The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers

by Alan Dean Foster

  “No known ship,” admitted Elfa. “Yet there are many regions of this world that the Poyos, much as ourselves until recently, know nothing of. This would be true also of distant Arsudun. How could they be certain our tracks are not those of another ship, say a great towed barge long since dismantled for its wood by the Moulokinese?”

  “Not impossible, my lady,” put in Ta-hoding. “But how could we convince the attackers of this?”

  Elfa looked embarrassed. “I had not considered that far. Could we not hide our craft while representatives of the Poyolavomaar fleet inspect Moulokin’s harbor?”

  “Hide this vessel?” Hunnar executed a high Trannish laugh.

  “No, let’s think this through, Hunnar?’ September appeared thoughtful. “The lady, she has a point.”

  “What if,” Ethan said after a moment of introspective silence, “we took the ship apart. Yeah, took it apart and put the sections up on the plateau. The Poyo representatives would never think of looking up there.”

  “And with good reason.” Hunnar tried hard not to sneer. “ ’Tis a most marvelous proposal, friend Ethan, save that it would take the whole population of the city in addition to our own crew working several weeks to accomplish such a task, even if the Moulokinese have heavy engines enough to raise the large timbers and masts. We have but four days.”

  “No, wait a minute, now.” September leaned forward, speaking with controlled excitement. “What the lad suggests makes sense, but in a different way. We need to get the rigger up on the plateau, and a really fair distance inland in case the Poyos do insist on lookin’ there, something this Rakossa is likely to try. Since we can’t do it in sections, we need to move her intact.”

  Murmurs of polite astonishment came from several of the Tran seated around the table.

  “Suppose we sail her to the upper end of the main canyon, Captain.” His attention was directed at the intent Ta-hoding. “I’m kind o’ curious to meet these Golden Saia folks myself.” Ethan threw him a questioning glance. Had Skua, despite his initial disclaimers, been as intrigued by the mysterious Saia as Ethan and Milliken Williams?

  “Now with all the forces actin’ on the land there, it’s a fair assumption that the land of these Saias slopes fairly gently inland.”

  “Given that it does, friend September, and I intend no disrespect, but—what of this?” Hunnar waited to be convinced of he knew not what.

  “I was on a world once,” the giant said reminiscently, “similar to this one. Only the oceans were covered with grass—sort of an anemic pika-pina, Hunnar, like they say grows inland here—and there were sailin’ ships akin to the Slanderscree. They sailed easy over those green oceans, on wheels instead of skates.”

  “What,” inquired Hunnar blankly, “is a wheel?”

  Ethan sat stunned. The Tran had achieved such a high level of civilization that he’d taken an invention as basic as the wheel for granted. Now that he thought back on it, nowhere in Sofold could he recall seeing a wheeled vehicle; not a cart, not a wagon, nothing. Everything traveled on chiv, or skates. Dry land transport was by means of sledges, used as little as possible. And they had no need for wheels, after all, in a land where icepaths were easily constructed and frozen seas surrounded every city-state.

  He finally found an example to serve as illustration. “Like the millstones, Hunnar, you use for making meal from dried pika-pina and juice from its pulp. Like the,” and he had to use the Tran term for steering control to refer to the Slanderscree’s own great ship’s wheel. “You place them apart like so, with a supporting beam between like those that connect our ship’s skates and they carry you smoothly across unfrozen lands.”

  “This is surely an awkward way of traveling,” Hunnar admitted, brows contorting in confusion, “yet if you say the thing works, it must be so.”

  “It’s a proven method,” replied Ethan without smiling. At least Hunnar and the other Tran had the idea now.

  “We will need,” Williams began, already drawing designs and measuring stresses in his head, “additional axles to place beneath the ship. While the five duralloy skates now positioned beneath us are sufficient to support the icerigger’s mass, I have less confidence in stone or wooden wheels, and that is the best the Moulokinese could construct. They have good quality timber. Perhaps they can be metal-reinforced, if the work of these Saia is as fine as they claim.”

  “Why not just make metal wheels?” wondered one ship’s mate.

  “Assuming these Saia are indeed not gods, they would do extraordinarily well to manufacture one wheel of such size in only four days,” Ta-hoding pointed out gruffly. Gentle of demeanor when speaking to his superiors or the three humans, the icerig-ger’s captain could be harsh whenever he thought one of his own crew guilty of stupidity.

  “With stone or wooden wheels then,” the teacher continued, calculating all the while, “we’d need additional axles for additional wheels.”

  “Plenty of trees big enough,” September agreed. “They’ll be a lot easier to cut and attach than takin’ the ship apart would be. Of course,” and his excitement grew tempered by thoughtfulness, “this is all assumin’ the Moulokinese are willing to make ’em for us. I expect they will. I’m sure most of ’em would prefer to work a little harder rather than fight. A saw usually sheds less blood than a spear.”

  “You speak a truth which I suspect extends beyond my own world, friend September.” Hunnar regarded the giant somberly. “There are those who do not share your opinion and mine of fighting.” He looked around the table. “There is also the question of obtaining permission from these Saia, whatever they may be, to travel through their lands. Given all this, I will defer a personal desire to shed Poyo blood.”

  K’ferr Shri-Vehm also had to be convinced. It took considerable persuasion by minister Mirmib to talk her out of opting for the bloodthirsty path. That accomplished, orders were issued for an orgy of work to commence.

  The industrious Moulokinese took the enormous assignment as a challenge to their skills. When the first evening fell, lights were brought out to permit the work to continue. The central shipyard reeked of old oil. From a distance, it looked as if the Slanderscree rested in a pool of fire.

  Huge trees, cut and stored for use as masts on other rafts, were already available to serve as subsidiary axles. Metal bolts made by the Saia were brought out and used to help pika-pina cable secure axle to ship. Four new axles were emplaced between the fore and aft pairs of duralloy runners beneath the motionless icerigger.

  Hours passed, became days. The metal-sheathed and reinforced wheels were bolted onto the four new axles. Then the runners were removed, first the pair fore and then the two aft. Wheels slightly larger than the eight already attached were placed on the runner shafts. Finally, the fifth runner, used for steering, was replaced by a steering wheel.

  As expected, a brief experiment revealed that the resultant hybrid was as maneuverable on ice as a greased two-year-old. There was no way it could make any distance upcanyon against the steady, powerful winds that blew down off the plateau. The wheels would simply spin in place as the icerigger was shoved into the first cliff behind it.

  Seven of the largest rafts in the harbor—and the Moulokinese built respectably big ones—were detailed to tow the helpless Slanderscree upcanyon, to the end of the ice. To the land of the Golden Saia. From there it could begin its slow journey inland.

  Mirmib, however, could not give assurance to Ethan and the others of safe passage through the thermal regions. A representative hastily dispatched to acquire such assurances had returned, typically dehydrated and exhausted, to report that the Saia chose not to comment on the question. They had not given guarantee of safe conduct, nor had they denied it. Their sole response had been an indifferent silence.

  In the absence of denial, it was decided to proceed.

  “They have strange powers and commune regularly with the spirits of the interior,” a solemn Mirmib informed the readying travelers. “You would do well to treat c
autiously with them, and to avoid conflict at all costs. In addition, they might offer much more information on the true conditions you can expect inland, though they abhor it more than we do.”

  It was night as Mirmib addressed them. They were standing on the long dock paralleling the almost-finished, almost converted icerigger. Ethan and Hunnar were alone among a rushing current of preoccupied craftsmen.

  Winches were carefully loading the last of the five removed duralloy runners aboard the ship. Hopefully, they would find another sloping canyon far away. Ethan found himself shivering as the minus sixty temperature pressed at his survival suit’s adjustive potentials. On locating another such canyon they would once more replace the duralloy runners, remove the wheels, and set off for a new location, perhaps distant Yealleat. As Ta-hoding had pointed out, the stars were a Tran icemaster’s principal guide to navigation, and the stars remained constant over land as well as ice.

  They were loading final stores the next morning when a small raft came racing into the harbor, heeling dangerously to port as its crew hiked to maximum for top speed. She disgorged a single officer, who hauled himself up a boarding ladder with impressive speed despite the blood filtering through the fur over his left eye. The four sailors sprawled exhaustedly on the deck of the little raft looked equally battered.

  “The Poyos have not waited,” the officer explained to the rapidly growing group of listeners clustering around him. “This is the fourth day and they attacked two hoid ago, no doubt hoping to catch us. offguard and by surprise.” The bleeding soldier permitted himself a vicious smile. “They did not, though they are stronger than we thought.” He recognized Hunnar among the assembled Tran.

  “It would be well for all if you were on your way as soon as possible.” He took in the seven jostling tow-rafts, the cables stretching taut between them and the icerigger. “I must return to my post. Our warmth is with our new brothers. Go with the wind.” He was over the side before anyone had a chance to ask questions.

  Ta-hoding was already heading for the helmdeck. Cranes and lift cables were disengaged in a flurry of commands. Slanderscree mates and harbor pilots of Moulokin took up positions in the bow. Sails began to billow, a blossoming of blue-green and gray, flowers of speed.

  Word of the Poyolavomaar attack spread rapidly among the icerigger’s crew and those of the towing vessels. The Moulokinese hurried their last-minute preparations. They wanted to return as quickly as possible, to help defend their city.

  Settled in arrowhead formation around the Slanderscree’s bow, the seven tow rafts exchanged signals and orders. Sailors stationed astern of each turned single-minded attention to the braces where the thick cables ran out to the icerigger. Pika-pina cables had never been known to snap, but they’d never been employed to pull so massive an object as the Slanderscree. If one did break, given the tension that would exist between dead weight and tug, the flying cable could decapitate an unwary sailor. Those stationed to watch the cable braces were all volunteers.

  Ethan worried more about the effect of the plateau winds on the huge icerigger. Even with her sails furled, if the winds obtained a grip on her, she could be smashed against a down canyon wall.

  Raft by raft, each of the towing craft let out its own sails, adjusting position to catch the gentle breezes sweeping down Moulokin’s protected canyon. The cables grew taut, hummed. There was the sound of pottery breaking beneath a heavy weight which muffled even as it broke. The icerigger ponderously started forward, sliding out of drydock as neatly as any clean birth.

  Ta-hoding was in constant verbal communication with relay mates stationed along the length of the ship. Shouts rang out constantly, darting from towing raft to icerigger to raft as all concerned fought to maintain equal tension on all cables. It seemed an impossible task, but the Moulokinese proved themselves as skilled on the ships they built as they were in the shipyards. The cables thrummed and sang of uneven pressures, but none snapped—not even during the most dangerous maneuver, when the seven towing craft turned up the main canyon and the forceful interior winds struck them and their massive ward.

  Tacking as one, they pulled the great raft steadily inland.

  Ethan rushed to the portside, found to his relief that the second wall which barred passage downcanyon showed no sign of warlike activity. That meant the Poyos were still being stopped before the first wall. So far, the confidence K’ferr of Moulokin had displayed earlier seemed justified.

  Great walls of dark stone drew close beside them, the roofless hallway of some ancient cataclysm. At times Ethan found himself impatient for more speed, for their progress seemed abysmally slow. It was not a journey that could be hurried, however. Not when seven ships had to maneuver as one.

  On the fifth day, the ever-present walls began to shrink. Small side canyons, some hanging above ice-level, began to break the cliff edges. Some were smooth as they vanished into the plateau, while others dropped in steps similar to Moulokin’s topography. Their own little canyon-born zephyrs contributed to the difficulty of maneuvering.

  Soon they were passing between cliff walls no more than twenty meters high. The lookouts on the Slanderscree’s fore and mainmasts could see over them and study the terrain beyond. They reported seeing only yellowish, wind-swept, inhospitable near-desert.

  On the frigid morn of the eleventh day, when the canyon had ceased to be a canyon but was instead a river of ice bordered by gently sloping banks, they entered an area where clouds of steam and mist blotted out vision for all but a few meters in any direction. When they slid close to the banks, those on board the rafts could make out thick, towering trees whose crowns were lost in gray water-down, boles more massive than the largest growing in Moulokin’s side canyon.

  Before long a cry came from the lead raft in the triangular formation. They had reached the end of the frozen river. Cables were cast off and neatly coiled aboard the Slanderscree. Finally the last was disengaged and all seven tow rafts had moved carefully downriver from the icerigger.

  The wind here was dispersed, indecisive. Quickly, Ta-holding had sail put on as the huge raft slid slowly but aimlessly on the ice. Orders were given, spars adjusted. A sound new to the ears of Tran sailors penetrated the mists: a deep, impressive rumbling. The icerigger was now traveling on land.

  It stopped.

  Lookouts forward reported that the first two sets of wheels were resting on a gentle beach of gravel and grass-covered rock. Ta-hoding considered. Obviously, they had to put on more sail. But he was still leery of sailing on naked soil. Williams, who was standing nearby on the helmdeck, did his best to reassure him.

  The plump captain remained skeptical. “I would rather have good, solid ice beneath my runners than,” he made it sound obscene, “bare ground. Still, we must gain more wind.”

  Additional sail was unfurled, positioned. The strongest, steadiest breeze came from the north. Ta-hoding ordered the necessary shift in sail position. Fresh sheets of woven pika-pina billowed out to match the captain’s belly. An incredible creaking and groaning rose from beneath the raft’s hull, startling unprepared sailors who were used to traveling across silent, smooth ice. The crunching of stone under massive wheels was a disturbing new sound to them. It reminded some of a ship’s timbers breaking loose.

  However unaesthetically, the third, fourth, fifth and eventually the sixth set of wheels moved inland, followed finally by the single steering wheel. There was a modest cheer of appreciation from the watching Moulokinese on the rafts astern as the Slanderscree rumbled awkwardly but steadily upslope.

  Gaining confidence, Ta-hoding ordered a few additional small sails unfurled. The icerigger picked up speed. There was a cry and gesture of fond departing from the bow of the nearest tow ship. Ethan and Hunnar returned minister Mirmib’s arm action.

  “I wonder if we shall see them again,” said Hunnar fondly.

  “Not if, but when,” Ethan commented with surprising confidence. “Sofold and Moulokin now belong to the same confederation, the union o
f ice, remember?”

  Hunnar looked abashed. “New ideas take root slowly on my world, friend Ethan. It is still difficult for me to comprehend the meaning of so many new and strange things, all of which have taken place since your arrival in Sofold such a short time ago. I suspect that as we have more and more contact with your people, with the peoples of other worlds, events will change still more rapidly for me and for all Tran.”

  “I expect they will, Hunnar,” Ethan confessed. The knight’s words raised conflicting emotions within him. Had they chosen the right course in trying to rush these people into a galactic government? In their own way the Tran struck him as being reasonably happy with their place in the universe. Who could predict what influence some of the less lofty elements of humanx civilization would have on this proud, self-sufficient people? Despite all safeguards, such elements would find their way onto Tran-ky-ky as surely as any parasite infects an unwary host.

  And what was the justification for their actions thus far? The threat of a little commercial exploitation on one corner of a vast, frozen globe? Such exploitation would, if unchecked, eventually smother the hopes of this world of course, but still …

  Then he thought back to the killings, to all the horrors he’d heard about the nomadic hordes of Tran-ky-ky. Of the depredations they made on innocent city-folk, of whole cities wiped out and the intermittent rule of true barbarism on this planet. He considered the individual cruelties practiced by hereditary rulers unfit for their positions of power, Tran leaders the like of Tonx Ghin Rakossa of Poyolavomaar and Calonnin Ro-Vijar of Arsudun.

  No, on balance, the ledger rode high on the side of their intervention. He, Ethan Frome Fortune, absolved himself of wrong-doing. What he and his companions were attempting was done not as Counselor Firsts of the United Church, nor as ministers of the Commonwealth, but solely because they were the ones unexpectedly afforded a chance to Do Something.