Larry Niven - The Barsoom Project

As if on cue, Red Bear whined disconsolately.

“We’ll get ‘em back. We’ll get everyone back.”

She nodded silently, then stood.

Most of the gear had been tightly packed onto the sled, then bound with tarps and oilskins. Antibiotics, coils of thin line, hard-weather gear, food. The dogs came to attention, shuffling and whining at Snow Goose impatiently, as if awaiting a signal.

Martin the Arctic Fox emerged from the qasgiq tunnel. Old age and despair seemed to have filled his joints with rust: his neck virtually creaked as he scanned them. He pulled a bag out after him.

He pulled out a fistful of little leather pouches on leather thongs. “Hang around your necks,” he said. “You are angakoks now.”

Again he reached into the bag. “These are things of power,” he said. He pressed a bird’s foot into Max’s hand. Max took it, grimacing. “Owl claw. Give strong fists.”

He gave a withered Caribou’s ear to Bowles, who smiled and bowed. “Make you quick of hearing.” He pulled a crumpled skin from the bag, opened it to show that it was crusted with black soot, and gave it to Kevin. “For strength. Soot is stronger than fire.” For Charlene he had a swatch of white fur. “Sealskin. Hide you.” Kevin whipped out his little computer and entered the new information soberly.

He moved along the Gamers until the bag was empty. Then Martin spoke to them all. “You from the hot countries are our final hope. If you cannot prevail, all is lost. I trust the Gods will grant you victory. Seek the Thunderbirds. Only they can take you to the underworld.”

Snow Goose hugged her father. Captain Grant took his place at the sled, and cracked his whip once. The sled began to move. The huskies snapped the reins taut, straining against the inertia of the sled. Slowly, it began to slide across the field, toward a blank, wind-whipped horizon.

Some of the Adventurers were puffing, but none were falling back. Max was easily able to keep pace with the sled, staying abreast of Snow Goose. He asked, “What’s next?”

She smiled enigmatically. “We’re off for Seelumkadchluk, where the sky meets the sea. Daddy did a number for us, opened the path.”

He peered out across the snow. It was as desolate as a salt flat, and not much more inviting. “I don’t see anything special.”

“You will.”

“Okay. Then what? I still don’t quite understand what we’re supposed to do.”

The wind was a faint, consistent howl around them. Hippogryph and Charlene Dula crunched through the snow to walk next to her.

“Daddy told you most of what I know. Somebody whacked Sedna out, and we have to undo it.”

“Whacked her out?” Orson puffed as he quick-walked up next to them. “You talk funny for an Eskimo.”

“Did you expect grunts and clicks? I have a master’s in Cultural Anthro from Alaska State U, Nome.” She cracked the whip again, humanely high above the backs of the trotting huskies. “That was before all of this began.”

Orson seemed a little embarrassed, but Max jumped into the gap. “Cultural Anthro. I’d think you’d be somebody’s class project. I’d love to read your thesis.”

“It does make you kind of split-brained to grow up hearing all about the spirits and the Raven, and then go off to school. When they talked about Eskimo lore in the books they might as well be talking about the Great Pumpkin. I’m not sure where I really stood. I mean, I’d seen some stuff that would weird anyone out, but the books explained everything away, made it all sound so reasonable…”

“Anyway, when everything came apart it was time to choose sides, and quick. Daddy thinks that I’m the best choice to help you guys survive.” She paused, reflecting. “Rephrase: I’m the only choice. You’ve kind of run out of options, you know?”

Max was enchanted.

Orson puffed, “I think I know what’s wrong with your dad.”

“Yeah, he’s sick,” Snow Goose said thoughtfully. “And poor Ahk-lut, he went completely wacko. Some of the first generation, the Raven’s children, they look like that. Something wrong with the way they were made, maybe.”

“No!” Huff. “Max, I remembered something. Her dad said that talisman”-puff-”was a satellite that fell on Canada in the eighties?”

“Okay… why?”

“If it’s the one I’m thinking about”-puff-”it had a nuclear plant aboard. If Martin and Ahk-lut-”

“-are both suffering from radiation poisoning. Damn good, Orson!”

“Maybe that’s where… magic comes from.”

Snow Goose considered. “A powerful talisman is one that has traveled a long way. When I was just a cub, I saw a Swiss army knife that had been carried from Quebec, swapped over and over. Guy traded it for a bear fur and six cases of beer. Long nights. Plenty of time to party.”

“Heh,” Orson puffed. “That skyfall talisman… went round and round the Earth… hundreds of times.” Puff; huff. “So we find the Lady Sedna. What do we do then? Or is that a secret?”

“We have to comb her hair.”

“That doesn’t sound very difficult.”

“Well, Sedna is a very choosy lady. It has to be done just right.”

“Great.” Orson called back along the line. “Hey! Is there a beautician in the house?”

Max turned to look, and that sweeping glance revealed something he hadn’t noticed before: the vista, which had stretched out endlessly only minutes before, was all beginning to change. He said, “The sun looks a little bit brighter. I don’t get it. Why would the sun be brighter now?”

The sky had cleared too. The snow had subsided to flurries. Max was sweating in his fur parka, and there were no buttons. “Looks like the snow’s letting up.”

Orson said, “So we comb Sedna’s hair. Then what?”

Snow Goose examined Orson with amusement. “You know, you’ll probably be a lot happier if you think a little bit less about what happens later, and check out what’s happening now. This isn’t exactly safe, and if you don’t stay on top of it you’re going to end up the world’s pinkest Popsicle.”

The dogs trotted heartily onward, crunching the snow underneath the treads. A faint cawing sound grew swiftly louder. Max whipped his head up as a flock of geese arced across the sky, barely a stone’s throw away. He quickly counted a dozen birds, and there might have been more.

“ Bra nta canadensis,” Snow Goose smiled sadly. “Tuutangayak. My Canadian namesake. I used to love them. Almost extinct, now. My brother…” She paused, swallowed. “Ahk-lut taught me all about the animals. That was a long time ago.”

Orson saw an opening, and went for it. “He’s about thirty years older than you?”

“Just about. Daddy’s had three wives… that he’ll cop to.”

The birds swept south and disappeared into a bank of clouds. Snow Goose followed them with a wistful gaze.

It was remarkably easy to get into the spirit of it, to play to the hidden cameras. Max laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “We’ll fix things, don’t worry.”

“Worry for yourself-it’s your world on the chopping block.” The pilot cracked the whip, picking up the pace slightly. Behind him, the refugees had begun to huff.

The snowshoes crunched step after step, rasping as the snow became thinner underfoot. Max stared at his feet, and then at Snow Goose in astonishment. “Dirt! I saw dirt! I was starting to think I’d never see dirt again!”

“Check behind your ears,” Orson hissed.

The dog sled dragged across the brown patches, slowed by friction. As the snow began to recede, Snow Goose reached down, flipped the sled blades up, and replaced them with wheels. The cart wheels bumped against what he could now see was a rude path that they had followed under the snow.