nothing to do and I am anxious to be about it.”

September wore a thoughtful expression as they took the elevator back to ground level. “Interesting old gal. Wish I’d known her twenty years back.”

“A bit stiff for my taste,” said Ethan.

“Don’t be too quick to judge, feller-me-lad. You never can tell about these steely-eyed types. Why, underneath that hard-shelled exterior there probably beats a heart of pure concrete.”

The lift doors parted. As they exited they nearly stumbled over a preoccupied Milliken Williams.

Like Ethan and Skua, the diminutive schoolteacher had also been in the wrong place at the wrong time when the kidnapping of the wealthy du Kanes had taken place, and like them, he’d been carried unwillingly to the surface of Tran-ky-ky. He was full of self-deprecation and apologies except when he was doing something like introducing the Tran to gunpowder and crossbows. Ethan thought he looked worried. That was William’s usual state of mind. He was always worrying about what was going to go wrong next, and if nothing went wrong, he worried why it hadn’t.

“I was just coming to get you.” His eyes darted from one face to the other. “Could I have a moment of your time, do you think?”

September rolled his eyes. “Everyone wants a minute of old Skua’s time. I’m running out of minutes, Milliken.”

“Please. This is terribly important.”

“What isn’t? All right.” He looked around, gestured resignedly toward the administration cafeteria. “I could use a bite to eat before getting on the shuttle.”

It was between meal times and the room was almost empty. Tran furs and handicrafts decorated the walls and gave the otherwise bland hall a little character. Automatic food machines lined one wall. Ice particles formed abstract patterns on the exterior of a curved, triple-paned window as the wind smashed them against the glass. They ordered food and drink and settled into a booth near the window.

“Skua,” Williams asked earnestly, “how set are you on leaving Tran-ky-ky?”

September said nothing, simply sat and stared. “Is there some sort of conspiracy at work here that old Skua knows nothing about? First you, feller-me-lad, and now our over-educated little friend here.”

“There is no such thing as overeducation,” Williams replied primly. “I asked you a perfectly straightforward question. And if we’re going to make comments about size, let me say I’d ten times rather be my height than a grotesque variant of a macrocephalian like certain people I know.”

“You mean macrocerebral,” said September. “Forget it. It’s just that you’re not first in line.”

“What’s going on, Milliken?” Ethan asked him.

“There seems to be a bit of a problem. More than a bit, actually. A very considerable problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Ethan was patient with the teacher. He had a way of talking around a subject rather than going straight to the point. You had to prod him or the conversation would languish among irrelevancies.

“It involves Tran-ky-ky.”

“I figured that much. I don’t want to sound impatient, Milliken, but Skua has a shuttle to catch.”

“Plenty of time before liftoff. I know. I checked the schedule. I was just wondering if you’d mind listening to a full discussion of this problem.”

“Anything to get this over with.” September swallowed the rest of his snack in a single gulp.

“You said it involves Tran-ky-ky,” Ethan reminded the teacher. “In what way?”

“We’re not sure. The entire planet may be at risk.”

Ethan sipped at his drink. “The sun’s not going nova or anything like that?”

“No, no, nothing so immediate or dramatic. It’s just that, well, there’s a climatological anomaly that nobody has a decent explanation for and it’s driving the meteorology staff crazy. By now the members of the local scientific community know about the three of us and our experiences. They know that our knowledge of Tran-ky-ky isn’t theoretical, that we’ve had ‘hands on’ dealings with the world beyond Brass Monkey.”

“Hands on for sure,” said September. “I don’t know that participating in the bashing of hostile locals qualifies us as scientific experts on much of anything.”

Williams didn’t so much as crack a smile. “This is a serious business, Skua.”

“Deity save us from serious business. What you’re saying is that some folks just want to ask us a few questions, right?”

Williams nodded.

“Milliken, you’re the only one of us who’s had anything that could be called scientific training. You’ve been everywhere Skua and I have. Why don’t they just talk to you?”

“First because no one is yet positive this matter is of a wholly scientific nature and second because some of the staff doubt their own conclusions. They’re desperately searching for as many possibilities of confirmation as possible. They’re afraid of being ridiculed. Since the three of us have been out there and know what Tran-ky-ky is like, they’re fairly certain we won’t ridicule them. Argue and dispute, yes, but not ridicule.”

September pushed away from the table. “Don’t let ’em be so sure. Let’s get on with it.”

“Do we have to go outside?” Ethan stared through the cafeteria window at the blowing snow.

“The main research center is reachable via the underground walkways, but it would be faster to cut across open ground.”

“We’ll walk the extra meters,” Ethan told him.

DURING THEIR BRIEF STAYS in Brass Monkey neither Ethan nor Skua had had any reason to visit the research complex. It was the oldest group of buildings in Brass Monkey and the rationale for the outpost’s establishment in the first place. Scouts first, scientists after, lastly bureaucrats. Like the rest of the outpost complex it was largely buried beneath the ice and permafrost.

The large meeting room Williams led them into lay several levels beneath the surface of Arsudun. Half a dozen curious faces turned to inspect them when they arrived. Out of this pack of intelligent speculation emerged a woman even shorter than the schoolteacher.

She wore a bright blue jumpsuit with green and white insignia and patches. Ethan had expected a white lab smock. Her hair was straight, jet black, and cut off in a straight line just above shoulder level. She might have been thirty or sixty. Her handshake was firm.

“I am Cheela Hwang. There are my fellow crisis mongers.” She introduced each of her companions in turn. “In case Milliken hasn’t told you, I am in charge of the meteorology department at Brass Monkey. As you might imagine, knowing Tran-ky-ky, we constitute a fairly large contingent here.”

“Weather’d be about the only thing worth studying on this world,” September commented, “excepting the locals, of course.”

She tilted back her head to try and meet his gaze. “Milliken forewarned me about your attitude as well as your sense of humor, Mr. September.”

The giant grinned slightly. “I’ll try to comport myself in a civilized manner and not eat any of your subordinates.”

“What’s this problem all of you are so exercised about?” Ethan asked her.

“Over here, please.” She led them toward the far wall, fingering a small remote control she took from one of the jumpsuit’s pockets. The wall came to light. It was an integrated tridee screen, which explained why it was the only partition in the room devoid of pictures, photographs, or other hangings.

“Perhaps you recognize this, Mr. Fortune.”

“Just Ethan will do fine.” He stared at the wailful of whorls and swirls. The colors were bright, the outlines regular. “Infrared photographs, but of what?”