Duncan Kyle - Whiteout!

Foster said, 'See the implications?'

I shook my head. 'I see the value up here, yes.'

'Bigger than that,' he said. 'This thing's constructed of uniform panels. Floor, walls, roof, all uniform. They just bolt together. More panels, you make bigger huts, okay. But there's something you maybe haven't thought about. Polystrene beads are small. Not when they're expanded, but for transit. Glass fibre's light and can be compressed. And a little resin goes a hell of a long way. Now: you fill a big plane with barrels of beads and resin and bales of fibre. You put in the moulds and the styrene blower -that's the machine that expands the beads - and you can make* these panels anywhere. What'll shake you is how many.'

'Go on.'

'We can get enough materials in one Galaxy freighter right now,' Foster said, 'to build a camp for three thousand men.'

'Three thousand?

'Right on. What's that? Big village or a small town. Tell you who's interested, the United Nations, that's who. Think of the potential of this in a disaster area, floods, typhoons, earthquakes. One plane comes in and they start fabricating panels and in a few days you got three thousand people housed!'

I nodded, fascinated.

'And well housed.' Foster, talking about this project, was a changed man, full of enthusiasm. 'You go outside and kick the wall, the sound can't hardly be heard inside. Twenty people in a thirty-two-foot hut, sleeping ten each side, and you need no heating at all, even up here.'

Herschel interrupted good-humouredly, 'You gonna place your order now, sucker, or hold out till this hustler's taken you to a nightclub?'

'I think I'd buy,' I said.

He nodded. 'Me, too. I'm gonna try to build a house of this stuff home in Maryland if the regulations'll let me. Be cheaper than bricks and lumber. But before we build the house - ' He went to a radio set in the corner, switched on and called Camp Hundred. There was a lot of crackling static, but they answered.

'Wanigan Fifteen to Hundred. Polecat inoperative, repeat Polecat inoperative. We are sheltering Wanigan Fifteen. Inform Commander.'

'Roger Wanigan Fifteen. Stand by.'

Smales came on a couple of minutes later. There was no jargon from him. He said, 'Herschel, it's Barney. What in hell went wrong?'

'We ran out of gas.'

'Out of-Jesus Christ!'

Herschel said, 'We'll wait for the Swing, Barney. Ride on up with Milt Garrison.'

'Yeah, but he's got no neoprene on board. This Swing's all food and fuel and we're in a little trouble here.'

I felt myself stiffen.

Herschel asked, 'What trouble?'

'We lost another generator.'

It was an hour before I thought of it - that fifty-per-cent mind, 1 suppose. But it ought to have hit me earlier; it ought to have hit a three-year-old. I said to Herschel, 'Can you contact the Swing?'

'Sure. Be doing that real soon. Swing can't be more than ten miles off. We'll have to tell them we're here. They won't see the Polecat until they're two miles on. Remember, we walked here.'

'Look,' I said, 'we still have one way of getting to Camp Belvoir.'

He shook his head. 'Swing can't spare - ' He stopped then, looking at me, then grinning. 'ThatACVof yours is on the Swing, right?' But the grin faded almost as soon as it had appeared. 'No,' he said, 'can't risk that. It's not proven up here. Once the Swing's gone by you've fifty miles in the open.'

I said, 'She can do it. And unless we use the TK4, there's no way of getting the pipe up to Hundred. How long before the Swing reaches us ?'

He gave a little shrug of annoyance. 'Can't calculate it. They're ten, maybe twelve miles away. Best speed is three miles an hour -just like the old time Conestoga wagons on the plains heading West.'

'Progress,' I said.

'Sure. But they don't hold a speed like that. Every three miles the bulldozers uncouple to pull these safety wanigans out on top of the snow, so they don't get buried. Takes a few minutes every time. Then they got to couple up again. They stop to change drivers. Maybe they run across a new crevasse. Five to six hours if we're lucky. Could be twelve or fourteen if they have a rough stretch. Could be days if it's real bad.'

'For ten or twelve miles ?'

'I told you once before, Harry. There's been times it's taken six whole weeks to get a Swing up here.'

It would be quicker, I thought, for Smales to send another Polecat from Hundred. Or, for that matter, for Cohen to send one from Camp Belvoir.

Herschel said, 'No dice. No Polecats at Belvoir, only Weasels, and this time of year they're too small.'

'All right,' I said. 'But isn't there a spare tractor with the Swing?'

He nodded. 'Two loose bulldozers for crevasse filling. And they take over in a tractor breakdown, too.'

'Couldn't one of them bring the wanigan with the TK.4 on it? Detach that one wanigan from the train? What speed could it make?'

He said, 'Five, maybe six miles an hour.'

'Here in two hours,' I said. 'Two more after that and we'd be at Belvoir. Turn and come back and we'd probably have made the whole trip before the Swing even reaches this point.'

'You're good and confident,' he said.

'I've reason to be. I know the machine.'

'But not the icecap.'

I said, 'You know it. Scott knows it. Foster, too. You can each hold my hand in turn.'

He gave a sudden nod, rose, went to the radio and switched frequencies. 'Safety Wanigan Fifteen to Swing.' He repeated it and waited.

'Swing to Wanigan Fifteen. Who's holed up?'

'Holed up is right,' he said. 'Major Herschel here. Get me Warrant Officer Garrison on the double.'

There was a pause, then a new voice came over the transceiver. 'Garrison, Major. Sorry you're all holed up there. Be right with you by morning.'

Herschel said, 'I want better than that, Milt. Your traction fully operational? Or have any units gone down?'

'We're okay.'

'Then you can spare a 'dozer ?'

'Spare - hey, what for?' Garrison's voice had hardened.

Quite distinctly we all heard another voice, presumably the radio operator's, say, 'Is that guy nuts !'

Herschel chuckled. 'Tell him no, just a major.'

Garrison laughed, too. 'Got a real white-faced boy here, Major. Will you explain, please?'

Herschel said, 'The hovercraft wanigan. I want the 'dozer to haul it up here fast. Then we can head right on to Belvoir.'

Garrison said, 'She's only on trials, Major. And not ours. You know how to pilot that thing?'

*No, but I got the driver right here.'

'Well, okay. I'll fix it.'

'How long d'you reckon, Milt?'

'We're near on Mile Forty, but we been hitting a crevasse or two. I'll have the guys move it, that's a promise.'

Herschel thanked him and switched off.

'What about Major Smales ?' I said.

Herschel's eyes crinkled. 'He ain't here.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning he'd say no. Barney's a belt-and-suspenders man. Wouldn't go for this kind of a half-ass game. Barney doesn't trust that machine of yours anyway. He told me. What he likes is lots of steel and lots of diesel power and lots of back-up, and lots of precautions. He's right, too. So was Chance, Luke Chance, commander before him. That's why Hundred's got the safety record it has.'

'Had,' I said.

He looked at me. 'Stay off it, huh?'

'Apart from one thing.' I nodded. 'But there's something I'd like to know.'

'Go on.'

I said, 'If Barney Smales is as logistics-conscious as you say, if he's that cautious, if he insists on triple-banking even lavatory seats, then why the hell isn't there a spare pipe?'

Herschel's brows came down. 'That's classified.'

'Neoprene? Don't be - '

'Not neoprene. The information.' But 1 could see now that those frowning brows were having trouble staying down. They kept twitching and revealing a glint in Herschel's blue eyes. I said, 'Come on. Let's have it.'