“Like it or not, we're on our own, as the young fella says,” September added.
Ethan heard himself speaking again. “There is one other possibility, of course.” Even September looked startled.
“His people might decide to come looking for us.” From his corner Walther glared back at him.
“Not a chance,” the little kidnapper spat. “They're not that imaginative. We're as good as dead right now. All thanks to him.” He looked at September with bitter hatred.
“There's enough rough metal around,” the big man replied easily. “You can cut your throat any time you want to.”
“Or yours, maybe?”
September just smiled slightly. “You're welcome to try, any hour of any day you choose. One way or the other, it would be a solution of sorts for you, wouldn't it?
“Right now, though,” he said briskly to them all, “I think we should all take a little stroll around the chunk of dirt we've run up against. It's not very big, but it's home. For another day, at least. Besides, most of you haven't been outside. It's time you started getting used to the kind of country you'll be spending a long, long time with.”
There were no arguments, not even from Colette. It was Ethan who noticed the obvious problem.
“Wait a minute. We only have four sets of ice goggles.”
It was true. Both Williams and the kidnapper were without the vital pair of protective lenses.
The teacher, however, had his own solution.
“I don't need them, Mr. Fortune. That's why I gave mine to you.” He dug under his coat, showed Ethan a tiny black case. Carefully shielding it from the steady breeze that blew in past the bent door, he crouched over. When he stood again, he was squinting.
“I wear protoid optical contacts.” He put the case away. “The ones I'm wearing now are high-glare configuration. They're supposed to be used for intensity sunbathing. I don't expect to be doing much of that, but they should do for outside, if not as well as the goggles. I'll manage. They're more comfortable, anyhow.”
Despite his small stature and soft look, Ethan had to admit that the little teacher certainly sounded competent. He expected they'd have to count on him as a third man if the going got really tough.
Just as he would be depending more and more on September. On a wanted man. Very wanted, by his own description.
Well, time enough for that later, if there was a later. He put a hand on the door latch.
A voice piped nervously from the back.
“Hey, what about me?”
“You're coming too,” September growled. “I don't trust you by yourself with the food or the wood. Not 'til I'm a lot surer of your mental balance.”
“But I haven't got any goggles or special glasses,” Walther pointed out pleadingly. Clearly he knew what would happen to his eyes under outside conditions.
“A couple of days unprotected and I'll be blind as a cave cricket! A week or two and it becomes permanent.” Despite the cold, he was sweating.
“Tear some cloth from your shirt or underwear,” September suggested, “and tie it around your head. Use thin dark stuff to cover your eyes. And keep 'em closed as much as possible. You won't see much, but you won't go blind, either. Damn sure you won't try anything.”
“I'll freeze, too,” Walther persisted. “I haven't got a survival coat or double set of clothing like you.”
“Too bad. When we get the sled put together, we'll do what we can to keep you out of the wind. I wouldn't expect you to do any honest work anyway. Personally, you can stay with the boat and freeze to death, if you prefer. But if you're coming with the rest of us, you're coming outside, now:”
The kidnapper gave a little moan and unbuttoned his jacket. Shivering, he began fumbling with the material of a shirt sleeve.
Ethan found himself feeling sorry for the man. It was not reasonable, considering what the fellow had done to them, or planned for them. Nonetheless, it was soothing to his own conscience.
“Wait a minute. Before you start ripping up your clothes, look around in the cabin for a large piece or two of loose padding from the couches. There seems to be plenty lying around. Also loose hull insulation. Try stuffing it between your jacket and shirt. It'll be clumsy, but it might keep you warm.”
“Thanks. Really, thanks,” Walther beamed, closing his jacket. “It might at that.”
“Why bother with, him?” asked September casually. “Why not let him freeze?”
“Have you ever listened to a man slowly freezing to death?” countered Ethan.
September started to say something, halted, looked strangely at him and turned away. If pressed, Ethan would have had to confess that he'd never seen a man freeze, either.
“Have it your way, me lad. Williams, keep an eye on him and make sure torn padding is the only thing he picks up. The rest of us will hike.”
If anything, the little island proved to be even smaller than September had implied. Mostly rocks and frozen soil, it didn't look rich enough to support a bachelor toadstool. Not to mention ground cover, bushes, and fair-sized trees. But they were there. A couple of the scruffy bushes even supported an iron red fruit that resembled a cross between raspberries and stringbeans.
Ethan considered the fruit, but the parent plant was a blank in his stored memory. He pulled one fruit loose and shoved it in a loose pocket for later consideration. It looked edible, which meant absolutely nothing. It might contain concentrated nitric acid for all he could tell.
There was also animal life on the island, the first they'd seen besides the Droom. Especially little balls of dark fur with bright pink eyes and short, stubby legs. They popped in and out of gopher-sized holes with startling speed.
And once while September was inspecting a particular tree, a pair of creatures like bats wearing mink coats swooped and darted at him. It was all bluff but he moved away. Whatever they were, they probably had a nest somewhere in the upper branches. They continued to insult him from a safe distance.
Ethan tried to imagine what kind of nest arboreals could build that would withstand a good blow on this world. Say, a 200 kph gale straight off the ice. He failed, turned to examine a blanket of thick red moss that grew in the shelter of a rock clump.
Hellespont du Kane was studying the same growth. “You know,” Ethan said to him, “there's a lot of red in the pika-pina ... and now this stuff, it's almost crimson.”
“Beautiful, isn't it?” said du Kane. The old man was obviously enraptured. To Ethan it was only an alien fungus. The old man leaned close. “You know, I raise flowers. Oh yes! Considered quite an expert in some circles.” Then something seemed to go click again behind those eyes and the voice turned mercenary. “It might mean there's a lot of iron or manganese on this world.”
“I don't know,” Ethan replied, trying to separate flowers from ore. “The tapes didn't say much about internal geology.”
“Ah well, an interesting supposition,” said du Kane. He stooped to examine the greasy-looking plant more closely. “I wonder if it's as soft as it looks. Many plants concentrate interesting minerals in their substance in commercial quantities.”
He stuck a finger into the middle of one patch, pushed ... and jumped away with such surprising speed that Ethan jumped himself.
September and Colette must have heard the little screech du Kane gave, because they were there seconds later.
“Father ... what happened? Are you all right?”
Since du Kane was sitting on the ground, gritting his teeth in obvious pain and holding his wrist, Ethan was tempted to offer some suitable comments on female semantic brilliance. At the moment, though, he was too concerned with the older man's welfare.
“He stuck his finger in that bed of moss ... or whatever it is,” Ethan replied.
“Felt like acid,” said the industrialist tightly. “It hurts rather intensely.” Click. “Colette?”
“I'm here, father,” she said evenly.
“Can you make it back to the boat?” September asked.
Du Kane stood, still holding his wrist, and began edging the glove down.
“Boat? Yes, I believe so. I'm not dizzy or anything. It just pains.”
“It was a foolish thing to do, father,” scolded Colette.
“Now, look,” said Ethan, “it looks harmless enough, and your father had no idea it might be lethal.”
“And you had no idea, period,” she said, slipping an arm around the old man. Ethan started to object. After all, it wasn't described on any of his tapes. Might even be an unknown species. But she wasn't interested.
“Let's just hope it isn't toxic,” she said quietly.
Du Kane was controlling himself with an effort. Ethan wondered about the oldster's on-again-off-again moments. One second he was a tower of power, steel-haired duralloy-spined master of a hundred industries. The next, he was a half senile old man desperately hungering for approval and protection. Which was real, which was sham? Probably only Colette knew the answer to that one — and she wasn't volunteering any information.
“No way to tell,” said September, jarring Ethan's thoughts back to the problem at hand. “It might be no worse than a bad bee sting. On the other hand, you could keel over for good in the next minute. But I doubt it. Rich folk only die from overworking or overeating.” Colette threw him a furious look, but du Kane came close to smiling.
“Animals and plants that live in cold climates rarely carry poison. When they do it's usually nowhere near as powerful as that toted by their tropical counterparts. And this is a completely alien ecosystem. It might be instantly fatal to other plants and animals and harmless to us. Or vice-versa. That's enough talk, now. Get back to the boat and put something on it. To kill the pain, at least.”
Father and daughter started slowly back toward the wreck. Ethan watched them go.
“You really think he'll be okay?”
“Yep. It does look a little like a mild acid burn. Can't be certain. Know better tomorrow. But it's a damned good thing he had that glove on.
“And now I think it's about time you climbed that tree,”
“I'll try,” sighed Ethan. “I'm not much for this kind of athletics. Now, tennis or polo or golf—”
“Do you good, young feller-me-Lad. Besides, if the branches get dense near the top, you can slip through them a lot easier than I could. And you can go higher, as well.”
Ethan refrained from pointing out that September could snap off the branches that Ethan would have to dodge.
They found the highest spot on the island by the simple expedient of walking uphill until they were going down. From there they circled a couple of meters to a likely-looking tree. One leg went to the trunk's right side and Ethan prepared to scramble to the lowest branch. He needn't have bothered. The shove September gave him sent him flying into the lower branches.
After catching his breath and soothing a slightly scraped left hand, he started up. The branches grew very close together and made for easy climbing. The tree topped out at perhaps twenty meters. Trunk and stubby branches alike were thick and covered with a dense bark, to conserve heat and withstand the hurricane-force winds that swept the tiny islet.
Ethan was able to scramble within a meter of the crown, which swayed slightly in the steady wind. In fact, the wind had not ceased howling since their initial setdown.
From the top he was a good thirty meters above the ice, perhaps more. He looked down to his left. From this vantage point he had an excellent view of the crumpled lifeboat and the arrow-straight skid marks in the ice that extended unbroken to the horizon.
Off to his right, he thought he could make out in the distance a greenish tinge to the ice. More pika-pina, or maybe its giant relative, pika-pedan. Further off, there were one or two bumps on the horizon that might be large islands. Unfortunately, they lay due east. Not that they wouldn't head for them if they proved to be the only land in sight, but he'd prefer to move in the direction of civilization.
He turned, keeping a firm grip, and was gratified to see what looked tike similar bulges off to the west. They appeared to be just as large — if indeed there was actually something there besides a mirage or a figment of his wind-chilled sight. It was harder to see on this side because he was looking directly into the wind. While the tree remained thankfully solid, the ice goggles expressed a perverse tendency to shift position under the shield on his face. He reached around and fumbled with the strap, managed to tighten them a little.
He squinted harder.
On the ice between their island and those distant humps, he thought he could see a dozen or so dark spots on the ice. They weren't pika-pina, because they seemed to be moving.
September's voice floated up to him. “See anything, lad?” The wind made it sound farther away than it was. He turned out of the breeze and yelled downward.
“I'm not sure! Maybe a pack of animals. Then again, we might be due for an invitation to a feast.”
“Okay!” A wide grin split the shrunken upturned face. “Let's hope we're offered a menu and not put on one.”
Ethan had another look at the distant dots. He assured himself that they were really moving toward the island before beginning to pick his way down the ice-hard trunk.
Little clouds of frozen breath, the two men jogged their way down to the boat. Williams and the others were waiting for them. The schoolmaster helped September close the compartment door behind them.
Ethan saw that Walther's jacket and pants were full of awkward bulges. It gave him a falsely gnomish appearance. His head was swathed in torn cloth and black eyes peered out through a small slit. It wasn't pretty and couldn't have been very comfortable, but maybe it was warm. And the kidnapper was in no position to quibble about fashion.
“How's that finger?” September asked Colette about her father's injury.
“We put some anesthetic cream on it,” she told them. “It seems to have brought the swelling down. The pain is still there, but it's not as severe.”
“Beautiful creature,” breathed du Kane. “Fascinating defense mechanism. Or it might be offensive. We pulled several dozen tiny stingers out of the tip of the glove. I'd very much dislike to step on it barefoot.”
“A lot like the terran jellyfish,” added Williams.
“Speaking of stingers,” offered Ethan as casually as he could, “I think we're due for a visit from the local welcoming committee.” Would that shake her up?
“About time,” she grumbled. “Damned inefficient.”
“Might be a hunting party,” September added cheerfully.
“Natives!” blurted Williams excitedly. “How marvelous! I must try to note as much as possible. My students will be fascinated.” He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that he might be some other student's main course before the day was out.
“Do you think they'll be friendly?” asked du Kane hesitantly.
“Not much we can do if they're not,” said Colette coldly.
“Might even be cannibals,” added September, apparently determined to lighten the atmosphere. “Lad, you've had the tapes, you do the talkin'. I'll stand to your right and try to look friendly. Williams, you take his left, since you had a tape too.”
“If the dialect isn't too thick, I should be able to understand them pretty good, too,” piped Walther.
“I assumed that,” September replied. “You stay in the back and keep your mouth shut.”
“I couldn't try anything,” said the little man, hurt. “You all understand as much as I.”
“It's not your language that worries me, it's your ravishing appearance. It's sufficiently distorted to frighten even a well balanced primitive. I'd rather show a little surface symmetry until we know them better. They might be skittish. We can't take a chance on frightening away potential help.”
Walther grumbled but couldn't fend an argument to counter with.
September turned to the du Kanes. “With all due respect, neither of you understands the language. So you stay behind us, too.” That seemed to suit the two cosmopolitan trav
elers quite well.
“Everyone knows his or her place, then? Good!” He turned to Ethan. “All right, young feller-me-lad, it's yours.”
Ethan put a hand on the door latch, spoke to September.
“Know any good opening lines for interspecies contact? They've probably never seen a human being before.”
“No but hum a few bars and I'll wing at.” He chuckled, shoved. “Now get going.”
Fortunately Ethan had already opened the door. The shove might have sent him through it.
Chapter Four
Sir Hunnar Redbeard squinted hard, but they were still too far away to make out the number of figures standing next to the mass of odd shaping. It truly seemed to be made of metal.
When Eer-Meesach had come running into the Great Hall, babbling his hysterical tale of a fiery thing of metal falling from the sky, Hunnar had been one of the skeptical ones.
The wizard had insisted that his telescope told him the outside of the thing was at least coated with solid metal that shone like a dancer's tiara. And on top of that, he'd insisted he'd seen two creatures emerge from the metal and walk onto the island.
Now he could see it for himself and he momentarily forgot about the creatures. So much metal! If it were as good as steel it would be a valuable prize indeed. They would need every scrap they could gather if the Longax's plan to contest the Horde were to pass in Council.
It would be crucial to deal correctly with the strange beings. It would also be nice merely to chivan up and lop off a few heads. But not necessarily practical. For one thing, Eer-Meesach would never forgive him. Hunnar made a Sign. He didn't want his bed turned into a rollicking Gutorrbyn in the midst of a mating.
Also, any beings who could make that much metal stay up in the sky might be able to do unpleasant things to a person. No doubt they knew the value of their metal.
One thought had troubled him all the way out from Wannome. Could they be gods? Gray-maned, omnipotent, immortal gods? It could not yet be ruled out.
However, the wizard's description of the way in which their craft had descended implied lack of control by infallible immortals. Rather it sounded more like cubs caught on a runaway sled.
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