Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

They turned, started for the town. Hunnar and the squires kept their speed down to a crawl to keep from outdistancing the humans. They were nearly reduced to walking.

“Strong woman,” September murmured easily. Hunnar spoke to a local who directed them to the left. Following the harbor, they turned in that direction.

“Yes, she is,” Ethan agreed. “But she tends to be a bit domineering.”

“Why fella-me-lad, what do you expect from a scion of one of the merchant families? ’Course, it ain’t fer me to say. You’re the one she proposed to, not me.”

“I know, Skua. But I respect your opinion. What do you think I should do?”

“You want the opinion of a wanted man.” September grinned broadly. Then the smile vanished and September became unexpectedly, unnaturally solemn.

“Lad, you can ask my advice where fighting is concerned, hand-to-hand, ship-to-ship, machine-to machine. You can ask where politics are concerned, or religion, or food or drink. You can ask my advice on any hundred matters, any thousand, and though I don’t know amoeba-spit about half that many I’d still venture you a reply.

“But,” and here he looked at Ethan so sharply, so furiously intent that the salesman missed a nervous step, “don’t ask my advice where women are concerned because I’ve had worse luck with them than fighting or politics or any of the thousand others. No, feller-me-lad,” he continued, some of his perpetual good humor returning, “that’s a choice you’ll have to make for yourself.

“I will tell you this: never confuse physical form and beauty with the capacity for passion. That’s a mistake far too many men make. Beauty ain’t skin deep… it goes a damn sight deeper.

“Now let’s hurry up the pace a bit. Sir Hunnar and his boys are practically fallin’ asleep trying to hang back with us, and I’m as anxious as you are to get to the port.…”

They topped a slight rise. Below and just ahead lay the humanx community of Brass Monkey. At the moment, Ethan had eyes only for three concave depressions scooped from the frozen ground and neatly lined with opaque, ice-free metal. Shuttleboat pits. Just their metal linings, those three perfect bowls, contained a fortune in Tran terms, yet none of them seemed disturbed or in any way vandalized. Of course, he reminded himself, that might be due to the fact that the Tran didn’t possess tools strong enough to cut through duralloy or metal-ceramic crystalloids.

Aligned in one of the pits was a small metal shape that bore a remarkable resemblance to the Slanderscree, save for the absence of masts and its more aerodynamic design. The little boat made Ethan’s stomach flip. He could be on it very soon.

An enormous wall of frozen earth and blocks of ice and snow had been heaped up east of the community to shelter it from the steady wind off the harbor. The port buildings lay close by the near end of the harbor, and the group started down toward an L-shaped, two-story edifice. Two glowing signs shone in recesses above the snow-free main entrance. One read: BRASS MONKEY— TRAN-KY-KY ADMINISTRATION. In jagged local script below it were words translating roughly as SKY OUTLANDER’S PLACE.

An intermittent stream of bundled humans and an occasional Tran were presenting themselves at that entrance. Glassalloy windows, thick enough to be used in starships, offered the building’s inhabitants views of the frozen world outside. Ethan could see in. Some thing was keeping the inside of such windows free from condensation.

“What do we here, Ethan?” Hunnar sounded uncertain. No doubt he was wondering if the strange humans in this place would have icepaths within their structures or if he would be forced to walk any distance.

“We have to book passage off your world. Back to our homes.”

“Your homes,” Hunnar echoed. “Of course.” The knight’s tone indicated a contradictory meaning. Ethan understood the language well enough now to discern such nuances. Hunnar was expressing sorrow at their imminent departure and at the same time, a profound gratitude. Or maybe he was just thinking of the sleeping Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata back on the Slanderscree.

Once more Ethan thought to reassure Hunnar that he had nothing to worry about in the way of competition for the favors of the Landgrave’s daughter. But booking passage should provide sufficient reassurance.

There was an icepath ramp leading to the entrance, bordered by smooth metal for human use. It was grooved for traction despite the present absence of ice. Two sets of doors barred the way in.

They passed the first easily enough, despite the rise in temperature. But when they passed the second set and entered the building proper, Sir Hunnar reeled and the moody Suaxus nearly fell. The cause was immediately apparent. The Tran liked to maintain the temperature in their dwellings perhaps five degrees above freezing. The temperature inside the building, set for the human optimum, was devastatingly higher.

It was then that Ethan noticed there were no Tran inside the building itself. Those they had seen entering had stopped in the area enclosed by the two sets of doors, a small lobby lined with windows. There, Tran exchanged packages or held conversations with humans at windows installed for the purpose. The area was kept cool there for them, and tolerably warm for the humans behind the windows. Even so, the Tran there concluded their business hurriedly to rush out into the comforting arctic air outside.

“With… your permission, friend Ethan, friend Skua…” Hunnar staggered erect. Without waiting for Ethan’s acknowledgment, the knight and his two companions turned and stumbled outside. Through the transparent doors, Ethan could see Suaxus sit down hard, holding his head with both hands, while Hunnar and Budjir gulped deep icy breaths and ministered to him.

“I can see where they’d get heat stroke quick enough in here.” September was rapidly divesting himself of his hessavar furs. Ethan didn’t have that problem. He simply slid back his face mask and goggles, plus the hood of his survival suit. The suit itself automatically adjusted for the warmer air inside the building, the suit material being naturally thermosensitive.

They walked to the information grid. Politely, a voice informed them of the portmaster’s name and the location of his office. Directions were displayed on the map set alongside the grid.

A small, olive-skinned man with tightly curled black hair greeted them in the office. He displayed an air of relaxed efficiency. His eyebrows rose slightly at their entrance, otherwise he didn’t appear too surprised at their presence. His gaze stayed mostly on September, which was no surprise at all. Skua had to duck to enter the office.

They were on the second floor of the building. Broad windows opened on side and back, showing the launch pits and the roofs of Arsudun. The contrast of frozen medievality and sleek modernity gave the windows the look of solidos, artificial and unlikely.

“Good morning, gentlesirs, good morning. Carpen Xenaxis, portmaster. We had a report from one of our harbor scouts that a large native vessel with humans aboard was coming in.” He stopped, awaiting confirmation.

“Yes, we were aboard.” Ethan introduced himself and September, then launched into a rapid explanation of their presence on Tran-ky-ky, the failed kidnapping of the du Kanes… and was cut off at that point.

“Just a moment… sorry.” Xenaxis turned to the tridee screen set into one side of his desk, chatted briefly and softly to someone unseen. Then he turned back to them with a pleasant smile.

“It was assumed the du Kanes had died during the misfunction of the lifeboat, which you now tell me was no misfunction. I just reported them alive and well. We’ve had many inquiries. A large number of individuals will be most interested in this news.” Xenaxis appeared suddenly uncertain. “They are alive and well?” Ethan nodded.