Icerigger

by Alan Dean Foster

  “You stay put, father.” She looked up at the big man and Ethan noticed that that plump face had two startlingly green eyes peering out of it. “If you hit my father, you'll likely kill him ... he's an old man. Give this idiocy up. I'll see to it that you're not shot out of hand, at least. And father won't press charges. He's too busy to bother with your variety of scum.”

  Du Kane! Well, that placed him and the girl ... mighty calculating type, her ... gambling on her father's frailty like that. Hellespont du Kane was chairman of the Board of Kurita-Kinoshita Ltd. Among other things, they made the drives for interstellar ships. To say he was wealthy was to say the planet below tended away from the tropic. No doubt here was a man of whom it could be said, he really was made of money.

  A good salesman, Ethan rapidly summarized the situation by categorizing the players. Two kidnappers, two kidnappees, and one trapped innocent bystander. He wondered why they didn't shoot the little fellow.

  The question was now of more than academic concern because the big man with the sore thumb was staring right at him. It occurred to Ethan as he stared down the muzzle of the beamer that he'd spent a little too much time gaping and far too little in disappearing. He took a step backward.

  “Just on my way to luggage bay three ... sorry to interr—”

  “Hold it right there, flotsam.” The big man turned to his partner. “What now, Walther?”

  “Rama, not another one! Is everyone on this ship nocturnal?” Another glance wristward. “We've got to get out of here! Take him along, for now. Whiffing expressly said not to leave any scraps, Kotabit.”

  Ethan didn't like being referred to as a “scrap.” It sounded downright threatening. Right now, however, he was stuck.

  “Get over there, you,” ordered Walther, gesturing toward the other captives with his beamer.

  “Listen, really, I can't join you. I've got a very important sales conference in half an hour and...”

  Walther melted a small hole in the deck between Ethan's feet. Ethan promptly walked fast, stood next to the little man on du Kane's left. The man seemed to be adjusting a contact lens.

  “Is this really a kidnapping?” he whispered as the two gunmen conferred among, themselves.

  “I'm afraid so, friend.” His accent was soft, the words precise. “We are now technically accessories to a capital crime.” He sounded very like a schoolteacher instructing his students.

  “I'm afraid you've got things confused,” Ethan corrected. “An accessory is someone who aids or abets the crime. You and I are victims, not accessories.”

  “It's all a matter of viewpoint, you know.”

  “Everyone, get in the boat!” Walther bawled, not caring anymore if anyone heard.

  “Why not just knock 'em all out?” queried Kotabit.

  “You heard, fatso ... dangerous. Especially goin' down.”

  Colette du Kane was staring at Ethan. Maybe that name fitted her as, a child, but now ... well, something like “Hilda” might have been more apropos. Those remarkable eyes chilled him. She didn't smile.

  “Why didn't you go for help, whoever you are?”

  “I just walked in and I wasn't sure right away what...”

  “You weren't sure? Oh, never mind.” She sighed and looked resigned. “I suppose I shouldn't have expected otherwise.”

  He would have given her an argument except for the awkward fact that she was absolutely right. He'd really overdone his watch.

  “Why aren't you beautiful?” he said idiotically. “Damsels in distress are always beautiful.” He smiled, intending it as a joke, but she saw it otherwise. Those eyes came around sharply, then the whole body sagged, quivering, bloated.

  “Now you listen,” growled Kotabit. His voice was steadier, more self-assured than that of has companion, even though the smaller man seemed to be in charge.

  “If I were to cut off your daughter's legs, say, starting at the big toe and working slowly upward, I don't think it would inconvenience our plans. Does that convince you?”

  “Ignore him, father,” said Colette. “He's bluffing.”

  “Dear me...!” The old man, for all his billions, was a pitiful aged sack of indecision. Then something seemed to rise out of his mind and into his tone. He stood straighter and spat once at Kotabit. The big man dodged it easily, his watchfulness undiminished. Du Kane seemed pleased with himself. He turned and entered the tiny flexible lock leading into the lifeboat.

  Ethan thought of taking a swipe at Walther's gun, but Kotabit showed no signs of the other's jerkiness. While his death might complicate their scheme, Ethan entertained no illusions about what the other would do if he charged either of them. He followed the small man with the contacts into the boat.

  “My name's Williams, by the way... Milliken Williams,” offered the latter conversationally, as he entered the lock ahead of Ethan. “I teach school. Upper matriculation.”

  “Ethan Fortune. I'm a salesman.” He glanced back at the girl. She was followed too closely by the two gunmen. Thoughts of shutting the lifeboat door in their faces had occurred to him, but they pressed too close.

  It was dark in the lifeboat. The only light came from the fore instrument panel, which was always kept on. Neither of the two gunmen made any effort to turn on the boat lights. Obviously they were afraid of triggering a telltale in the control bubble. He considered hitting the switch regardless of consequences, but was balked by one fact. He'd never been on a lifeboat except during drill and wouldn't know the interior light toggle from the self-destruct switch.

  So they stumbled around in near-night, strapping themselves into the couches at threatening words from the gunmen. There were twenty seats, in addition to the two pilots' couches forward. Walther was already in one, doing unseen things to the main console. Kotabit was lazily strapping himself into the other. He'd swiveled his couch around to watch the rest of them. Ethan didn't feel like testing the other's night vision.

  There was no warning siren when the boat door snapped shut. That, at least, had been cut in advance to prevent warning the ship's computer. It seemed certain they'd be noticed as soon as the boat left the ship's hull, but Ethan was no engineer and couldn't be certain.

  Walther was muttering something that sounded like, “s... e... set enough apart... hope...”

  “Better strap in tight, everybody,” Ethan advised the others. “I don't think we'll be setting down at the regular port.”

  “Brilliant!” Colette du Kane's voice was as easily defined as her shape.

  “And it will probably be rough,” he concluded lamely.

  “Two Einsteinian deductions in a row. Father, I don't think we've a thing to worry about. Not with a genius of this peasant's caliber along. Next he'll astound us with the knowledge that these two megalocephalic proteinoids mean us no good.”

  “Listen,” Ethan began., trying to locate her in the dark. His eyes were growing accustomed to the dim light. How Walther could manipulate the controls in it he couldn't imagine. They must have rehearsed this a hundred times.

  “I'm still not entirely sure what's going on here. Along I come intending to inspect my samples, minding my own business, and your little family problem has to intrude.”

  “I hypothesize a ransom attempt,” said the elder du Kane. “As these thersitical traducers are no doubt aware, I am not without resources.”

  “Watch your mouth,” blurted the hulking Kotabit, not quite sure what to make of the manufacturer's charge.

  “I am sorry you and Mr. Williams had to be drawn into this. Clearly those two did not expect to be interrupted at this hour.”

  “I'm sorry too,” said Ethan feelingly. A low vibration passed through the little vessel, then another. Soon there was a continuous, steady thrumming at their backs.

  “They'll find us once we're down,” he continued, trying to encourage the other. “It shouldn't be hard to plot our descent.”

  “I would concur, young man, except the thoroughness which our vile companions have displayed thu
s far...”

  There was a lurch and Ethan found himself rapidly becoming lighter. They'd detached from the ship and were moving out of its passenger field.

  “We've left the ship,” he began. A familiar tone interrupted him.

  “Oh god, I am amazed once again!” Colette said with mock piety.

  “Well, you go ahead and interpret everything for yourself, then!” Ethan replied peevishly. “Nothing's likely to happen until we're ready for setdown.”

  He was wrong, of course.

  In fact, several unlikely things happened right away.

  Something hit the boat a giant hammerblow on its side, set it tumbling crazily. Ethan got a fast glimpse of the planet running all around the circumference of a port, much too fast. Colette started screaming. Forward, Walther was cursing and groaning as he worked the controls, yelling about the time he no longer had and the time he'd wasted.

  Another sickening lunge brought the sunlit Antares into view. It was starboard receding rapidly, but not so rapidly that Ethan couldn't make out the gaping hole in its near side.

  He turned back to the interior of the boat. All of a sudden there seemed to be a fifth figure in the passenger section. It was not strapped in and lurched about drunkenly back near the storage section. For a moment Ethan thought his eyes hadn't become properly adapted.

  The boat rolled insanely and Walther yelled helplessly. Williams shouted “Oh my!” And this strange rearward apparition bellowed in slurred Terranglo, “A joke is a joke, but by all the Black Holes and Purpling Prominences, enough is enough!”

  At that point Ethan's eyes unadjusted to the darkness and everything else.

  Chapter Two

  He was indisputably dead, frozen alive. He shivered.

  Wait a minute. If he was dead he shouldn't have been able to shiver. To make sure, he shivered again. His body jerked, once, twice. It occurred to him that there was an external source behind the jerks. Blinking, he turned his head. The ebony face of Milliken Williams stared down at him.

  “How are you feeling, my dear Fortune?” he inquired solicitously. Ethan noticed that the schoolteacher was wearing a thick coat of some heavy brown material. It had orange patching and was puffed in snots, but looked warm.

  He rolled over and sat up. The effort made him dizzy and it took another minute for his eyes to focus. Immediately he noticed that he was clad in a similar garment, that it extended well below his knees, and that it was at least two sizes too large for him.

  Williams offered him a cup of black coffee. It steamed ferociously. Ethan took it in the coat-gloves and downed half the boiling liquid in two gulps. At the moment he didn't care if he vulcanized his esophagus. Something at his back seemed willing to support his weight, so he leaned back, sighed deeply, and inspected his surroundings.

  The du Kanes sat across from him. They wore the same brown-orange overcoats, only theirs fit. The elder du Kane poked thoughtfully at a tin of something in front of him. A wisp of steam floated from it. Selecting from the contents, he popped something into his mouth, frowned, swallowed, and resumed his poking. His daughter sat to one side, leaning on one arm and glaring at nothing in particular.

  They were sitting in a small room of some sort. The floor was covered here and there with a thin coating of white. Even to his dazed mind it was obviously snow or some other frozen liquid. He knew they were on the surface. The temperature told him that. A questioning glance at Williams.

  “We're in the rear storage compartment of the lifeboat. It stayed fairly airtight.”

  Fairly was right, for air was clearly coming from around the edges of the single door. The metal walls were badly dented, especially the rearmost section leading to the engines. He finished the coffee and crawled to the access door. Door and wall leaned inward at the top. There was a single small window three-quarters of the way up.

  Standing, he peered out the glassite, not caring that he was cutting off most of the light to the little compartment. Colette offered a suitably cutting comment of this lack of consideration, but Ethan was too engrossed in the view from the little port to pay any attention to her.

  He was staring down the center aisle of what had been the shuttle's passenger compartment. Huge gaping holes showed sky where the roof had been. A waterfall of brilliant, blindingly clear sunlight filtered into the hull. He became aware of the goggles and face shield built into the hood of the coat he was wearing. More than half of the acceleration couches had been torn or twisted off their mounts.

  Turning his head and craning his neck, he could see that the right side of the vessel had been badly pitted. The left side was ripped open along half its length, a single metal-shredding gouge. He was no mechanic, but even a mechanical idiot could see they'd be flying a new ship before they'd be repairing this one. Right now, his expense account was the worthier vehicle.

  A light dusting of snow covered the floor of the cabin and many of the tumbled seats, especially on the torn left side. The airbrushed whiteness muted the rented duralloy and convulsed floor. Here and there amidst the snow, shards of fractured glassite threw crippled rainbows about the interior. If a single viewport had survived intact, it was out of his line of sight.

  Maybe he overdid the straining and turning. In any case, the dizziness returned. Bracing his back against the door, he sat down carefully, put his head in his hands until it cleared.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Fortune?” Williams inquired again. His face showed concern.

  “Yes ... just a little queasy there for a moment.” He blinked. “It's okay now, I think.” Pause. “Although all of a sudden it seems I can't see too well.”

  “You were staring out the port too long without protection,” surmised Williams. “I expect it will pass quickly enough. Don't worry. It has nothing to do with your head injury.”

  “That supposed to be encouraging news?” He could feel the lump at the back of his scull. At least it was intact. His skull, not the lump. By rights it ought to have as many holes in it as the boat's hull.

  “You should use those.” The teacher pointed at the goggles resting high on Ethan's forehead. “To prevent snow blindness,” he added unnecessarily.

  “Thought of everything, didn't they?” Ethan grunted. He shivered again. “Any idea what the temperature is?”

  “I'd guess about twenty below zero, centigrade,” Williams replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “And I believe it's dropping a bit. But you can tell for yourself. There's a thermometer built into your left cuff.” He grinned slightly.

  Sure enough, a tiny circular thermometer was sewn into the fabric, just behind the end of the glove. At first he thought the teacher must be mistaken. The red line seemed almost all the way around the dial. Then he noticed that the highest reading on the meter was the freezing point of water. From there it went down, not up. This was impressive for what it implied, not what it read.

  Something very funny occurred to him. He laughed. In fact, he roared. It did not seem amusing, nor particularly natural, to the others. They watched him a mite apprehensively, especially du Kane. Colette looked as though she'd been expecting something of the sort all along. He forced himself to stop when he found that the tears were freezing on his cheeks.

  Then he noticed the way everyone was looking at him.

  “No, I haven't gone crazy. It just struck me that among my trade goods on board the Antares I have an even four dozen Asandus portable deluxe model catalytic heaters. For trading to the poor backward natives, you know. I'd trade my grandmother for one of 'em right now.”

  “If wishes were fishes we'd never want for food,” said Williams philosophically. “Russell ... twentieth-century English philosopher.”

  Ethan nodded, drew a snow spiral on the floor with one finger ... real leather in those gloves, he noticed. A thought occurred to him as he surveyed the little group. His mind was running a few paces behind his eyes, still.

  “Speaking of the Antares, there was something very wrong with it wh
en we blasted free. Yes, a hole, back of the passenger blister! I saw it as we tumbled.”

  “Very wrong and much too blasted,” echoed a nervous, vaguely familiar voice from a dark back corner. A small, morose figure edged out into the dim light. Its right arm was crooked up in a makeshift sling and there was an ugly scar healing slowly on one cheek.

  “You sure got a way with words, chum,” it finished.

  “Hey, I remember you, all right,” said Ethan with certainty. “Your name is ... let's see ... the other guy called you ‘Walther.’ The big guy...” He tried to see behind the other into the furthest recesses of the compartments. “Speaking of the big guy...”

  “The bigger guy ... September ... did him in,” informed Colette du Kane. “Console lighting went out, but I'm sure it was him. It sure wasn't y—” She checked herself. “I wonder where he came from?”

  Ethan thought back, recalled the ghostly, cursing apparition that had risen in the cabin behind him just before he lost consciousness.

  “I think I know who you mean. Seared me half out of the wits I had left ... his popping up in the middle of everything like that.”

  “It certainly was interesting,” began du Kane. “I remember a time when—”

  “Be quiet and eat your food, father,” said Colette. Ethan looked more closely at the girl, who looked like a pink Buddha in her survival suit. Who was chairman of what, here?

  She returned her gaze to Ethan. It was a frank, open, uncompromising stare. Sizing him up. No, no ... that was supposed to be his prerogative. He turned away and she must have sensed his nervousness.

  “You got the hardest knock of us all, I think, Mr. Fortune,” she said consolingly. Ethan knew she was deliberately trying to make him feel better. But the knot at the back of his head conceded the truth of her comment.

  “He had a gun?” Ethan asked her. Her reply was coldly matter-of-fact.

  “No, as a matter of fact, I think he broke his neck. Neat job.”

  “Oh,” said Ethan. “Look, I want to apologize for calling you f ... I mean, for what I said back there.”