“Data shows we’re right where we should be to set down at the co-op crews’ site, and the engine de-icing system’s working,” she said. “Let’s descend through it and land.”
“Not sure we should try that,” Bach replied.
“We don’t have enough time or fuel to leave and come back.”
With his attention split between warning lights and Star’s challenge to land in a whiteout, Bach said, “Let her hover, I have an idea.” He grabbed a toolbox and climbed onto the cockpit bench seat. Holding onto an overhead rack, he removed a foot-square wall panel and, as if he had thought it all out beforehand, gingerly pulled out a tray of electrical equipment. He picked through a tangle of wires that looked like a serving of spaghetti then, as tense as a bomb squad technician, loosened several screws. Five minutes passed while he rearranged parts, but to Bach every minute seemed an hour. Blinking nervous sweat from his eyes, he left the strange conglomeration hanging outside the original tray and hopped off the bench rubbing his hands together. “Okay, Shushan, comin’ at ya!”
Star stared at the circuit boards and wires dangling from the device. “What did you do to that component?”
“Made a tactical adjustment … and prayed.”
“What kind of tactical adjustment?”
“Put the lasers on broad beam and boosted voltage.”
“So they’ll burn a path for us?”
He pointed to the porthole. “Look out.”
“I don’t see anything.”
He turned on external running lights. “Look again.”
“I see it! A clearing. We’re cutting a path straight through the ice storm.”
“Yeah, and probably terrifying everyone on the planet.”
*****
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A gentle landing through the treacherous storm calmed the Alphamates’ nerves, but when they stepped outside, an ambush of blizzard-driven hail slammed against their spacesuits, and gnawing winds tried to lift them from their feet. Even with the E-suits and headgear it was plain that Shushan’s thermostat was set at stun.
With brittle, knee-deep, ice-coated snow crunching like broken glass beneath their boots, Bach grumbled and swiped his glove across his visor. “I can’t keep my headgear clear long enough to see where I’m going.”
Star held fast to her partner’s arm to steady against the vicious wind. “Everything’s blanketed in ice. Should we go back and wait until this lets up?”
“Not yet.”
With visibility near zero, they walked through the white-walled unknown for what seemed a half-mile without knowing what lay ahead. Random glimpses of snow-covered mounds and grotesque, ice-glazed rocks left plenty to the imagination. Star looked into the raging blizzard, raised her hands, and pled as if speaking to the Creator, “Help, we can’t find our way.”
No sooner had she cried out than the brutal wind tapered off and gave way to huge, lofty snowflakes floating down like feathers from above.
Bach stared at her. “Boy, someone up there likes you. Are all your requests answered on the spot?”
He didn’t see her satisfied smile behind her snow-covered headgear. “Only the important ones.”
The bleak, bitter-cold surroundings took on a fantasy look as the gentle snowfall and beams of light breaking through made it seem as if a band of winter sprites had danced across the land, frosting everything with shimmery icicles and turning evergreens into ice castles.
“It’s beautiful, but way too cold,” Bach said.
“And no signs of anything or anyone,” Star added. “But who’d be out in weather like this anyway?”
“Crazies like us.” He dipped down and picked up a gloveful of snow, scrunched it into a snowball, dropped back, then scored a direct hit on her backside.
She gasped in surprise and brushed herself off with a confused stare.
Eyes riveted to his target, grin not showing behind his headgear, Bach scooped another handful. His second effort splattered off Star’s knees in a spray of white.
Her hesitation quickly gave way to a childlike squeal as she dove for a handful of snow and returned fire with a wad that disintegrated before impact.
Bach laughed out loud and sauntered to his crewmate’s side. “This,” he said, squeezing snow into a ball and bouncing it up and down in his hand with a mischievous grin, “is a snowball. And it’s time you had a lesson in the joys and perils of snowball fighting.” He stockpiled an arsenal for Star’s use, then darted away and knelt to ready his own stash.
Whap! Whap! One snowball after another plastered the unprepared victim. Star howled with delight at her marksmanship.
Bach’s return fire launched a dozen snow missiles in her direction.
Star rallied with a furious barrage. One splatted full-force onto Bach’s faceplate.
With the unexpected yowl of a wounded animal, he staggered about with arms groping, then flopped to the ground and went still as a stone.
She stared for a moment then called out, “Bach?”
No answer.
She rushed to him calling, “Bach? Bach! Are you okay?”
No sound or movement.
Horrified, she whispered, “What have I done? I didn’t know they were dangerous.” She knelt at his side, cradled his head on her lap and brushed the snow from his faceplate. His eyes were closed and his mouth open in a zero expression. Holding him close, she rocked back and forth. “Oh, Bach. I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She looked around for help and started to get up. “I’ll find help.”
“Gotcha,” he growled, wrestling her to the ground and piling snow on her flailing body.
Her shriek, cough, and gasp for breath all came at once. When her enchanting blue eyes opened, Bach’s handsome face was inches from hers—separated by the transparent headgear. For a moment in time, through softly falling snow, they gazed at each other with unspoken affection.
Grappling with the attraction, Bach sprang to his feet, grabbed a fistful of snow, and made one final toss.
Laughing, Star fired a torrent of snowballs in his direction. “Meanie.” She stopped suddenly and turned around. “Listen. Do you hear something … like a motor?”
He lifted his headgear slightly. “A hum. Something electrical.”
The veil of snow concealed distant objects, but the sound carried through the crisp air and gave them a direction to follow to the left. About a quarter mile ahead where everything was crystal-coated and white, a tiny halo of yellow light flickered with the motor’s hum. They picked up the pace and hurried toward the sound, but a minute later the motor died, the light went out, and the vision faded away.
“Keep looking at that spot, there’s someone there,” Bach said.
They hastened onward, and little by little, a two-story brick building came into view.
“That’s the supply station built for the co-op exchanges,” Star said.
As they neared the building, Bach noticed what looked like a community of igloos beyond the supply station. He pointed it out to Star. “A residential area.”
“Ice houses, like the one in the E-module,” she said.
He laughed. “Ice houses? Or … igloos?”
*****
Bach and Star entered the darkened supply station where four couples were huddled in a circle on the cluttered floor bartering furs by lamplight. The traders didn’t seem to notice the new arrivals, and a shopkeeper hurrying around lighting oil lamps said nothing. Bach had expected to see Eskimos, but instead found the “remarkable resemblance” spelled out in the journal’s notes manifest in the residents as common round faces with downturned eyes, and plump bodies with small hands and feet, like people on Earth with Down syndrome.
Star crouched beside the fur traders. “Do you have severe storms here often?” The preoccupied men and women didn’t answer. She took off her headgear and stood with Bach. “I wish they’d talk to us.”
The shopkeeper moved toward the Alphamates with an empty lantern. “First
our power went down, then generators ran out of fuel in the storm. Wish I could get more fuel from Rooks.”
Bach stopped him. “Fuel from Rooks? Dura provides your fuel—we made those generators.”
“Rooks take your fuel, give us better.”
“The Rooks take our fuel? Do you know when they’re coming back?”
“Don’t know.” The man hurried off and added logs to three fireplaces.
Bach gnashed his teeth. “That irks me about the Rooks trading their fuel for ours. They think they’ll find something of benefit in our standard fuel, but they won’t.”
Star changed the subject. “I hope they find fuel soon. Those fireplaces won’t keep this big store warm for long.”
The bartering couples displayed their furs and blankets on the floor as Bach watched from above. There seemed little chance of finding a symbol on their dark, unadorned clothing. But minutes later when one of the couples spread their pelts side by side in a circular pattern, Bach motioned for Star to have a look.
“Only three lines intersecting,” she whispered.
Bach crouched down and waited for a lull in the traders’ haggling. “We’re looking for…” he motioned for Star to bend down, then pointed to the symbol formed by her necklaces, “something that looks like this. Have you seen this symbol anywhere?”
All shook their heads.
A door swung open in the rear of the building and a short, stocky woman with pale skin and long blond hair came from the back room. She walked right up to Bach and Star. “I wish to serve you warm drinks, but power is out. Tobit trying to find more fuel.”
“Tobit?” Bach asked.
The woman motioned toward the dark-haired male shopkeeper. “My mate.” She turned to walk away, but Star stopped her.
“Where will you go if Tobit doesn’t find fuel? You can’t stay here. It will turn cold quickly.”
The woman replied, “We will stay with friends in their igloo.”
Relieved to learn that the shopkeepers had alternate shelter, Star had more to ask. “I know there are long periods of dark and light on Shushan,” she said to the lady. “The sky is bright now, but I feel like it should be late. Is this your early or late time?”
“It is late.”
“When will the others come out of their homes? We need to talk to them.”
The woman shook her head. “Most are sleeping. Storm halted fishing—even fishermen sleep now.”
Tobit motioned to the traders to gather their furs from the floor and waved his hand at Bach at the same time. “Come back tomorrow, everyone. Time to go home. No power, closing time for Zerah and me.”
Star picked up her headgear and looked at Bach. “We’ll have to go door to door for our search.”
He sighed, then shook his head. “And it’s their bedtime.”
They left the store and traveled over mounds and moguls on the way to the igloo community. An off-key song drifted from under Bach’s headgear. “Oh, where, oh, where, can our hope symbol be?”
Nearing the igloos, Bach noticed movement a few yards ahead. A large ice-block door slid outward on one home and a man and woman emerged with several bags of trash, which they deposited into a holding compartment. “Let’s go,” Bach yelped to Star as he ran ahead and called out, “Wait. Stop. How long will everyone sleep?”
“We sleep until the bells,” the woman said. Her frosty breath almost obscured her face.
“Bells? What kind of bells? Church bells?” asked Bach.
“Just bells.”
“Are there church services somewhere?”
The pair entered their igloo and the man replied, “No more.” He pulled the ice block into the opening behind them.
Bach sat on a snow mound and glanced around. “We have to find out about the bells. When are they rung and what happens next?”
The silent, cold, igloo community, and the frigid planet’s all-white environment, stifled any hope of finding a symbol.
“Sure wish someone else would come out,” he said. “I don’t want to wake them all.”
Star stepped onto an icy mound to look beyond the igloos. “The only thing around is the supply station. But remember the lady said that the storm halted the fishing? Now that the worst is over, maybe the fishermen will be out again. Let’s look for a lake.”
The door of another igloo slid open and a gloved hand set an empty lantern outside. Bach ran ahead and rushed to the igloo. “Wait! We need your help.” He got on his hands and knees in front of the door. Star knelt beside him. A man peered out, and a woman looked over his shoulder. Bach pointed to the crossed-circle formed by Star’s pendants. “Do you know anyone with something that looks like this?”
“No,” said the man, looking at his mate as if to ask her the question. She shook her head, and the two backed inside and slid the door closed.
“Wait!” Bach banged hard on the ice door with his gloved fist. “Where can we find the lake? I know there’s a lake somewhere.”
Muffled words seeped through the thick walls. “Go to supply station.”
“We’ve been to the supply station.”
There was no reply.
“That must be the central meeting place,” Star said. “Maybe they’ll gather there after they wake up. Let’s head back and look for a lake as we go.”
Halfway back to the supply station, Bach pointed out what looked like a partially frozen lake off to the left. The two scrambled over dozens of moguls, but as they neared, the image blended in with the surroundings. What had seemed a smooth, dark lake was nothing more than a crater and shadows at play. Bach grumbled, “A mirage!”
From the frosty quiet emerged a distant sound of hammers or axes striking a hard surface. Within seconds the number of strikes doubled, then tripled. Bach and Star followed the hammering sound and arrived at a frozen lake a few yards in front of the supply station. There, a dozen fishermen shoveled snow, chopped holes in the ice, and set up their fishing huts.
Bach shook his head, complaining. “The lake was right there, frozen and covered with snow. We just didn’t see it.”
Wasting no time, they shuffled across the frozen lake to the first hut where a little man with a furry hood pulled tightly around his face had made a hole in the ice. Star noticed four pie-shaped ice chips floating within the circle. “May we watch for a while?” she asked.
“Catching food for the co-op,” the round-faced man replied.
Star crouched near the hole for a better look, but before she spoke, the man grabbed the floating ice pieces and flung them across the lake. “Not a good spot. No fish.”
Bach let out a huff. “No fish, no symbol.” Nearby, a little man with an iced-over moustache pulled on his empty fishing line and complained to himself. Bach encouraged him. “You’ll catch something soon.”
The loud ignition of a motor at the supply station drowned out the man’s reply. Everyone jerked around to look at the same time. A bright light from the building’s second-floor window illuminated the frost-tinged air.
The fisherman shook his fist at the building. “Too much noise. No fish.”
Bach looked on in disbelief. “How’d they get that generator going without fuel?” he asked Star.
“The Rooks couldn’t have come and left without our knowing,” she answered.
“Maybe Rooks are living here, with fuel. Something’s not right.” At the same time, he saw the symbol of hope projected onto the ice from the supply station’s window. He led Star forward with his arm around her waist and pointed near the roof to the round window with four triangular panes. Bach beat hard on the supply station door. “Open up!” As he rapped and yelled repeatedly, foggy spurts of warm breath spewed from under his headgear. “Star, what are the shopkeeper’s names? I can’t recall.”
“The man is Tobit, the woman’s name, I can’t think of.”
Bach pounded harder. “Tobit, please open up. We’re here from the Creator.” Then he partially remembered the lady’s name. “Her name is something wi
th a Z.”
“Zerah,” Star offered.
Rustling sounds came from inside before the big door swung open. Tobit bounced around the store, filled with excitement. “Something happened. Generator started working by itself. Fuel was gone. We packed our bags, getting ready to leave for the night. It came on by itself.”
“A sign from our Creator,” Star said. “We’re here to find those with a symbol—like the one in your window. You must come with us.”
“Yes, the Creator speaks,” Zerah said.
“Hurry,” Bach urged. “But we still need animals. Where can we get animals from Shushan?”
Tobit looked at Bach in confusion. “Animals? It’s time for sleep. Animals will not come.”
“Do they come here? How do you get them to come?”
“They come for the waking. Fishers leave parts of their catches for animals’ food.”
“Where?”
“Far side of lake.”
“We have to wait until everyone wakes up?” Bach asked. “That’s too long. We have to go now!”
“Animals know to come for the wake-up bells,” Zerah said.
Star’s eyes widened and she looked at Bach. “The bells the others talked about.” She took Zerah’s hand. “Where are the bells? Who rings them?”
“I ring them.”
“Can you ring them now? Maybe the animals will think it’s time to wake and they’ll come now.”
“Everyone will rise,” Tobit complained.
“It’s the only chance we have to get the animals,” Bach said. “Ring the bells.”
Shaking her head, Zerah climbed a staircase to a belfry. She called back from over the top railing, “Are you sure I must do this?”
“Yes,” Bach replied.
The clanging bells had swung back and forth a half-dozen times when five fishermen stormed into the supply station shouting, “No bells! Not waking time; scaring the fish.”
Alpha Rising Page 21
